On our return from morning prayers, I retired to read in my own apartment. Fanny remained in the parlour below, but joined me an hour after in the utmost per­turbation. On entering, she hastily ap­proached me, and throwing her arms around my neck, burst into a flood of tears, which instantly informed me of what she was unable by words to express.

My dearest girl, said I, whence pro­ceeds this agitation?

She could not immediately reply: but at last—Oh Hermione! exclaimed she, what have I to tell you—Mr. Howard is my lover.

Well my dear, said I smiling, that is no very great calamity.

Good, heavens! could you ever have suspected such a thing? Could you ever have imagined that any thing so unlucky would have happened!

I believe I could, answered I. But [Page 20] why unlucky? How comes it that the mere mention of a proposal which must be at least acknowledged disinterested, from an amiable and worthy object, should give you this uneasiness. There are no rigid guardians to urge your com­pliance, nor, alas! parents to command your obedience; and believe me, my love, your sister will not even presume to ad­vise on a subject in which your own feel­ings and sentiments only are to be con­sulted.

I soon found, however, that her tears were those of agitation, doubt, and timi­dity. Disgust and repugnance had no part in her emotions. She confessed she esteemed Mr. Howard; that she believed him one of the best men in the world; but I never once thought of being his wife, said she. I regarded him as a friend sent by heaven to console us for the loss of one parent who is gone for ever, and of another who disowns us. I cannot [Page 21] think of marrying him. The idea is al­most unnatural; for the possibility of such an event never entered my imagina­tion. Indeed I always concluded his partiality to me was that of a father, and that the disparity of our years would have alone proved sufficient to have prevented the very notion of such an attachment. Had it been you, I should not have ex­perienced the slightest surprize; for I have more than once suspected that he loved you, particularly before we left Languedoc; but for myself, I always imagined he viewed me in the light of a girl who might have amused perhaps, but who had no likelihood of interesting him. Oh! what made him think of me, re­peated she several times in the greatest perplexity.

Calm your agitation my dear Fanny, cried I. Consider you are solicited, but not compelled. I have on my part long suspected that you was the object of Mr. [Page 22] Howard's affections, and I sincerely own have secretly wished his passion that suc­cess which in my opinion it so justly me­rits. I am convinced the attachment and protection of a character like his must se­cure happiness to the woman whom he honours with his choice, provided her heart is properly disposed for feeling and answering the tenderness of his. If this is however wanting, believe me Mr. Howard himself has too much delicacy to demand the hand which prudence alone bestows on him; and I am certain pos­sesses too large a share both of good sense and modesty to be disobliged. If then you feel the least actual repugnance to this union, after having maturely weighed and considered all sides of the question, hesitate not to tell him so without co­quetry or affectation.

Repugnance is a strong word, said she, after a pause. We are under infinite ob­ligations to him, and he is our only friend. [Page 23] I should be shocked to disoblige him. But he has so surprized me, that I know not what to think of the matter, nor how to collect my scattered thoughts to pon­der on the consequences. Now tell me seriously Hermione, what would you do in my case?

Why I will tell you sincerely, said I. Were I you, with your disposition, your gratitude to Mr. Howard, and your indif­ference to every other man, I believe I should be his wife.

Yet I am not the least in love with him, cried she.

Involuntarily I was about to reply, that being romantically in love was by all ac­counts far from an indispensible requisite towards happiness in the married state; but conscious how different my own pri­vate sentiments were from according with this opinion, I checked myself from touching on an argument that carried not conviction to my own mind, though from [Page 24] my knowledge of Fanny's temper it might have been not improperly offered to her, and only added, that her own feelings must direct her.

We were interrupted by Mrs. Hindon, who came to inform us that the carriage waited to carry us to afternoon prayers. I believe poor Fanny's devotions were not a little disturbed; and on our return I observed she met the eyes of Mr. How­ard with a confusion which seemed to forebode no great severity.

I had evidently shewn on which side my suffrage rested; but I cautiously withheld any advice likely to prejudice her mind, which tho' diffident and fear­ful, appeared neither averse nor deter­mined.

Fanny and Mr. Howard have this day had a long conversation together, in the course of which he laid before her the state of his finances, and suggested the plan of life which he thought would be most conducive to their mutual happiness.

His paternal estate, Hubert Hill, does not exceed three hundred and twenty pounds a year; and this, with a couple of thousands bequeathed him by a friend, constitutes his whole fortune; nor has he any addition to hope for independent of my sister's precarious pittance when Mr. Benseley's affairs are settled. This no doubt is a very slender income, especially [Page 30] if a numerous family should bless their union; yet as Mr. Howard is a man of moderate views, and addicted to no ex­pensive pleasures, and Fanny has ever been accustomed to solitude and fruga­lity if not absolutely to a strict oecono­my, I think it sufficient, with some at­tention, for all the necessary indulgencies of life.

His little feat is situated, he says, in a delightful part of the country. The grounds are laid out with taste; and the house, tho' small, is fitted up with infi­nite neatness in a rustic style. This he proposes making their constant residence; and hopes, by living himself on the spot, to improve it to great advantage, being extremely fond of farming himself.

He did not fail, in the very first mo­ments of Fanny's approbation, to give me the warmest and most pressing invi­tation to join their family. Indeed with­out that condition I believe he never [Page 31] would have prevailed with his bride, for she has ever expressed the most painful reluctance at the idea of being separated from me. It was no small satisfaction to me however, to perceive the cordiality and eagerness with which Mr. Howard made this request. Partial as I have al­ways been, said he, to the abode of my youth, with how much delight must I now enjoy it, when blest with compa­nions who possess the power of converting any spot into a paradise.

He sets out for Hubert Hill to-mor­row, to give the necessary directions previous to our going down; and in the mean while all other preparations are making, that the ceremony may take place as soon as he returns. Are you not entertained with Fanny's metamor­phosis into a sedate, rustic farmer's wife, who when you knew her but three years ago was a little wild giddy girl of thir­teen. I am satisfied however she will [Page 32] conduct herself to admiration in that ca­pacity. She is possessed of a very chear­ful, contented disposition, the first bles­sing of Providence; and the reverses of fortune which the last five months have produced, by compleatly convincing her of the fallaciousness of her sanguine ex­pectations of the gay enjoyments of the world, formed in ignorance and solitude, have disposed her mind for relishing and returning to the pure pleasures of retire­ment and domestic life. In society, she has experienced only mortifications, dis­appointments, and disgusts, instead of finding it, as she had concluded, a scene of perpetual gaiety, admiration, and de­light. In lieu of universal conquest, her admirers have been transient, and her lover insincere. She has made no friends since she left France; and is therefore the more eager to cement to herself him who has proved on trial strongly and truly at­tached to her.

[Page 33]As for myself, this event is every thing I can wish. It secures me an agreeable home with those I love, and conveys me from this hateful city, which I wish from my soul I had never entered.

