SOPHIA.
BY Mrs. CHARLOTTE LENNOX.
SOPHIA.
BY Mrs. CHARLOTTE LENNOX.
In TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON: Printed for JAMES FLETCHER, in St. Paul's Church-Yard. MDCCLXII.
THE CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAP. XVIII.
Harriot's Artifices produce the desired Effect on the unsuspecting Sophia.
Page 1
CHAP. XIX.
Sophia is agreeably surprized.
Page 15
CHAP. XX.
Mr. Herbert acquaints Sophia with the Result of the Interview between Sir Charles and him.
Page 24
CHAP. XXI.
Sophia is threatened with a new Disappointment.
Page 37
CHAP. XXII.
Sophia suspects the Cause of her Lover's mysterious Conduct.
Page 47
CHAP. XXIII.
Sophia is visited by Mrs. Gibbons, and makes new Discoveries.
Page 56
CHAP. XXIV.
Displays certain singularities in the character of Sophia, and their effects on the heart of Sir Charles.
Page 69
CHAP. XXV.
Lets the reader into some circumstances that help to display Sir Charles's conduct.
Page 79
CHAP. XXVI.
The Baronet's Jealousy accounted for: he leaves England.
Page 89
CHAP. XXVII.
Sophia meets with a new Subject of Affliction.
Page 96
CHAP. XXVIII.
The Character of Mrs. Howard.
Page 105
CHAP. XXIX.
Mrs. Howard is taken in her own snare.
Page 115
CHAP. XXX.
Sophia leaves Mrs. Howard.
Page 125
CHAP. XXXI.
Sophia returns to Town, and hears news that reduces her to Despair.
Page 138
CHAP. XXXII.
Which leaves Sophia in her former Perplexity.
Page 143
CHAP. XXXIII.
Contains an interesting Discovery.
Page 152
CHAP. XXXIV.
Sophia continues to act romanticly, and Harriot like a Woman who knows the World.
Page 164
CHAP. XXXV.
Harriot visits her mother in her Cottage.
Page 171
CHAP. XXXVI.
Sir Charles appears again upon the Scene.
Page 180
CHAP. XXXVII.
Gives the reader some necessary information.
Page 187
CHAP. XXXVIII.
Sir Charles has an interview with Mr. Lawson.
Page 194
CHAP. XXXIX.
Sophia receives an unexpected Visit.
Page 205
CHAP. XL.
In which the History begins to grow dull.
Page 216
CHAP. XLI.
The History concluded.
Page 227
SOPHIA.
CHAP. XVIII.
Harriot's Artifices produce the desired Effect on the unsuspecting Sophia.
WHEN they arrived at Mrs. Lawson's, Sophia, who little 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, expressing an impatience to see her sister, went along with her.
They found Sophia sitting under an oak, with Mrs. Gibbons on one side of her, and Dolly on the other; for the old gentlewoman was prevailed 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 assembly here; I did not expect to find you in such good company.
Sophia, surprised to see her sister, ran hastily to meet her, and embracing 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 question; her attention was all fixed upon 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 courtesy, and the fashionable toss of the head, she deigned to take some little notice of Mrs. Gibbons, and honoured Dolly with a careless glance, whose amiable figure, however, attracted a second look; and after examining her with an inquisitive eye, she turned away with a little expression 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 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 excessively becoming? then love in these woods is so tender and sincere! 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 direct 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.
"And mighty constant too! no doubt," interrupted Harriot with a malignant sneer; for she had observed the sigh and the look, and was ready to burst with vexation and disappointment, to find her conquest obstructed already by her sister, as she supposed; and being now as impatient 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!" exclaimed Harriot affectedly;
How can you imagine I would stay so long in an odious village, to be rusticated into aukwardness,
pursued she with a spiteful laugh,
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 insolent and affected Harriot; and as they pursued their way home, she had the mortification to hear her lover ridiculed and despised by the disappointed 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 upon this occasion, as in justice to the amiable youth, defended him warmly, which drew some coarse raillery upon her from Harriot.
When they came near to Mr. 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 baronet 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 concern upon her fair friend, who, suppressing 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 died, made him look a little pale and thin; but he is now extremely 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 reading her mother's letter, that represented Sir Charles as having suffered in his health, from his endeavours 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 so natural, and so full of probability, that she could expect no artifice there.
Every thing Harriot said was confirmed 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 compliments 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 sudden 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 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 mother, who, with a face of ignorant wonder, was following Mrs. Lawson about her little farm, asking a thousand questions, without heeding the answers she received. Sophia approaching, paid her duty to her with her usual tenderness and respect, which Mrs. Darnley returned 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.
Sophia, without attending to this difference of opinion, with regard to her complexion, was only sollicitous to know if her mother had been well; and while she was making some tender enquiries concerning 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 resentment,
That nothing now could surprise her with regard to Sir Charles.
"Why, to say the truth, Sophia," replied Mrs. Darnley,
I believe he has quite forgot you; but there was a time when you
ight have been happy.—Oh, girl, girl,
pursued she, kindling with anger as she spoke,
you were always obstinate and conceited; 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 complacencies and attentions from her, which, without wounding her honour, may convince him that it is not to his riches she sacrifices herself.
"Ah, madam," cried Sophia,
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 maxims 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 ridiculous by the qualities we have, as by those we affect to have. Mrs. Darnley, with all her ignorance, aspired to be thought witty: she therefore vindicated her claim to what Sophia 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 succeeded 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 resist 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 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 object 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 impatient 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 curate and his wife to detain them to dinner.
Sophia was now left alone to her own melancholy reflections; this visit from her mother and sister had produced a sad reverse in her situation: hitherto hope had not quite forsaken her: the idea of being still beloved by Sir Charles lessened all her griefs, and supported her amidst the doubt and anxiety which his mysterious conduct had involved her in: his indifference, so apparent in her sister's account of him, gave her pangs unfelt before: and never till now did she think herself unhappy; for, unperceived by herself, she had encouraged a secret hope that the passion she had inspired him with, would not be easily subdued; and that perhaps all which she had thought exceptionable in his conduct, proceeded not from a settled design to the prejudice of her honour, but from that irresolution and slowness with which a man, too sensible of his superiority in birth and fortune, proceeds 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 exclaimed 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 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 excused 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 could not help feeling some resentment 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 behaviour embarrassed her: to prevent his renewing a subject so disagreeable, 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 thing to Sir Charles's disadvantage, 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 remained pale, silent, and motionless in her chair.
Mr. Herbert, perceiving how powerfully this news operated on her spirits, began to be apprehensive of the consequences, and was rising hastily to give her some assistance, when Sophia, roused to recollection by this motion of her venerable friend, and ashamed of the extreme sensibility she had discovered, apologised 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 caution, 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 sincerity; 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 between 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 between Sir Charles and him.
SOPHIA, trembling a little at the sight of Sir Charles's handwriting, took the billet, and found it contained a message from him to Mr. Herbert, requesting in very earnest terms, the favour of an interview, and an offer to wait upon him at any hour he should appoint.
"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 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 honour I did him, in preventing his visit, he entered immediately 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, address 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 capricious 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 favourable 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 suffered most from the contemptuous 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 delicacy of my passion would be but ill satisfied by calling so deserving a woman my own, unless I could likewise boast a preference 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. Herbert,
whether Sir Charles expected any answer to this declaration; it is certain he looked on me with a kind of anxious timidity, and stopped a moment; I continued silent, and he proceeded in this manner.
I know Miss Sophia has an understanding too solid, and a mind too noble to suffer any considerations of rank and fortune to determine her solely in an affair upon which the happiness of her life depends: she would not surely give her hand where her heart did not acknowledge a preference. 'Tis thus I answer all those doubts which my situation, and perhaps an overstrained delicacy 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 father 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 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 entirely satisfied me; that being fully convinced of his sincerity, I looked upon his offer as highly 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 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 declined, as fearing his sudden appearance, 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 objections to this?
"I know not," replied Sophia, with downcast eyes and a faultering accent,
what I ought to do; I have been so used to consider Sir Charles's professions in an unfavourable point of view; my heart has been so accustomed to suspect 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 advice.
Mr. Herbert saw her delicate scruples, and, to favour her modesty, 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 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 suspicions against him, deserves to be resented, at a time when those suspicions are absolutely destroyed, 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 declared 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 tenderness,
Miss Sophia, in virtue, wit, good-sense, and every female excellence, brings me an immense portion.
"Sir Charles," pursued Mr. Herbert smiling,
by a strange contradiction, which is, I suppose, always found in lovers, though he was impatient to have me with you, yet could not help detaining 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 determined to travel, in order to efface you from his remembrance; but, (said he, rising and unlocking 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 is my will, which I ordered to be drawn up previous to my intended 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 pleased.
This last circumstance touched Sophia so much that tears filled her eyes; she sighed, and turned her head aside to conceal her emotion, 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," pursued Mr. Herbert,
extremely 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 immediately set his lawyer to work to prepare the writings, that nothing 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 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 Disappointment.
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 recollection 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 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? 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 Sophia smiling,
but not now; you shall know all soon. At present 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 mother, that she repents of her behaviour to Mrs. Gibbons: and she likes Mr. William so well, that I am sure she would be glad to be reconciled to her.
That is what I have been labouring at all this time,
resumed Sophia.
If Mrs. Lawson can be persuaded to make some concessions to the fantastick old gentlewoman, 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 portion, 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.
The next day, though in expectation of seeing Sir Charles, her heart laboured with a thousand emotions; yet kindly attentive to the affairs of her friend, she resolved 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. Herbert, 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 mistress.
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.
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 together. Mrs. Lawson only wants opportunity to repair her fault; but how shall we contrive to give her this opportunity? what expedient 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.
Sophia concluding from the timidity 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 ceremony or good breeding; now, madam, if you would be pleased to make a point of her returning your visit, and permit me to tell her that you are offended with her neglect, and that you insist upon this proof of her politeness, 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 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 affection 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 transports 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, stepped back a little; upon which he rose up, and, with a graceful confusion, paid her his thanks: she again repeated her promise of serving him, and took leave: he bowed low, following her for some time with his eyes, and sent a thousand kind wishes after her.
Sophia, at her return, acquainted Dolly with what had passed between her lover and her, and filled her with pleasing hopes of the success of his scheme: but now the day wore away, she was in continual 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 arrival; 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; and, her mind growing more composed, 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 moments: she felt herself strangely alarmed, yet wondered why she should be so, and took her way back again to the house with sad forebodings 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 observed him, saw an alteration in his countenance, which realized all her melancholy apprehensions, and convinced her that some new misfortune awaited her: his eyes, which studiously avoided her's, expressed nothing but grief and confusion; but he retired so early to his chamber, 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, 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 affectionately, but spoke not a word.
Sophia, who feared as much as she wished to know what had happened, had not power to ask for an explanation; so they both continued 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 herself for it, yet this fatal confirmation 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 endeavoured 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 design,
pursued he,
was to seek some explanation of this mysterious letter, before I made you acquainted with it, but I perceived that my too apparent uneasiness 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 uncertainty: this letter was delivered to me yesterday in the evening, by one of Sir Charles's servants, just as I was walking out towards the road, in hopes of meeting his master. My surprise at receiving a letter, when I expected to see himself, made me open it instantly, without asking 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:
SIR,
Since it is impossible my marriage with Miss Sophia can ever take place, I could wish you would look upon all that passed between us upon that subject, as a dream: I dreamt indeed, when I imagined there was a woman in the world capable of a sincere attachment; and I ought to be ashamed to own, that upon so delusive a hope I was ready to act in opposition to the general maxims of the world, and be pointed at as a silly romantic fellow. However, I beg you will assure the young lady, that as I have no right to blame her conduct, so I have not the least resentment for it, and am so perfectly at ease on this occasion, that I can with great sincerity congratulate her on her approaching happiness.
I am, Sir,
Your humble servant, CHARLES STANLEY.
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 inconstancy. Unperceived by ourselves, pride mixes with our most tender affections, and either aggravates or lessens the sense of every disappointment, in proportion as we feel ourselves humbled by the circumstances that attend it.