Mr. Howard is returned from his ex­cursion, much pleased with some little improvements he has begun; and the papers are now ready for signing. Mr. Howard, in the event of no family, leaves his wife sole heiress of all he pos­sesses: but should any children spring from this marriage, her jointure is two hundred per annum. Having no friend to consult on this occasion, all she feared was Mr. Howard's too great generosity; and as she was ashamed even to mention pecuniary matters to him, I was unwil­lingly obliged on this occasion to be her [Page 34] agent, and absolutely insisted that if her own money, should any be recovered, was settled upon her as he proposed, a deduction of equal value should be made from this stipulation. Every thing there­fore relative to settlements is finally ad­justed; and but that Fanny's timidity makes her catch at trifles to delay the aweful ceremony, things ere now would have been concluded.

Fearing Mrs. Hindon would be ex­tremely disobliged at Fanny's conduct in concealing from her this affair, I per­suaded her the other day to confess her present situation; and suggested that as that lady, from whatever motives, had received us into her family, and testified towards us a thousand civilities with great apparent hospitality and kindness, she had reason to be not a little offended at the want of confidence and cordiality this secrecy betrayed; besides common report would soon render all further con­cealment [Page 35] useless, and deprive Fanny of an opportunity of paying her the com­pliment of confidence.

She intreated me to undertake this commission for her. It was not an agree­able one; but as to Fanny it would per­haps have been still more awkward, I consented.

Good heavens! cried Mrs. Hindon, as soon as I had hinted [...]he connection which was likely soon to place my sister among the list of her relations—married to my brother! Miss Fanny to be my brother's wife! Well I declare he is extremely sly, for I could have laid a bet that you were his favorite of the two. He is a bold man however, to think of incumbering himself with a wife and fa­mily in his present circumstances. I wish them happy with all my heart; but I plainly perceive he had his own private reasons for regarding my poor nephew's proposals with so much disapprobation. [Page 36] Well, every one for themselves in this world; but I always suspect some self-interested motive at bottom when I hear such a piece of work made about senti­ment, and so many professions of disin­terested friendship; I think besides, since matters were so far advanced, that Mr. Hindon and myself might have been sooner made acquainted with a love af­fair that was going on under our own roof.

I pleaded Fanny's diffidence as an apo­logy; but my excuse was in fact ex­tremely lame, and was not easily admit­ted. Mrs. Hindon could with difficulty prevail on herself to pardon the disrespect. But this story had gone in all points so contrary to her plans and wishes, that I could forgive a little ill humour occa­sioned by chagrin, and found it not on the whole so hard to reconcile her to it as I had feared. A marriage, tho' even not of her own negociating, afforded some [Page 37] speculation for her active mind to work on; and so fond is she of being officiously busy, that she has set off to-day, accom­panied by Fanny, to assist with the ut­most cordiality and eagerness in the pur­chase of some bridal apparatus.

I had hardly laid down my pen this morning, when Mr. Roatsley was an­nounced. The sight of him, so wholly unprepared as I was for the interview, threw me into the utmost confusion, and I am certain I must have performed the first ceremonials with great awkwardness. The recollection of his late conversation with Mr. Howard, of which I had been solely the subject, and the obligations his generous conduct had laid me under, overpowered me with embarrassment. I knew not how to express my gratitude [Page 38] for a service so essential, which yet from a thousand circumstances I blushed to remember, and possessed scarce courage to touch on: added to this, the disco­very I had made since our last meeting, and the mortifications attending our re­jected application to his family, struck me so forcibly, that I was in agitation inexpressible when he entered.

He comes, thought I, at once to con­vince me how injurious were my suspi­cions of his pride and duplicity, to ex­press his regret for the ill conduct of his relations, and to shew me how dissimilar is his generous mind from that of his un­feeling mother.

So certain was I of the intention of his visit, that I even wished the explanation over, which must to him prove so em­barrassing, as it was likely so little to redound to the honor of his family, and expected every moment when the subject should be introduced. But most care­fully [Page 39] did he guard against every topic that could lead to this point; which he evidently avoided with the most sedulous precaution. Yet his manner possessed that insinuating attention, and his voice that winning softness, which seemed to imply the utmost satisfaction in my com­pany, and which bestows on his a charm, that may be felt, Sophia, alas, too a­cutely! but which cannot be delineated.

The interesting elegance of his address is indeed so uncommonly engaging, that I think it must be wholly impossible even for a stranger to behold him enter with­out pleasure, or see him depart without experiencing regret. It is not alone that he is perfectly well bred and intelligent, for from moderate parts, polished by education and knowledge of the world, this may be expected, and uncharacte­ristic of the English nation as the refine­ment of good breeding is supposed to be, I have seen, since my residence here, [Page 40] more than one person to whom I think that panegyric is justly due; but Mr. Roatsley's mind speaks in his counte­nance and in his manner, and confers on every look and on every motion that grace which a disposition compleatly amiable, and talents thoroughly well cul­tivated, cannot fail to diffuse over the appearance and behaviour.

My first flutters giving way to the re­spectful ease of his conversation, I took courage at length to mention the obliga­tion I owed him. I have been inex­pressibly desirous, said I, of an opportu­nity to return you my most grateful ac­knowledgments for the attention and trouble you have been so humane as to bestow upon an affair which has occa­sioned me more uneasiness and perplex­ity than it is possible to conceive.

I am then extremely sorry, cried he with warmth, that my presence should have induced you for an instant to recall [Page 41] a subject so painful. Let it be banished, I beseech you, for ever from your re­membrance, and along with it all ex­pressions of gratitude to which I cannot flatter myself I merit the slightest claim. Heaven knows what exertions I would make, what anxiety I would undergo, to merit the approbation of Miss Seymour; but as yet I am not so happy as to con­gratulate myself with having had it in my power to perform any service that could deserve her thanks. Let me know my dear Madam, added he, by what means I can procure a title to that happi­ness, and you shall perceive, by the avi­dity with which I shall obey your com­mands, how infinitely I should prize my good fortune in obliging you.

Does he wish me, thought I, to apply to him to interceed with Lord Belmont; or are these professions mere words of course, to which are annexed neither meaning nor intention. I was piqued [Page 42] that he adhered so determinedly to the resolutions of his relations, and only made a slight inclination of my head very gravely in return to this speech.

A degree of surprize was evident in his countenance at the stateliness of my man­ner; the cause I think he must have been with ease able to comprehend. However he chose to place it to another account; and finding that an air of chagrin invo­luntarily hung on my features——Miss Seymour, said he, after several ineffectual attempts to amuse me on different sub­jects which a slight degree of penetration sufficed to shew did not interest me—I cannot but perceive that I have been so unfortunate as to offend you; and so se­vere, so painful is this idea, that tho' my confession may at first rather encrease than diminish your displeasure, I cannot resist trusting to your candour and indul­gence by a sincere avowal of the only circumstance wherein I think it is possible [Page 43] for me to have given cause for your dis­pleasure.