The ill-disguised jealousy, the personated calmness, the struggling resentment that appeared in this letter, convinced Sophia that Sir Charles was far from being at ease, and that to whatever cause his present 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 injurious to her sister, she returned the letter to Mr. Herbert without speaking a word, but with a look much more serene and composed than before.
Mr. Herbert, who saw nothing in this letter like what her penetration had discovered, and who conceived it to be only a poor artifice to disengage himself from promises which he now repented of, 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 office.
"I hope not, sir," replied Sophia, 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 unkindness.
"Well," resumed Mr. Herbert,
I will, if possible, discover this mystery before night; you shall hear from me to-morrow; in the 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 curate 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 melancholy, and to conceal it from observation.
In the afternoon Dolly came up, in a great hurry of spirits, to acquaint 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 transported with joy at this favourable beginning, no sooner perceived, by the pensive air in Sophia's countenance, and the sighs that escaped her, that her suspicions of some new disappointment having happened to her were true, than instantly forgetting the prosperous situation of her own affairs, her sweet face was overspread with tender 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 ornament that could serve to shew Sophia how well she understood every sort of punctilio. As soon as 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 honour 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 of which suddenly striking her imagination, she exclaimed in a tone of surprise and terror,
Sure I am the most unfortunate creature in the world! is it possible, Mrs. Gibbons, 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 agited 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: 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 foundation 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
sanguinary
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 earnestness, to tell her if she could be of any use in clearing up a mistake that had possibly been disadvantageous to her, that Sophia, still attentive amidst all her own distresses to the interest of her friend, thought this a favourable opportunity 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
before 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 arguments in favour of Mrs. Lawson, but chiefly rested her defence upon her ignorance of those forms of politeness 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 having succeeded so well with the old lady, felt all her own griefs suspended; and indeed, when she reflected 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 she had flattered herself with the hope of her nephew's being well received by her; and that, in consequence 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 accounted for that jealousy and resentment which had produced so strange an inconsistency in his behaviour, 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 servants informed him, that their master was in the country, which 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 disappointment, repaired immediately to Mrs. Darnley's, hoping to hear some news of him there.
Harriot, in answer to his enquiries, told him with an air of triumph, that the same day they returned from visiting Sophia, Sir Charles had waited on her mamma 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 matter: for she could not forbear throwing out some sarcasms against her sister, whose extreme sensibility, she insinuated, had already found out a new object.
Mr. Herbert, by his artful questions, drew her into a confession of all that had passed between her and the baronet upon this subject; and was convinced that her malignant hints had poisoned his mind with suspicions unfavourable to Sophia.
He went away full of indignation 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 envious disposition he well knew,) if his intentions had been absolutely right.
The next morning he received a letter from Sophia, in which she acquainted him with the discoveries she had made; and modestly hinted her belief that Sir Charles 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 herself 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 resolved to go; the inconveniencies and expence of such a journey, which in his years, and narrow circumstances were not inconsiderable, had not weight enough 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 depended upon his success: he therefore delayed no longer than to make the necessary preparations for his journey, and, after writing to Sophia to acquaint her with his design, 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 fruitless journey, retired to his inn, 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 effects on the heart of Sir Charles.
SIR Charles, however, notwithstanding 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 passion, and had not the light character of her mother and sister concurred 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.
An overstrained delicacy likewise proved another source of disquietude 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 interest, and give him her hand without her heart; and when doing justice to the greatness of her mind, and the real delicacy of her sentiments, he rejected this supposition as injurious to her, his busy imagination conjured up new forms of distrust: he trembled left, mistaking gratitude for love, she should be deceived by her own generosity and nice sense of obligation, and imagine 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 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; presuming on his intimacy in the family, 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 without 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 Harriot, who hated this room because it contained so many monuments of her sister's taste and industry, never went into it; and it remained 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 workmanship; it was a flower-piece, and executed with peculiar taste and propriety: the wainscot was adorned with several drawings, neatly framed 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 pleasure. The delicate pencil of Sophia had here represented the Virtues and the Graces, from those lively ideas which existed in her own charming mind.
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, charmed with this discovery of those treasures of wit, which she with modest 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 shagreen case fell from one of the shelves upon the ground. He took it up, and as every thing that belonged to her excited his curiosity, he opened it immediately, and with equal surprise and pleasure, saw his own miniature in water colours, which was evidently the performance 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 having fallen into her sister's hands, who she knew would not fail to turn this incident to her disadvantage.
While Sir Charles gazed upon this artless testimony of Sophia's affection for him, the softest gratitude, the tenderest compassion, filled his soul. "Oh, my Sophia," said he,
do you then truly love me! and have I cruelly trifled with your tenderness!
This thought melted him even to tears; he felt in himself a detestation of those depraved principles 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 sensibility to waste itself in anxious 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, the utmost caution and delicacy was to be observed, he conceived it would be more proper to make a direct application to Mr. Herbert, whom she loved and reverenced as a father, than to present 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 dreaded lest her just resentment for his injurious designs should have weakened 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 for the servant, of whom he enquired 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 baronet resigned his whole soul to tenderness and joy. His impatience to see Sophia encreased with his hope of finding her sentiments 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 circumstances that help to display Sir Charles's conduct.
MEAN time a card came from Mrs. Darnley and Harriot, acquainting him that they were returned, 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 enquired for her with such apparent emotion, 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 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 wandering 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 extremely 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 mother's insignificant frowns, proceeded in a malicious detail of little circumstances partly invented, and partly mistaken, which fixed the sharpest stings of jealousy in his heart.
If in dealing with cunning persons we were always to consider their ends, in order to interpret their speeches, much of their artifice would lose its effect; but Sir Charles had so contemptible an opinion of Harriot's understanding, that although he knew she was malicious, he never suspected her of being capable of laying schemes to gratify her malice; and did not suppose 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 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 extreme 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 pursued without any farther reflection.
The servant to whom he had sent his orders, made no haste to execute them, as conceiving it to be a most extravagant whim in his master 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 resolutions, 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, galloped away, never stopping till he came to the place where Sophia resided.
It was now night, and the indecorum 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 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 uncommonly genteel, his heart, by its throbbing emotions, immediately suggested to him, that this beautiful youth was the lover of his Sophia.
The jealousy which Harriot's insinuations 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 attractive graces of form, and probably wanted neither wit nor politeness. Sophia's youth, her tenderness, her sensibility, wounded by his dissembled indifference, and the cruel capriciousness of his conduct, all disposed her to receive a new 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 resolution, 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 concerning the old man and the youth whom he had seen talking to her.
The hostess, who was as communicative 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 going to be married to the parson's youngest daughter, and she is a pretty creature, and
disarves
him if he was more richer and handsomer than he is; but whatever is the matter, the old folks have changed their mind, and his 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 parson'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, dismissed 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 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 upon himself to defer his visit till a seasonable hour; and then being informed that Mr. Lawson's house was scarce a mile distant, he left his servant and horses at the inn, and walked thither, amidst a thousand anxious thoughts, which made him dread as much as he wished for an i
terview, which was to decide his fate.
As he drew near the house, he perceived a young man sauntering about in an adjacent field, whose air and mien had a great resemblance 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 behind a hedge, determined to watch his motions; for he imagined, and with reason, that he came there to meet his mistress; and who that mistress was, whether Sophia, or the curate's daughter, was the distracting 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 woman who beckoned to him. Sir Charles saw at once his Sophia, and the fatal sign, which planted a thousand daggers in his heart. Trembling and pale he leaned against a tree, which concealed him from view, and saw her advance towards his rival, saw her in earnest discourse with him; and, to compleat his distraction and despair, saw the happy youth throw himself at her feet, doubtless to thank her for the sacrifice 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 reflection shewed him the dishonour of a contest with so despicable a rival, and turned all his resentment
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, unwilling to gratify her pride by such an acknowledgment of his weakness, he turned back, cursing love, women, 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 anguish of his heart, that the good old man believed his breaking off the affair 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 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 melancholy, and fondly flattered himself 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.
The virtue of prosperity, said he, is temperance, the virtue of adversity 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 consolation 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 tenderness, offering up its disappointed hopes, its griefs, and desires, in pious sacrifice to the will of Providence, 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 and comforters who can look into his own mind with modest approbation, 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 pleasures 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 having clouded all Sophia's views of happiness, she earnestly intreated Mr. Herbert's permission to settle herself in that humble station 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 endeavours to bear this shock of fate with patience, a fixed melancholy took possession of her mind, convinced that Sir Charles had loved her; and that, by an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances, he had been prevented from giving her the utmost proof of his affection; her tenderness no longer combatted 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 appeared to be written, filled Sophia with the most dreadful apprehensions. Sir Charles was now forgot, and all her thoughts were taken up with the danger of her worthy friend: she determined to go to him; and although Mr. Lawson and his wife endeavoured to dissuade her from taking such a journey, and William, urged by Dolly, 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 morning in the stage-coach: Dolly wept at parting, and engaged her lover to attend Sophia to her journey's end; that if Mr. Herbert should be worse than they apprehended, he might be near to assist and comfort her.
Sophia, when she saw him riding by the side of the coach, attempted to persuade him to return; 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 evening 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 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 ploughman.
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.
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 emotion,
It is my dear child, bring her to me.
Sophia immediately appeared, and throwing herself upon her 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, tenderly blamed her for the trouble she had given herself in coming so far to visit him; but acknowledged at the same time, that this instance of her affection was extremely dear to him, and that her presence gave him inexpressible comfort.
Sophia entered immediately upon the office of a nurse to her benefactor, 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 endeavours to comfort her, and in pious exhortations.
Weep not for me, my dear child,
would he say,
but rather rejoice that 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 avail me, that I had been rich, that I had been great and powerful? but what comforts do I not feel from an unreproving conscience? these comforts 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 miries 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 time past, and death reduces all to an equality. But the distinction 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 consented to return to Mr. Lawson's, and remain there till he came from Bath, but she would not quit him till he was able to take this journey; 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 daughters: 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 marriage, and even shewed an impatience to conclude it:
but I prevailed,
said she,
to have the ceremony delayed till you, my dear friend, could be present; 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 acknowledged great obligations for his care and attention to her.
Dolly's cheeks glowed with pleasure 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 one of those to whom it gave the most satisfaction.
Mean time Mr. Herbert continued 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 requested 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 mentioned her with great praise to a widow lady of a very affluent fortune, who had established such a character for generosity and goodness, that she hoped, if she could be induced to take Sophia under 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 fortune,
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 gratify the unbounded benevolence 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 herself, 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 objections to her accepting it, Mrs. 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 opportunity of obliging a woman of so generous a disposition, and in some degree to requite her for her hospitality.
Mrs. Howard indeed always prevented those on whom she conferred favours, from incurring the guilt of ingratitude; for she took care to be fully repaid for any act of benevolence; and having a wonderful art in extracting advantage to herself from the necessities of others, she sometimes sought out the unfortunate with a solicitude that did great honour to her charity, which was sure to be its own reward. A few ostentatious benefactions had sufficiently 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 sighing 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 the same persons from whom the most affecting representation of private 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 reconcile many circumstances in Mrs. Howard's conduct with her general professions of benevolence and generosity; 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 sentiments imposed almost as much upon herself as her hearers.
Sophia's amiable qualities however soon produced their usual effects, 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 serving her as far as she could, consistent with her prudent maxims which were to make other persons the source of those benefits, the merit of which she arrogated to herself.
Chance soon furnished her with an opportunity of exerting her talents 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 clownish 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 possible advantages to herself from Sophia's grateful disposition, that she pursued it with the most anxious solicitude.
CHAP. XXIX.
Mrs. Howard is taken in her own snare.
MR. Barton, so was the young squire called, having conceived 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 views in her favour, which she considering as an effect of her friendship, 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 approached her, and, with a look of tenderness and concern, told her,
He was sorry to find his mother so zealous an advocate for Mr. Barton, who could not possibly deserve her.
"Nor can I possibly deserve him," replied Sophia with a smile;
he is too rich.
Love only and merit can deserve you,
resumed the young student, sighing,
and if love were merit, I know one who might —hope—
He paused and hesitated, and Sophia, 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 unmeaning 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 would marry no body else, and begged his mother to get her for him.