Finding I made no reply, for in truth I knew not what to answer—I sincerely confess, continued be, and let, I beseech you, the severity of this confession plead in my behalf, that after having been blest with your company that happy even­ing at Dover, my ideas and expectations of the dignity of your behaviour were raised to so just an height, that they could not but suffer some abatement on witnessing what I could not but consider as an impropriety, and which I am cer­tain Miss Seymour herself would have regarded as an indelicacy. I am con­scious I ought to have judged less rashly. I know that I ought to have suspected my own eyes, rather than any indecorum in you; but I was led to do you injustice by a multiplicity of circumstances, which can hardly have given more pain to your feelings than they have conveyed to mine; [Page 44] and you may recollect, Madam, that the instant you appeared still more unac­countable, instead of plunging deeper into doubt, I penetrated into the whole mystery, and not only in my own mind fully acquitted you of the imprudence of a clandestine interview with a young man who merited only your scorn and de­testation, but also immediately perceived that though the whole was wrapt in ob­scurity, the veil was not placed over your conduct by your own hands; and I no longer hesitated to ask an explanation from Mr. Howard, since I was com­pleatly convinced all must redound to your honour.

Oh! Sir, cried I, penetrated by this speech and the eagerness with which he entered on his justification, be assured when I reflect on this painful affair, it is not only without the slightest displeasure at any part of your conduct, but with [Page 45] the utmost gratitude for the humane in­terest you testified in it.

May I then flatter myself I am forgiv­en, cried he warmly, and kissed my hand with a fervor that dyed me with Crimson.

I had just withdrawn it, when Mrs. Hindon and Fanny returned from their excursion, followed by a servant loaded with various purchases.

I introduced Mr. Roatsley to Mrs. Hindon, who appeared much delighted with the acquisition of an acquaintance of his rank and figure, and began con­versing with her accustomed volubility and avidity even before she had seated herself.

As she held a pretty large parcel in her hands, part of Fanny's paraphranalia, he politely offered to relieve her by plac­ing it on the table.

Perhaps Sir, cried she facetiously, these ladies may generously reward your [Page 46] trouble by presenting you with part of the contents.

I shall be much delighted with the honor of any gift from these ladies, re­turned he. But pray may I be allowed to ask of what nature is the donation?

Poor Fanny blushed up to the ears. Good God, Madam! cried she, with a reproachful look.

Nay, answered she, laughing immode­rately, I'm sure I shan't tell; but if Mr. Roatsley should be clever enough to guess it, you know neither of us can help that. Lord, look, look, cried she with entire disregard to Fanny's confusion, how con­scious Miss Fanny appears of the secret: and Miss Seymour, I declare she blushes too, as much as to say—but I must take care not to blab.

Roatsley smiled at our mutual confu­sion; for indeed I felt extremely for poor Fanny, and was not a little ashamed also for Mrs. Hindon's indelicate raillery.

[Page 47]If my enquiries give the ladies so much pain, said he, I am afraid I must be contented to remain in ignorance; tho' I confess my curiosity is raised to the highest pitch to discover this important secret.

Mr. Hindon just then entered; and an introduction taking place between him and Mr. Roatsley, I was in hopes Fanny would have been relieved from her per­secution. His lady, however, seemed determined such an excellent joke should not have so speedy a termination.

My dear, cried she, let us see if you can solve this riddle, which has puzzled Mr. Roatsley's brain in vain to unravel, and the bare mention of which has plunged these ladies into the most painful confusion. The secret, or rather the so­lution, is contained in that package of brown paper that lies on the table.

I shall take a very simple method of discovery, returned he, and seizing the [Page 48] parcel as Fanny was flying to secure it, he instantly cut the packthread with which it was tied, and holding it above her reach a number of favors composed of white and silver dropt on the ground.

The secret is discovered at length, ex­claimed Mrs. Hindon, laughing with great vociferation. Well I'm sure ladies you need not care much, for it is of a nature that will soon speak for itself, and I'm sure you must acknowledge I said never a word of the matter.

It is then a matrimonial one I presume, said Mr. Roatsley, with a constrained air and in a very low voice to Mrs. Hindon.

Yes, returned she, smiling expressively as if she was not at liberty to satisfy him further, though she evidently seemed impelled by a strong inclination to enter upon family transactions, equally unsoli­cited and impertinent.

Poor Fanny returned to her seat much ashamed and confused; while Mr. Hin­don [Page 49] following, laughed most indelicately in her face; and as I appeared little less embarrassed—Poor Miss Seymour! cried he half ironically, tapping me familiarly on the back, Mr. Roatsley I am certain will agree with me that your complexion requires no foreign aid, so pray don't blush so very deep:—which piece of ad­vice you may suppose was not much cal­culated to enable me to profit from it.

Mr. Roatsley finding his presence ra­ther augmented the awkwardness of Fan­ny's situation, suddenly wished us good morning and departed abruptly.

This transaction was in itself trifling, had it not shewn the family with whom we reside in a vulgar and absurd point of view; and the affair of the parcel could have excited neither curiosity nor suspi­cion, had not Mrs. Hindon bestowed an importance on it by her ill-judged rail­lery, sufficient to convince Mr. Roatsley that something "more was meant than [Page 50] met the ear." However, except in hav­ing given poor Fanny some uneasy mo­ments, it was of little consequence, as she has at length consented that Friday shall unite her with Mr. Howard; and imme­diately after the ceremony, at which on­ly Miss Parsons and this family are to be present, we set off for Hubert Hill; which being seventy five miles from town, we shall not reach till the second evening.

But tell me, my Sophia, how shall I account for Roatsley's behaviour during our tete a tete this morning? To sup­pose him entirely ignorant of an affair which must have naturally and unavoid­ably occasioned some disturbance, and no small degree of discussion in his fa­mily, is to imagine what is not only im­probable, but I own almost impossible. Have I not reason then to be displeased with the inflexible pride, (alas, it is a fa­mily failing!) which his conduct too plainly indicates: still perhaps retaining [Page 51] the embers of that trifling partiality he seemed once disposed to feel for me, yet proudly ashamed, or weakly afraid to venture on a step his family unjustly pro­hibits, he seeks my company and con­versation under the pretended veil of ig­norance. But under a pretence so shal­low, never shall he receive the shadow of my notice, never shall I countenance that person as my friend, who disdains to acknowledge he is allied to me.

Yet, my dear, how impossible is it to see Mr. Roatsley and to retain displea­sure. In vain I call offended dignity and wounded pride to the aid of my indigna­tion. He is absent, and I blame him; but when present, to preserve even a cold reserve, proves the utmost exertion of my resolution.

Miss Pierson has saved me the trou­ble of planning some little artifice to meet with her, by returning my visit this very evening in an easy way, accompanied by Miss Farnford.

My heart beat severely at their en­trance. How do circumstances, appa­rently [Page 71] the most trivial, change the face of things. Two girls, whose acquaint­ance but a few days ago, from the frivo­lous though harmless insipidity of their conversation I should rather have avoided than courted, were now become the ob­jects of my most anxious solicitude.