Mrs. Barton, full of rage against her neighbour, for thus endeavouring to ensnare her son into a marriage, as she conceived unworthy of him, resolved to go to her, and load her with reproaches. While her chariot was getting ready, she continued to question her son, and heard a great many particulars from him, which convinced her that his affections were more deeply engaged 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 creature, who was a dependent upon her charity, and whom she took this method to get rid of.
Mrs. Howard, who held Mrs. Barton in great contempt, on account of her ignorance, and valued herself extremely upon her philosophic command over her passions, listened with an affected calmness to all Mrs. Barton's invectives; and when she found she had railed herself out of breath, she began to declaim in a solemn accent against avarice, and that vile sordid disposition of parents, who, in the marriage 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 deserving of a husband even more considerable than Mr. Barton.
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 passion 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," returned 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 supposing her son was in love with Miss Sophia?
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 himself, "Who," said she,
upon finding you so favourably disposed, will, I doubt not, be ready enough to own his inclinations.
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 having first acquainted her with his passion.
At this intelligence Mrs. Howard's rage got so much the better of her prudence, that she uttered a thousand invectives against the innocent 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 occasion 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 expressions, which coming from one of her acknowledged understanding, had great weight. She told her with the most unblushing confidence, that she was now convinced she had been deceived in the character of the young woman on whom she had with her usual generosity conferred so many benefits.
I find to my inexpressible concern,
pursued she,
that this modest, sensible, and virtuous young creature, as I once believed her, is in reality an artful hypocrite, whose only aim is to make her fortune, by ensnaring some unexperienced 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 friendships, and such are the leagues in which the wicked join.
Mrs. Barton proposed to have her sent for into their presence, and after reproaching her severely, dismiss her with contempt; but the more politic Mrs. Howard, whose views were at once to destroy Sophia's reputation, and to secure her own, disapproved of this harsh treatment, as she called it, and charitably resolved 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 discovered an intrigue carrying on between 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 deliver her to her friends, with a caution 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 discovery of her bad conduct, she had resolved to have provided for her handsomely.
Mrs. Gibbons, whom this letter threw into the utmost astonishment, immediately communicated the contents of it to Dolly and William, with whom she now lived.
Dolly burst into tears of grief and indignation, and earnestly intreated her to go immediately and take Miss Sophia out of a house where her merit was so little understood: 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 explanation of those censures which she had cast upon a young lady confided 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 character; and if it arose from the information 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
conclusions.
William went immediately to his father-in-law, and acquainted him with what had happened. Mr. Lawson was grieved from the consideration 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 always 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. 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 malicious, 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 presence; a country curate being in her opinion a person too insignificant to lay claim to any degree of consideration, and besides, this sort of neglect being affected by many persons of quality, to whom it certainly gives great importance and dignity, their imitators never lose any opportunity of exercising it.
Mr. Lawson was at last summoned 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 Sophia 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," pursued he,
has communicated to me a letter which she has received from you, wherein there is a heavy charge against miss Sophia; a charge which none who know her can think it possible for her to deserve. There must certainly be some mistake here, madam; you have been misinformed, or appearances have deceived you, and in justice to you, as well as to one of the most virtuous and amiable young women in the world, I am resolved to trace the source of these calumnies, that her innocence may be fully cleared. I beg of you then, madam, let me know what foundation you have for believing 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 affair in a worse light than I intended 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 handsomely, and she has been wise enough,
pursued she, with an ironical smile,
to give him encouragement, I suppose; but with all her excellencies, I am not disposed to make her my daughter-in-law.
Mrs. Howard threw in this last softening expression, in hopes it would satisfy Mr. Lawson, and added,
that to prevent any thing happening, which might be disagreeable 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 gentlewoman woman has encouraged the clandestine addresses of your son, I think it will be proper to examine 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 explanation that would expose all her artifices, was forced to acknowledge that she had no other foundation for her fears than the passion 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. Observing her to look extremely surprised, "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 reproaches?
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 Sophia, 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, asking 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 comprehend Mrs. Howard's motives for acting in the manner she had done with regard to her; all her conduct appeared to her highly extravagant and inconsistent; she asked Mr. Lawson a thousand questions, full of that simplicity which ever accompanies real goodness 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 of the antients, that in forming new connections of every sort, it is of great importance in what manner the first approaches 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 letter 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 burthensome to him draw her into new inconveniencies.
Mr. Lawson having, as he imagined, prevented Mrs. Howard 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. Howard 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 shunned every place where she thought it possible to meet him; yet pretending to be apprehensive that the youth would be drawn into a clandestine 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, had the satisfaction to find that innocence 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 exposed, found greater cause for admiration 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.
I am not of your opinion, madam, 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 injuries, 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 countenance 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 summoned to town by a letter from her mother, which gave her a melancholy account of her affairs.
Mrs. Darnley acquainted her that the gentleman who paid her the annuity which Sir Charles had stipulated 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 misfortunes; 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 afflicted 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 innocent friend.
To spare Mr. Lawson the trouble of conducting her to town, she accepted a place in the coach of a lady 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 hackney coach to the door, and was hurrying away without daring to enquire for her sister, when the maid told her miss Darnley desired to see her before she went to Kensington.
"Where is my sister," said Sophia, 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.
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 contempt 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 sharpest agonies of despair, and had already arrived at her sister's house before she was able to stop the course of her tears.
A servant in the livery of her own family opened the door. This circumstance surprised Sophia, who pulling her hat over her eyes to conceal 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 woman 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 compose herself before any one appeared; and now several circumstances rushed 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 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 suitable to the quality of his wife.
A few moments reflection upon these appearances made the generous Sophia change the object of her concern. The misfortune for which she had grieved so much, seemed light, compared with that she apprehended: she wept no longer for the inconstancy of her lover; she trembled 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 glancing 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.
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 embarrassment that encreased every moment: so that being unable to bear the sweet but penetrating looks of her sister, she resumed her work, altering and unripping, without any apparent 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 of her situation, yet dreading to have it explained. At length she told her that she was going to Kensington 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 questions, began to exclaim against her mother's unreasonable temper, saying, that she had offended her violently 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 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 being satirical? is it a crime to be anxious for your happiness?
I wish you would not trouble yourself about me, replied Harriot, I know best what will make me happy; you should not pretend to instruct your elders, miss Sophy; I am older than you; you know, you have often upbraided 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; nevertheless I shall act like a sister towards you, and it was to tell you 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 adversity then, said Sophia, that you form this hard judgment of me, Harriot?
Pray don't upbraid me with your behaviour, miss, said Harriot; other people may have behaved 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, replied Harriot, who had listened to this speech with great emotion;
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 duty 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 required 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 hatred which she felt for Sir Charles, as her seducer, struggling with a tender remembrance, her gentle bosom 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 tenderness; 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 emaciated, and was greatly affected with the sight: she would not mention her sister, for fear of discomposing her; but Mrs. Darnley soon introduced the subject that was most in her thoughts, and exclaimed against Harriot's undutifulness and want of affection with the most violent transports of passion.
I have been the best of mothers to her,
said she, melting into tears;
I have always indulged 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 circumstances, and I, by the loss of my annuity, am plunged into all my former distresses, she has refused to pay those debts which I contracted during the time she lived with me; and thinks it sufficient to invite me to reside in her house, where, no doubt, I should feel my dependence severely.
"Sir Charles," said Sophia sighing,
does not act with his usual generosity; if he has married my sister, why does he suffer you to be in distress.
"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 Sophia eagerly,
then it is not to Sir 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," resumed 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. If Lord L—is married privately to your sister, her character will one day be cleared to the world, and she thinks no prudent person can blame her, for chusing to bear for a time a few undeserved censures, rather than to struggle with poverty and contempt.
Sophia, now convinced of Harriot'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 married, Sophy?
"Ah, madam," replied Sophia,
you do not say that you know she is, and whatever reasons there might be for concealing her marriage from the world, certainly there are none for hiding it from you.—In vain,
added she, with still greater emotion,
would your parental tenderness seek to deceive 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 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 conceal 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 charming eyes,
Pardon this weakness, 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. Darnley,
my debts unpaid, my annuity gone, what have I to trust to?
"Providence," interrupted Sophia,
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 passions, who sees her publicly incur shame and reproach, expelled the society of the good and virtuous, and lead a life of dishonour embittered with the contempt of the world, and the secret upbraidings of her own conscience; 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 Sophia pursued it, till she brought her mother to declare, that she would rather suffer all the inconveniencies of poverty, than give a sanction 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 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 industry and care will, I hope, keep want far from you. I have friends, who will find employment 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 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 necessary they should settle in some village near town, for she could not bear the thoughts of exposing her poverty, to her acquaintance, and of being seen in a worse condition than formerly.
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 better reason for not residing in London, hired in an adjacent village, at a very small rent, a little house, or rather cottage, so neat, and situated so happily, that an imagination 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 servant, she conducted her mother to her rural abode, and had the satisfaction to find her pleased with it, novelty having always charms for 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, Sophia did not forget her unhappy sister: 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 languor and melancholy, which she used to find in the dissipations of the town, could not be grateful to one who had never accustomed herself 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 rural life, there is something more necessary than a good understanding: innocence and purity of manners must contribute to give a relish to pleasures, which are founded 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 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 prescription.
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 procure her more. She likewise exercised 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 disposed of, by the lady her friend, so advantageously, that Sophia was encouraged to pursue her labour; and Mrs. Darnley, flattered by the prospect of more easy circumstances, began to enlarge her scheme of expence, made little excursions about the country in a post-chaise, talked of hiring a better house, and of passing two months at least in London during the winter.
Mean time Harriot became more earnest in solicitations to her mother, to come and live with her; her situation 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 opposing this visit; she was rather desirous 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 depravity of her mind, that she exulted in having an opportunity of displaying 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 purchased by guilt.
The pride of human nature
(says an eminent writer)
takes its rise from its corruption, as worms are produced by putrefaction.
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 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 perceived the miserable figure she made, in the presence of such a character, and stood silent and abashed, 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 equipage, had thrown her into an agreeable 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 accompany her to town, promising to make her abode with her agreeable, 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 Harriot, 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 exclaimed 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 consequence of her living in a manner unsuitable to her circumstances; that her mother and her, by complying 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 consider a little, whether it is not you that are both cruel and unjust. Why would you deprive me of the only reward the world bestows on me, for a life of voluntary poverty; you have exchanged a good name for dress and equipage; and I, to preserve one, subject myself to labour and indigence: you enjoy your purchase; 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 willingly 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 consequences that were likely to follow.
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 encourage 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 affectation, which Sophia took no notice of, but left her at liberty to converse freely with her mother.
Mrs. Darnley talked to her at first in a chiding strain, and affected to assume the authority of a parent; but, a slave to her appetites, she could not resist any opportunity of gratifying them; and Harriot found it no difficult matter 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 imaginable with her mother and sister, not doubting but the world would cease to suspect her, since Sophia approved her conduct.
The frequency and the length of her visits made Sophia entertain hopes of her reformation, since the time she spent with her mother, was taken from that dangerous 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 recovered, 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 longing look towards the road, near which her little cottage was situated, she one day saw a gentleman ride by full speed, who in his person and air had a great resemblance to Sir Charles Stanley. Her heart, by its throbbing emotion, seemed to acknowledge its conqueror; for poor Sophia was still in love: she loved, though she despaired of ever being happy; and by thus persisting in a hopeless passion, contradicted that maxim, that love, like fire, cannot subsist without 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 fancied she had seen Sir Charles, continued to look fixedly towards the road, and was beginning to believe she had been mistaken, when a servant in Sir Charles's livery rode by also, and put it out of doubt that she had really seen the master.
This unexpected incident awakened a thousand tender melancholy ideas in her mind; and finding 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 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 manners, 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 object; his anguish became insupportable, and he sought to relieve it by rousing his indignation against her, for her preference of so unworthy a rival.
He called to mind her interview with this happy rival in the field, and concluded he was far more favoured 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 consequence of these transports, which, after confining him a long time to his bed, left his body in a weak and 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 alter his resolution.