I was in hopes, from the eagerness with which they had before entered on the subject I now wished so much to in­troduce, that they might of themselves lead to it; and one is but too apt to con­clude others in some measure influenced by circumstances that convey interest and agitation to our own bosoms. Miss Farn­ford and her friend were struck with Roatsley's elegance, and the intelligence of a wedding, interesting to all girls, had attracted their curiosity and attention; but after the conjecture relating to jew­els, settlements, finery, &c. were ad­justed, to which such a topic generally gives birth, the idea in all probability [Page 72] occurred to them no more. I was there­fore obliged to touch on it myself in the manner I imagined least liable to suspi­cion. Fortunately the penetration of my companions was not to be dreaded, and still more fortunately Mr. and Mrs. Hin­don were engaged abroad.

In the course of conversation I men­tioned a catalogue of marriages as the news of the day; and tacked Mr. Roats­ley's to the end of my list, tho' not with­out a glow on my cheek.

O don't you remember it was I who told you of that match, said Miss Pier­son, the other night when we were here.

I will not vouch for the authenticity of half my intelligence, said I; and per­haps little more credit ought to be given to this last union than to many of the others.

Oh I ask your pardon. I assure you Mr. Roatsley's marriage is an undoubted fact. But certainly you ought to know [Page 73] all about it better than any body, for I am told that he is your cousin; tho' I be­lieve I ought to request your excuse for mentioning it, as I believe you don't wish it to be made public.

I never heard of it till the other even­ing, said I; and now that I recollect, you I believe was my authority.

And that I promise you is as good as possible: for Lady Mary Lawrence, who is aunt to Lady Elizabeth Sedley, and who has had the charge of her from her infancy, (Lady Mortonbury having died when her daughter was quite a child,) is extremely intimate with my mother, and has frequently mentioned to her this projected alliance, which she is exceed­ingly eager should take place, as the young man is a very particular favorite with her, and she designs I know to pre­sent her niece with a very valuable set of jewels on the occasion, and they are actu­ally bespoke: tho' Lady Mary told my [Page 74] mother the affair was not to be concluded till Lord Belmont's return from abroad, (who has been the chief promoter of the match,) and his Lordship is not expected till autumn; therefore the marriage is not publicly talked of by the relations on either side, but all the world knows of it for all that.

My doom is then fixed, said I to my­self. My authority is undoubted, and all delusion at an end. Let me not sink however with unpardonable weakness under the blow. Let me resist this over­whelming regret with all my fortitude. Had it not been from the foible of a too susceptible heart, all efforts had been on this account unnecessary. Let me there­fore atone to my own mind by the most rigorous exertions for the error I have committed, and let a name so fatal, so interesting, be mentioned in my journal no more.

These reflections, which in an instant [Page 75] passed through my mind, bestowed a mo­mentary enthusiasm that enabled me to talk with a composure on the subject for which I applauded myself not a little.

I make no doubt but Lady Elizabeth will be extremely happy, said I, for Mr. Roatsley really seems to be an agreeable man.

Oh! extremely clever and agreeable certainly, cried Miss Farnford, (who had been examining some work with Fanny above stairs, but who just then returned,) and the handsomest creature I ever be­held. But I think if he is actually go­ing to be married the lady has reason to be not a little jealous, for if ever I disco­vered a man to be in love in my life, Mr. Roatsley is deeply so with Miss Seymour.

I blushed excessively, but attempted to laugh it off.

Nay you need not blush so violently, cried Miss Pierson, for Miss Farnford [Page 76] did not accuse you of being in love with him. I give you my word however I made the same observation. During supper his eyes were never from you; and when you sung, (and really you sung di­vinely,) I never beheld a countenance ex­press admiration and delight as his did. He seemed to feel every note.

My confusion was inexpressible. Con­scious guilt made me extremely appre­hensive lest it should excite the notice and raillery of my two gay companions; and Fanny, instead of endeavouring to relieve me from my embarrassment, had the roguery to plunge me still deeper in­to difficulties. If music be the food of love, cried she, Mr. Roatsley was proba­bly dreaming of his intended during the song, and of course might be more feel­ingly disposed to relish its pathetic charms than if he had been in the same comfortable state of indifference with the performer. This she uttered with a most [Page 77] malicious smile; but fortunately the la­dies were in haste to pay other visits, and left us soon after.

Adieu, my dear Sophia. I shall not write again till the marriage is concluded.

This morning being a clear frost, we walked out for an hour and an half. The country around could not be seen to advantage, where every object was co­vered [...]ith snow; yet it appeared beau­tiful. The house is situated in the most romantic spot I ever beheld; fronting the south west, on the gentle slope of a hill which rises by a very gradual assent. A noble river, the banks of which are shaded with very fine old trees, runs be­low, [Page 80] within sight of the windows; and the eminence behind, on which there is a thriving plantation, gives the little mansion a very snug appearance. The garden is an excellent one, and well stored with common fruit trees of the best kinds, that amply compensate for the want of those luxurious ones to be obtained only through the expensive aid of a hot house. The pleasure ground, tho' of small extent, is laid out with ad­mirable taste, and the little inclosures kept in such good order, that I think in summer Hubert Hill must be the most delightful spot in the world.

I am surprized Mr. Howard spoke so faintly in its praise. But no doubt he wished to surprize us in favor of our fu­ture residence. It is on a very small scale indeed, and partakes more of an ornamented farm than a country feat; but I think the worthy owner has reason to be not a little vain of the improvements [Page 81] he has himself effected since it came into his possession by the death of his father; an event that took place only a few years previous to his acquaintance with our family.

From the period of his succession to Hubert Hill till that of his leaving Eng­land, an amiable sister, who died of a consumption at the age of twenty-nine, presided at the head of his table; and it is to her taste and regularity that Fanny owes the comfortable and neat elegance of various conveniences not to be expec­ted in the house of a bachelor.

Nothing but continual rain or snow, and no possibility of stirring out of doors. We endeavour, however, to make our­selves the more comfortable within; Fanny, who makes all the bustle of a [Page 82] young mistress of a family vain of the importance of her new charge, finds con­tinual amusement and employment in directing all her little houshold matters, for which she really seems to possess a talent, tho' I sometimes alledge that her orders are calculated rather to confuse than adjust. Being displeased with the furniture of her drawing room, which is a little antique, we have set about a se­rious piece of work in order to fit it up with elegance. We have begun to work chairs and hangings in imitation of na­tural flowers; which, as there is scope given both for taste and ingenuity, is an agreeable occupation. You know this sort of work is a convent accomplish­ment; by which means Fanny and I are adepts in it. I have likewise undertaken to cover the walls of the little chearful parlour with landscapes, for which many delightful scenes even from its windows furnish ample subject; so that we are [Page 83] provided with abundant employment for at least a twelvemonth to come. Mr. Howard, who has a well chosen collec­tion of the works of the best authors, both French and English, generally reads to us while we sit at work. The even­ings we divide with a little music, and our favourite chess, so that they never ap­pear too long, and our life on the whole glides along in a tenor so smooth, ratio­nal and placid, that I hope in a short time to enjoy it with perfect relish. Even at present I am conscious I could no where be more happy.

This evening I received a letter from Mrs. Hindon. Oh Sophia into what agita­tion has it not thrown me. Read, my dear, what that officious woman writes.