This person had been his governor, and now attended Mr. Howard in the same quality.
Sir Charles, who had a flight acquaintance 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 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 handsomer than herself, and for whom a youthful passion would be thought perhaps more excusable.
The young gentleman, who knew his governor talked in that contemptuous manner of Sophia in compliance 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, described 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 gaity, that it was easy to see he was very much in love.
This, indeed, was his real opinion; nevertheless, he felt no emotions 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 married to the son of a rich farmer in the village where she lived? and waited his answer with an agitation 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 going to be married;
but, added he, sighing,
I remember I have seen a very handsome young man at Mr. Lawson's, who perhaps —
Aye, aye, interrupted his governor, smiling, he was the favoured 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 follow him, but the baronet, anxious to hear more of Sophia, detained him to ask several questions concerning her acquaintance with Mr. Howard.
CHAP. XXXVII.
Gives the reader some necessary information.
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 inferior in rank and fortune; yet having 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 encouraging her son's passion, and design to ensnare him into a clandestine marriage. "Suspicions," added he,
which her subsequent behaviour entirely destroyed, for the youth was rash enough to avow his passion 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 encounter, for she looks thoughtful 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 interesting subject, and scarce perceived when he went away.
After reflecting a long time with mingled grief, resentment, and compassion, upon her melancholy, which he supposed was occasioned 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 generous 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-flattering 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 uncommon disinterestedness of his conduct.
Nothing is more certain, than that the motives even of our best actions will not always bear examination; we deceive ourselves first, and our vanity is too much interested in the deception, to make us wish to detect it. Sir Charles either 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, affect a mind so delicately sensible as Sophia's! she who had once loved him, and what was more than probable had not yet entirely forgot him.
He never asked himself, why his imagination dwelt upon these pleasing images? why he prosecuted 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. Herbert's lodgings, to prevail upon him to justify by his concurrence the designs he had formed in favour of Sophia.
Mean time the secret and powerful impulse by which he was actuated, kept his mind in a continual tumult. He hoped, he feared, he wished: he was all anxious expectation, all trembling doubt; he heard with grief that Mr. Herbert was at Bath; for now he knew not how to get access to Sophia, who being ignorant of his intentions, 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 introduce himself, or who he should enquire for.
However, upon the appearance of a servant at the door, he asked for Mr. Herbert; which Mr. Lawson 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 from Mr. Herbert, which acquainted him that he was perfectly recovered, and that he was in the way to London.
CHAP. XXXVIII.
Sir Charles has an interview with Mr. Lawson.
SIR Charles accepted Mr. Lawson'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 pensiveness 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 attention 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 eagerness and anxiety, but said not a word.
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," replied Mr. Lawson,
I have not seen her a long time.
"Then she does not reside with you now," said Sir Charles, with a countenance as pale as death, dreading to hear something still more fatal.
As Mr. Lawson was going to answer him, William, not knowing his father-in-law had company, entered the room abruptly; but seeing the baronet, he bowed, apologized for his intrusion, and instantly retired.
The various emotions with which 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 compose himself, replied,
That he was very well,
but in a faultering accent asked, who the young gentleman 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! married to your daughter! is it possible?
Mr. Lawson knew enough of Sophia's story to make him comprehend now who this young gentleman was, who discovered so extraordinary a concern upon this occasion: and, charmed to have an opportunity 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 consequences, 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, 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 action of the youth was an acknowledgment of gratitude, not an expression 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 pressing 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?
"No, Sir," replied Mr. Lawson;
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 herself by the labour of her hands.
"Angelick creature!" exclaimed Sir Charles, with his eyes swimming in tears. Then, after a little pause, 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 impatience; so eager was he to see Sophia, and gain her pardon for the unreasonable conduct which his jealousy 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 Sophia's behaviour in a light favourable to his own ardent wishes.
He fondly fancied that the melancholy 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 reveries 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 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 produced.
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 gentlewoman 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 hereabouts, from whom I could never get any relief; but since she came hither I have wanted 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 benefactress.
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 instances of tenderness and charity towards the poor of the village, and filled him with admiration of that true benevolence, which even in the midst of indigence, could administer to the greater wants of her fellow creatures.
CHAP. XXXIX.
Sophia receives an unexpected Visit.
WHEN they came within sight of Sophia's little cottage, 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 appeared to him more lovely, more engaging than ever. He wished, yet dreaded her looking up, lest her first thoughts upon seeing him being unfavourable, she should resolve to refuse his visit. He went forwards 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 angel is the guard of innocence and virtue.
The noise he made in entering, and the sound of her name, pronounced 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, unable, and perhaps unwilling to avoid him.
The baronet, whose heart laboured with the strongest emotions of tenderness, anxiety, hope, and fear, had not power to utter a word; and while her surprise kept 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 conduct seemed to demand of her; nevertheless, she drew away her hand, which he yielded with reluctant submission.
"I hoped," said she, in an accent 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 suffered have sufficiently punished me for my weak credulity.
Sir Charles, when she began to speak, rose up; but continued gazing on her with the most passionate 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 consequence to you, yet I will tell you, that if it is possible to regain it, it will be by never more importuning me with visits, which my situation in life makes it very improper for me to admit of.
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 mother, who seeing Sir Charles, was filled with surprise and joy; and perceiving that Sophia was avoiding him, cried to her with an angry accent,
Where are you going? 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 persuaded that any condescension on her side would give him too great an advantage over her.
Mrs. Darnley, finding any endeavours 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 habitation.
Sir Charles saluted her respectfully, 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 hovel! 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 carelessly,
Yes, madam, I am sorry for it.
The coldness of this answer cast a damp upon those hopes which she had eagerly admitted upon seeing him again; and, impatient to be relieved from her tormenting anxiety on account of this unexpected 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 question, replied hastily,
Who could have told you any thing so unlikely? 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 earnestly.
To be sure people are very envious and ill-natured, and those who told me, no doubt, designed to do you an ill office.
"And they have succeeded," said Sir Charles, sighing,
if they have been able to persuade miss Sophia, that after having aspired 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 ashamed of her behaviour; but I hope you will be so good to excuse it, Sir; I will insist upon her coming in again.