[Page 91] Oh! Sophia! what were my emotions on reading this letter! No words can speak my feelings. Though penetrated with the exertions of my amiable cousin in my favour, how severely was I morti­fied, how deeply wounded, to find my­self the object of his compassion—of his generosity—of his pecuniary assistance. Oh! how did all the pride of my heart rise at the humiliating idea.

Why did Mrs. Hindon presume to in­terfere, without my knowledge or con­sent, in an affair for which she possesses the requisites neither of judgment nor delicacy. Proud as she appears of her success, I shall for ever regret the busy officiousness which dictated a step so dreadful to me to think of. Yet I fear I am unjust. The poor woman had cer­tainly no apparent aim but my advantage in this unlucky transaction, and perhaps prejudice alone induces me to suspect it the mere effects of her intermedling dis­position, [Page 92] which derives its highest grati­fication from prying into the concerns of others, and is delighted to find occupa­tion for its restless and frivolous activity.

The letter, at the first reading, threw me into agonies. I perceived only the mortifying point of view in which Mrs. Hindon had represented me to Roatsley, and that reflection poisoned and wholly embittered the satisfaction which the no­tion of his anxiety and interest might otherwise have excited. To paint in co­lours the most pitiable and moving, so as to raise his pity and sympathy, the si­tuation to which we might have been reduced?—good heavens! can she ima­gine this a circumstance from which I could derive satisfaction? Her repre­sentation too was by no means just, and had not even the merit of truth to re­commend it: for tho' at present I am constrained to depend upon the limited income of my brother in law, Mr. How­ard [Page 93] expects that a very few weeks will in all human probability see Mr. Benseley's affairs adjusted, and two thousand pounds at least retrieved, for his wife's share and mine, out of the wreck of our for­tune. From the interest of my patri­mony, slender as it is, in this retired abode I am certain I shall have not only all my necessary wants supplied, but pos­sess the ability of making such little use­ful presents to my sister, as shall secure to me my independency in my own eyes. But this is a notion which to Mrs. Hin­don must appear the mere fiction of a romantic brain. Born an heiress, and accustomed to derive that vain impor­tance on which her heart is fixed from the possession of wealth and an ostenta­tious display of grandeur, she regards opulence as the first of human blessings and its deprivation as the harbinger of the most acute misery.

Of the pension I heard with unfeigned [Page 94] regret. Shocked at the circumstances which had given birth to the acquisition, I felt it as a painful weight which de­pressed my mind, and from which to be free I would have given the world had I possessed it. But having communicated the letter to Mr. Howard, he represented it to me in ajuster point of view; tho' in reading it to himself I observed that he blushed indignant at the unfeeling hints with which the epistle is interspersed.

I ought to consider, he said, that the obligation of soliciting this annuity was inferior to the claims, which in my pre­sent situation justice alone, independent of humanity, gave me upon my relations; and that as an acquittal of the great debt owing me from their kindness and atten­tion, this salary had doubtless been pro­cured, which was evidently designed to extinguish all future expectations.

As Mr. Howard perceived however that I was vexed and ashamed, and as [Page 95] yet undetermined how to act, delicacy made him forbear any other advice on the subject than merely that which I had at first solicited and which naturally re­sulted from reading the letter; and as my happiness and advantage were the sole ideas that dictated his sentiments, he thought these acquirements would not readily be the production of a measure which even in prospect gave birth to such uneasiness. He therefore concluded, with a feeling peculiar to his disposition, it must be confessed that our good sister's notions of affluence are not the most ro­mantic in the world; therefore while she thought she possessed the power of pro­curing you what she herself esteems the chief good in life, and which no doubt bestows many valuable and rational gra­tifications, she scrupled not by what means the advantage was gained, tho' a little more delicacy exerted in the trans­action had probably given it a very diffe­rent [Page 96] aspect to what it now wears. How­ever she meant all for the best, tho' it cannot be denied that to talk to her of ease, comfort, and compleat indepen­dence on forty or fifty pounds a year, is to present different shades of colour be­fore eyes whose organs have been from infancy impaired. Indeed the happy disposition that gives existence to such sentiments, is beyond, infinitely beyond the reach of adverse fortune; and is in itself a blessing which no worldly acqui­sitions can confer.

By praise so delicate, Mr. Howard la­boured to convince me, that however I should determine, his opinion should fol­low mine; and that if my resolution was to give way to pique, and to reject this seeming compromise with my family, he on his part should rather applaud than blame the spirit that induced me to refuse a favor, which, however otherwise advantageous, overwhelmed me with [Page 97] mortification. Yet it was not difficult to discern, that he might be apt to consi­der my rejection as an absurdity to which false delicacy and offended pride alone gave rise; and when on the other hand I coolly reflected that my finances were by no means ascertained, that it was not quite impossible amidst the chapter of ac­cidents from which they had already suf­fered severely but that I might really one day become dependent on the worthy Mr. Howard and my sister, a situation I could indeed but ill brook, I resolved to conquer my reluctance and yield to ne­cessity; tho' my heart rose against my judgment, and had I been alone I should have indulged in tears, which indeed were not wholly restrained even in Mr. Howard's presence, at sight of the bill.

Oh! Sophia! what steps were to be taken here, in this most cruel of all cir­cumstances? —To return it instantly without doubt. But how conceal from [Page 98] the generous donor that I was acquainted from whence it came. Since Mrs. Hin­don could not retain his secret, tho' so powerfully urged and intreated, how could I possibly flatter myself that she would pay greater regard to mine. I had no path to pursue that had not been attempted by him without success; how­ever on some plan I was obliged suddenly to determine. I therefore sat down to my bureau without loss of time to answer her letter.

I thanked her in terms warmer than were my feelings, tho' I fear my coldness will surprize her, for the interest and trouble she has taken in this business; but re-enclosed the bill, which I besought her to return to the right owner, informing him that even as her gift, I could not possibly prevail with myself to accept of it.

I have asked the favor of Mr. Howard to thank Mr. Roatsley by letter in his [Page 99] sister's name for the interest he has taken in her concerns. I think I can do no less. An obligation may wound a proud spirit, but the testimonial of a proper gratitude cannot hurt an ingenuous one.

There is one circumstance, material and interesting, in Mrs. Hindon's letter, on which I have not yet touched, but which I conjecture will not pass unnoticed even by you, and as for me, it has em­ployed my thoughts day and night ever since it reached me: Roatsley, she tells me, appears to have been kept hitherto in utter ignorance with regard to our un­lucky transactions with his mother, and to be wholly unacquainted with the rejected application to our grandfather. Though how particulars of such importance in the family should have been concealed from his knowledge it is impossible to conjec­ture. There is indeed a mystery in this affair which Mr. Howard, Fanny, and myself, attempt in vain to unravel. Is [Page 100] it too fanciful to imagine that Lady Lin­rose, fearing the known generosity of her amiable son's disposition might lead him to act against the wishes of Lord Bel­mont, may have determined on keeping him wholly in ignorance. I am bewil­dered in a variety of imaginary opinions, and not a little secretly delighted at find­ing myself enabled to exculpate him from those charges of pride and duplicity, which in spite of a too insinuating parti­ality, have sometimes painfully recurred to my mind.