"No, madam," said Sir Charles, holding her, for she was hurrying away,
miss Sophia must not be constrained: I cannot bear that.
Mrs. Darnley unwillingly resumed 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. Darnley, 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 flattering ideas of her tenderness for him, which he had so eagerly admitted; for he concluded that if her heart had not been steeled by indifference, she would, notwithstanding her just reasons for resentment, have been rejoiced to give him an opportunity of justifying himself.
He had reached the house where his servant was attending with the horses, without having determined what to do. To return to town without seeing Sophia again, and being assured of a reconciliation, was misery which he could not support; and he dreaded making 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 sudden joy he felt at meeting with a man whose interposition could be so useful to him, he forgot that his former behaviour must necessarily have given rise to strong prejudices against him, and ran up to embrace the good old man with extreme cordiality.
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, desired to have a few moments conversation with him.
They walked together down a meadow; and Sir Charles, having with a candor and sincerity becoming the rectitude of his intentions, related all those circumstances which had concurred to excite his jealousy, and with that powerful eloquence which passion inspires, expatiated upon the motives of his conduct, a conduct which he acknowledged laid him open to the most unfavourable suspicions; Mr. Herbert, convinced of his sincerity, and full of compassion for the uneasiness which his mistaken jealousy had caused him, undertook 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 obstinacy, could with difficulty persuade him to wait only till the next day for an account of his success.
Sir Charles unwillingly took the road to London, and Mr. Herbert hastened to congratulate his beloved charge upon the agreeable prospect that was once more opening for her.
Mrs. Darnley had, during this interval, been employed in reproaching poor Sophia for her behaviour to Sir Charles. In the vexation of her heart, she exclaimed in the severest terms against her pride and obstinacy; 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 she urged, ought to have determined 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 satisfied with the unrelenting severity with which she had treated 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 defence.
She had once thought it probable 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
lover. While she revolved these thoughts in her mind, Mrs. Darnley perceived her uneasiness, and added to it by new reproaches.
Mr. Herbert's arrival put an end to this tormenting scene. Sophia first heard his voice, and flew to receive him; Mrs. Darnley followed, and seeing her bathed in tears, while the good old man saluted her with the tenderness of a parent, she told him, with an air half serious, half gay, that her daughter loved him so well, she had no affection for any one else. She then entered abruptly upon the affair of Sir Charles, though she hardly expected Mr. Herbert would join with her in condemning Sophia.
He pleasingly surprised her by 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 removed all the suspicions his strange conduct had occasioned, and convinced him, that he deserved more pity than censure.
"No doubt." pursued he, looking 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 meadow behind Mr. Lawson's house, with a certain handsome youth, whom he had 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 astonishment; and Sophia, who yet did not recollect the circumstance of her meeting William, was so perplexed, she knew not what to say.
Mr. Herbert enjoyed her innocent confusion for a few moments, 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 conversation with Mr. Howard concerning 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 civility 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 Sophia, who had listened to Mr. Herbert's relation with the softest emotions of pity, tenderness, and joy, continued silent with her eyes fixed upon the ground.
Mr. Herbert, willing to spare her delicacy, told Mrs. Darnley, that relying upon Sophia's good sense and prudence, he had ventured to assure Sir Charles of a more favourable reception, when her prejudices were removed.
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 beyond your hopes and expectations, acknowledge the hand of Providence, which thinks fit to reward you, even in this world, for your steady adherence 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 subjects more indifferent; but Mrs. Darnley, ever thoughtless and unseasonable, could talk of nothing but Sir Charles, and the grandeur which awaited her daughter.
All night her fancy ran upon gilt equipages, rich jewels, magnificent houses, and a train of servants; and she was by much too happy to taste any repose.
Sophia enjoyed the change of her fortune with much more rational delight; and among 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 accepted a lodging in Sophia's cottage, went to Sir Charles the next day, according to his promise. 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 embraced 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 civilities. Sophia's behaviour was full of dignity, mingled with that softness peculiar to her character.
Sir Charles, after a long conversation with her, obtained her leave to demand her of her mother, 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 Stanley.
He now ventured to intreat that a short day might be fixed for their marriage. It was with great difficulty, that Sophia was prevailed upon to consent; but her mother's impetuosity carried all before it, and Mr. Herbert himself supported the young baronet's request.
The ceremony was performed by Mr. Lawson in his own parish-church: 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 Harriot's situation, the baronet, tho' he detested her character, and declared he never could pardon her for the miseries she had caused him; yet was desirous to have her decently settled, and promised to give a thousand pounds with her in marriage, if a reputable 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 management.
Harriot, during the time she lived with her mother, had been courted by a young tradesman in tolerable circumstances; and although she thought it great insolence 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 allured by the prospect of a fortune, was willing, notwithstanding 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 threat, that her appearance should be so likewise.
The extraordinary efforts she made to support this boast engaged lord L. in expences that entirely 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 distemper 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 were now employed in repairing her complexion, and in vain endeavours to restore lustre to those eyes, sunk in hollowness, and tinctured with the hue of her distemper.
Although thus altered, the report 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 appearance, and his title of captain, gave him reason to expect, with a lady of her turn of mind.
Harriot, charmed with so important a conquest, soon consented to give him her hand; and Sir Charles Stanley, finding his character not exceptionable, gave her the fortune he had promised, to which Sophia generously 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, entering into her disposition and character, lost all esteem and tenderness for her. Her behaviour justified the rigid confinement he kept her in; and while she suffered all the restraint of jealousy, 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 during 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 sentiments; and she died with the resignation of a christian.
The ill conduct of her sister, and the death of her mother, 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 procured 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 preserved for him, had the satisfaction to spend most part of his time with his beloved daughter, as he used tenderly to call Sophia, and to behold her as happy as the condition of mortality 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 upon 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 Sophia been founded only on the charms of her person, I might probably ere now have become a mere fashionable husband; but her virtue and wit supply her with graces ever varied, and ever new. Thus the steadiness of my affection for her,
pursued he, smiling,
is but a constant inconstancy, which attaches me successively to one or other of those shining qualities, of which her charming mind is an inexhaustible source.
FINIS.