Can it be, my Sophia! that Roatsley has been so long ignorant, and what is equally astonishing and unaccountable, has been informed from the lips of Mrs. Hindon only, that we are so nearly allied by the ties of blood? Yet what are these ties? how weak, how insufficient alone either to produce friendship or to excite esteem or admiration! The connection is indeed productive of satisfaction, [Page 101] merely from the idea that it is a founda­tion for intercourse and a pretext for in­timacy. I think however, even in com­mon politeness, he ought to have ap­peared less dejected than he did upon the discovery. His silence and embarrass­ment during our last interview evidently confess what little satisfaction he derived from the information.

I have been reading Mrs. Hindon's letter once more; and tho' shock'd at the indelicacy too visibly expressed in almost every line, now that I am cool there are some passages in it which do not wholly displease me. How feeling, how consi­derate, how noble, has been Roatsley's conduct. His heart is indeed open to every call of distress, and to every senti­ment of compassion. How amiable is his delicacy compared to that of his part­ner in the generous transaction. It pains me not, nay I should be gratified, to re­ceive an obligation from my cousin, dis­tinct [Page 102] from the sordid and humiliating consideration of money matters. The anxiety and trouble therefore which were exerted on this occasion, dilate my heart and animate my gratitude. I am alone hurt that the representations of my offi­cious agent were dictated with so little judgment as to excite his pity, and so little refinement as to mortify my feel­ings. To this was owing the distressing and unsuccessful attempt to wound me still more severely by pecuniary favours.

I have received a letter from Miss Par­sons, who promised at parting some­times to let me hear from her. She tells us that she is now most agreeably settled in that line, for which she regarded her­self as best qualified to earn her own in­dependent subsistence, and that she is to quit Mrs. Hindon's in a few days, who has been much displeased with the ingra­titude of her conduct towards so kind a [Page 103] relation: these are the good lady's own words.

The lady with whom she was in terms, held her determination suspended as I told you, on account of some point on which Miss Parsons did not answer her wishes; but on that deserving young woman's offering her services in person, she was so much pleased with her ap­pearance, as to wave all deficiencies, and closed immediately with her terms. Pray who do you imagine this lady has turned out to be? no other than Lady Linrose herself: and Miss Parsons at this moment actually makes one of her family.

After a tedious suspense of ten days, Lady Aubrey's fever, thank Heaven, be­gins to give way to medicine. Doctor Harding this day pronounces his patient in a fair way of recovery. Her recollec­tion is perfectly restored, the violence of her fever is abated, and she is now sensi­ble of her aunt's attendance, who leaves not her chamber either day or night, having a small field bed placed in the room, wherein she has taken what little [Page 123] repose the perturbation and anxiety of her spirits allowed.

This interval has been a period of real anguish to me. All the horrors of my father's sufferings and misfortunes, this wonderful and unexpected incident has renewed in my mind with augmented poignancy; and that gloomy impression which the soothing hand of time, the ha­bit of frequent reflexion, and the consider­ation of his transition, I trust, to a hap­pier world, had in some measure effaced, this accidental meeting has restored with redoubled violence, attended if possi­ble with encreased depression.

Mr. Howard and Fanny having insist­ed on my relinquishing an attendance which the presence of Lady Meredith rendered unnecessary, and which, igno­rant of the secret and singular the that binds my heart to that of the unfortunate Lady Aubrey might be deemed officious by her aunt, I have strictly forborn ever [Page 124] since her arrival to enter the apartment; and so powerfully has my sensibility strengthened by this forbearance, that had my assistance been required I scarce think I could have summoned resolution sufficient for encountering the hazard of again hearing my father's name pro­nounced in the heart rending accents of the mournful invalid. Even now, that her reason and recollection, through the mercy of Heaven, are restored, I look forward with inexpressible apprehension to the idea of once more meeting her eyes. The pang this interview must occasion to her bosom, the pain with which it must overwhelm mine even in anticipation, agitates me beyond expression.

Lady Aubrey is much better. She now merely retains that languor and de­pression [Page 125] which indisposition, independent of dejection, invariably leaves behind as a memento of its power.

Lady Meredith, who is a most amia­ble and agreeable woman, now happily delivered from the painful anxiety that oppressed her, gives us at times, when she can be spared from her attendance on her niece, a good deal of her com­pany, and expresses in the warmest terms her gratitude for our attention to Lady Aubrey.

As yet Lady Aubrey, who is now able to sit up, or rather to recline on the so­pha for some hours every day, has ex­pressed no desire for an interview with either my sister or myself, and the longer this meeting is delayed the more for­midable it appears. It is but too pro­bable, [Page 126] indeed, that she views it with equal apprehension, and willingly lays hold of the pretence of indisposition to defer a conference which must be pro­ductive of so much pain and embarrass­ment to all parties.

I think it not unlikely, that perceiving the obscurity that is thrown over our si­tuation, the borrowed name we have as­sumed, the retirement in which we live, and the total alienation which has taken place between us and my uncle's family, she may be led to conclude our real rank in life a secret even to ourselves, or at least may be induced to suspect that the circumstances of our birth are but partially known to us; those particulars especially in which she herself is imme­diately concerned, she may naturally conjecture the least liable of any to have reached our ears. In this case, as all explanation upon our meeting is out of the question, part of the awkwardness of [Page 127] the scene will be avoided, and I am la­bouring to think of it with a composure that shall enable me, when it takes place, to behave with the calm indifference of an unconcerned person.

Last night Lady Meredith delivered to us a message from Lady Aubrey, in­timating that her Ladyship had been for some days past beyond measure anxi­ous to return us personally her grateful acknowledgments for that benevolent hospitality to which she had been so infinitely indebted; but that the weak state of her nerves rendering her liable to be seized with agitation, and discom­posed by the most trifling occurrences, Lady Meredith had persuaded her into compliance with the injunctions of her physicians, which were on no account [Page 128] to hazard any risk of being disordered or disturbed in her present feeble condition; finding herself now, however, much re­cruited both in strength and spirits, she hoped in a day or two to be well enough to ask the favour of a visit from us in her dressing room, and in the mean while recommended herself, with many kind and polite expressions, to our good wishes.

This formidable interview is at last over. Oh! Sophia! I did not imagine it more formidable than it proved.

This morning Lady Meredith came down to the parlour, for she seldom gra­tifies us with her company till dinner, and requested, in Lady Aubrey's name, the favour of my sister's company and mine above stairs. My heart beat vio­lently [Page 129] at this message. I felt myself change colour; and involuntarily sat down on the first chair so evidently dis­composed, that Lady Meredith concluded I was ill, and said with much kindness, 'tis fortunate, my dear Miss Seymour, that I would not be prevailed with to accept of your most obliging offer of sharing my fatigue and attendance upon my niece, for I should have undoubtedly suspected that you had suffered for your humanity. I am certain you are indis­posed. Pray allow me to feel your pulse; for you must know I am reckoned an able physician by the poor people around our seat in the country. You are feverish I am convinced, and must nurse yourself for a day or two.

I assured her I was perfectly well; but she would not give immediate credit to my assertion, and entreated my sister to prevail with me to allow of the physician's attendance. Finding however that we [Page 130] both made light of the proposal, she left us to prepare her niece for our appear­ance, who was so feeble and exhausted, that a trifle she said discomposed her spirits, and threw her into a tremor.

Alas! Sophia, this interview, though a circumstance of no moment in the eyes of Lady Meredith, was by no means a trifle to the unfortunate Lady Aubrey; and so wholly did the prospect of it over­power her feelings, that her aunt re­turned to us in a few minutes with an apology and request that we would be so kind as to defer our visit till the even­ing, as she found herself languid and oppressed, and meant to lie down for an hour or two.

I felt relieved by this short respite; and in the mean while endeavoured to prepare myself for the approaching pe­riod with a composure that might wholly confute any suspicions she might enter­tain of my being conscious of the inte­resting [Page 131] and melancholy events that form a connexion so singular between us. As for my sister, her emotions, naturally less uncontroulable, at least after the first moments of agitation, I was under no apprehension that she would betray herself; and by preserving if possible an air of serenity myself, I hoped to render this meeting less affecting to Lady Au­brey, who by that means would be spared the painful reflections which our mutual perturbation might otherwise occasion.

In the evening, Lady Meredith re­turned again into the parlour. I am come once more, said she, to ask the favour of your company in Lady Au­brey's dressing room. She is by no means well to-day; and I am so apprehensive of a relapse, that I would have persuaded her to defer your visit till to-morrow, and go to rest early; but her heart is so bent upon the pleasure of seeing you, that I fear opposition would prove more [Page 132] hurtful than the flutter of spirits which the sight of a new face in the present weak state of her nerves may occasion. I however shall remain below, and enjoy a tete a tete with Mr. Howard, that we may not prove too many at once for her.

We accordingly went up stairs. The dressing room windows had been dark­ened with blinds, under pretence that the light was offensive, but doubtless with the intention of concealing an emo­tion for which the inadequate allegation of debilitude and recent indisposition only could be given. Lovely even in sickness, she reclined on a sopha; from which, the moment we appeared, she made a feeble attempt to rise; but find­ing herself incapable of effecting it, she fell back in evident discomposure, and holding out a hand to each, burst into tears.

All my resolution forsook me at that moment. Beholding her the victim of [Page 133] those calamities which had wholly embit­tered the declining days of my father— calamities which she still lived to de­plore, and evidently felt at that instant with all the agony of recent and bitter disappointment, my heart melted with sympathetic sorrow, and forgetting the composure I had laboured to obtain, I pressed her offered hand to my lips with an enthusiastic fervour which told as plainly as words could have done that I partook in the griefs that oppressed her disconsolate bosom. This language was indeed too expressive not to be instantly comprehended, for raising herself by a sudden effort, she clasped me in her arms, and supporting her head on my shoulder, sobbed aloud..

Terrified at the violence of her emo­tions, I would have broke from her to have called Lady Meredith; but redou­bling her caresses, do not leave me, cried she the moment she could articulate— [Page 134] tears are habitual to me, and those I shed at this moment are produced by sensations which have not often, alas! found entrance into my heart. Let not this agitation frighten you, added she. It's vehemence will in time abate. The Almighty, I trust, sends you to me for my consolation and support. She was unable to proceed; but disengaging her­self from my embraces, she stretched out her arms to Fanny, who flew into them drowned in tears.

For heavens sake, dearest Madam, cried she, for I was unable to speak, endeavour to compose yourself; for your own sake and for ours try to be calm. Many, many days of happiness are yet I hope in store for us all. Your friend­ship and affection is alone able to consti­tute our felicity; and it will be the de­light of our lives if you will honour us so far as to flatter us with the hopes of being enabled, from the solicitude of the [Page 135] tenderest regard and most filial affection, in some slight degree to contribute to your's.

Alarmed for the consequences of this scene, and afraid lest the frankness of Fanny's disposition should lead her in the height of her emotions to touch on par­ticulars much too delicate for the present moment, I ran to the door to call Lady Meredith, whose presence I imagined would put a period to a conversation that was about to become much too interesting to all parties, and which in the precarious state of Lady Aubrey's health might prove exceedingly hurtful to a frame so infinitely delicate; but perceiving my intention, she entreated me to sit down by her, and having swal­lowed some drops in water, she became somewhat more composed.

I trust in heaven, said she, again tak­ing my hand and obliging Fanny to seat herself upon the sopha, that there are [Page 136] days of returning peace yet in store for me, since the Almighty has been pleased in his gracious providence to vouchsafe me, by means so unexpected and extra­ordinary, the gratification of that eager wish, in which has been centered all my hopes and expectations of satisfaction on this side the grave; for know, my ami­able young friends, continued she in ac­cents interrupted by tears, that you have been ever since—(her voice failed her,) ever since my return to England, the subject of my thoughts—of my very dreams—and the unceasing source of my anxious but ineffectual pursuit. Poor Mr. Benseley! He was the firm and un­alterable friend of both. His steady and inflexible attachment no circumstances could change, no reverses could shake, while he remained convinced, continued she clasping her hands together with an energy the most affecting, that there still lay concealed within the secret recess of [Page 137] the heart, a hidden and obscured, yet fervent sentiment of virtue, which called for the soothing hand of friendship to guard it from distraction and despair.

You will not wonder, Sophia, that the conclusion of this speech, by over­whelming me with the complicated sen­sations of astonishment, admiration, sor­row, and delight, should wholly over­power my feelings. Utterance was de­nied me: yet words, had I been able to command them, could have but feebly expressed the tumult of contending emo­tions that agitated my bosom. Throw­ing myself on my knees before the in­jured Lady Aubrey, I dissolved into tears; and while I kissed her hand and pressed it to my heart, my looks and my distress told her how much I venerated and admired her. Oh, Sophia! had you beheld the lovely unfortunate at that moment, you must have adored her.

[Page 138]She embraced me with the tenderest emotion; and I then reiterated my in­treaties that she would allow us to leave her. But while she detained me feebly by the hand, she requested Fanny to re­move the blinds, which now almost wholly obscured the declining rays of the evening, and fixing her eyes stea­dily for an instant on my face, tears again began to flow, and sighing with an expression the most mournful, she bade us good night. You may conclude that my sister and I could not speedily recover the appearance of composure. Yet af­fecting as this interview had proved, a mixture of somewhat soothing and con­solatory has insinuated itself amidst the bitterness of more poignant sensations. By a wonderful interposition of Provi­dence, we had been introduced to the knowledge of one of the most amiable of her sex, who not only felt inclined to accord us her friendship and affection, [Page 139] but who was already our friend, who re­turned with fervor the warm attachment our hearts had imbibed almost the first moment that she was presented to our view, and the bitter recollection of whose past calamities our assiduous attention might prove the fortunate means of soothing into tranquillity. These reflec­tions were of the most pleasing nature, and grateful to our hearts; yet were they but ill calculated for wiping the tears from our eyes: on the contrary, by melting every sensation into tenderness we were almost exhausted with weeping, when Mr. Howard came to seek us in my dressing room, where we had taken refuge in hopes of acquiring that com­posure which our tete a tete had ba­nished still further than ever from our minds.

He kissed a hand of each, and telling us that supper waited, and that Lady Meredith was already in the parlour, we [Page 140] tried to assumed smiling faces, and defer­ring any account of our affecting inter­view till a more convenient opportunity, accompanied him down stairs.

On our entrance, and during supper, Lady Meredith's countenance betrayed an expression of grave reserve so different from the frank and open familiarity of manner which since the relief of her anxiety had seemed the characteristic of her mind, that I instantly perceived she had been but recently informed of par­ticulars, which probably the agitation of Lady Aubrey's spirits had discovered to her only an hour or two before. Painful as it was both to witness this change and to suspect the cause, I made large allow­ances for the prejudice which induced her to regard us with repugnance. That Lady Meredith should behold with dis­gust, the offspring of him whose name in all probability she merely knew as the source of misery to her beloved niece, [Page 141] and with whose subsequent agonies of re­morse she may be wholly ignorant, is not surprising, when such considerations have had power to outweigh in the scale of paternal affection every motive of huma­nity, compassion, and even duty. Yes, Sophia, even duty: for rigid as Lord Belmont's sense of integrity is reported to be, in regard to us, a mistaken notion of honour sways his conduct. It is for minds like the angelic Lady Aubrey's only to prove superior to such sentiments, to wave personal injuries, to discard pri­vate resentment, and to forget her own feelings and sufferings in her pity and affection for the penitent author of her calamities.

As Mr. Howard during supper had conversed on indifferent subjects, and Lady Meredith with an air of unusual ceremony seemed determined to follow his lead, the mortifying coldness of her manner deterred me from finding cou­rage [Page 142] to ask how Lady Aubrey found her­self, and indeed I dreaded trusting my voice with the enquiry. However when the servants had retired, Mr. Howard saved me the trouble.

My niece tells me she is no worse, an­swered she coldly; but she is extremely low spirited; and the slightest agitation in her present weak condition may be fatal to a frame so exhausted as her's. I own I am under great uneasiness about her: the apprehension of a relapse terri­fies me.

A relapse! cried I in a tone which betrayed my emotion, heaven forbid! or we shall never forgive ourselves; and leaning my head upon my hand, I found myself unable longer to preserve the ap­pearance of the tranquillity I had endea­voured to assume.

Mr. Howard made me swallow a se­cond glass of Madeira; and Lady Mere­dith seemed so affected with my tears, [Page 143] that pressing my hand with even more than her accustomed kindness, all cold­ness, prejudice, and reserve, seemed in­stantly to give way to the kindest sym­pathy and most soothing compassion. Compose yourself, my dear Miss Sey­mour, cried she; my apprehensions have been always accused of greatly magnify­ing every impending danger. It is ap­prehension only, thank God, that leads me to speak in a tone of such despon­dency. Lady Aubrey assures me, that far from being hurt by the late inter­view, it has soothed and gratified her heart; and even had the violence of her feelings, naturally acute, exhausted her a little for the present, from the kin­dred sensibility of your sympathetic hearts, I foresee in future infinite satisfaction and consolation to my unfortunate niece in the unexpected happiness of your friend­ship and society.

The subject was too delicate to admit [Page 144] of more, and soon after we separated for the night.

This morning, when we met at break­fast, Lady Meredith paid us her compli­ments with much kindness, and the ap­pearance of revived spirits. Her niece, she said, her beloved niece, (for she sel­dom mentions her without some epithet expressive of affection) had enjoyed an excellent night's rest, and found herself much refreshed, so I hope in God, Miss Seymour, all our fears were wholly ground­less.

On her Ladyship's leaving us imme­diately after breakfast, Mr. Howard in­formed us that he had had a long walk with her in the morning, for she is an early riser, and that it had been produc­tive of a very interesting conversation; in the course of which he had picked up some particulars relative to Lady Aubrey that he was certain we must be eager to learn.

[Page 145]Lady Meredith, he said, had entirely contradicted the report, so universally cir­culated and so generally credited, of La­dy Aubrey's insanity. A fever of the most alarming nature had indeed attacked her brain, and held her life for many weeks suspended; but this was the natu­ral consequence of her misfortunes. Re­turning reason had been the immediate follower of recruited health: and tho' the most mournful depression had wholly banished tranquillity and peace from her bosom, religion the most devout, and re­signation the most humble and sincere, had supported her in the height of mi­sery, and had preserved her from the baneful effects of distraction and despair.

When her ill fated marriage took place, she had been but a few weeks in England. She had spent her life abroad, where Lord Embdon had acted at the Court of Turin in a public capacity. She had hitherto enjoyed little personal inter­course [Page 146] with her numerous relations, and was particularly attached to none of them. Her native country, endeared to her neither by the force of private friendship nor by the insinuating remembrance of early prepossession, it was the inevitable and natural effects of her misfortunes to be disgusted with it, and her departure was a step which delicacy, pride, and af­fliction, all conspired to dictate.

The death of Lord Embdon, which happened at this juncture, (a stroke which it is to be hoped his weakly consti­tution rather than his child's calamities had inflicted,) involved the unfortunate daughter in accumulated distress. Thank heaven he died of a complaint wherein the spirits are not supposed by medical people to influence the disorder. He had been for many years afflicted with the stone; and refusing to submit to an ope­ration, fell a sacrifice to that painful dis­ease.

[Page 147]This event, while it dissolved her only remaining tie to England, left her wholly at liberty to pursue her intended scheme of future seclusion. Her grandfather, the old Earl of Aubrey, indeed still sur­vived, and beheld the ruined peace of his family with the weeping eye of a pa­rent. He entreated his grand daughter, the heiress of his possessions, not to desert him in his old age; but as she well knew that an hereditary regard for the succes­sor of his name and titles alone dictated this request, and that wholly governed by a woman who had lived with him for years, his heart but feebly retained the impressions of natural affection, her sense of duty did not interfere with the prose­cution of her intentions.

She therefore bade adieu to England; and having for a short time boarded her­self and attendants in the quiet retire­ment of a monastry, she from thence en­quired after an obscure but elegant re­treat, [Page 148] which an early and tender friend­ship for it's deceased possessor had en­deared to her remembrance; and having purchased it from the present owner, she retired thither with the design of seclud­ing herself for ever from the world.

When this resolution was formed, Miss Marsdon was but eighteen, and possessed in the full glow of radience those charms which dejection, disappointment, and in­disposition, for fifteen years more, have scarce been able to impair. Her days, bounded by distress, the dreary prospect admitted no ray of reviving consolation except what resulted from the socety of one dear and maternal friend, who hav­ing been lately deprived of the husband of her heart, and never having been blessed with offspring, flew to indulge with her favorite young friend the un­bounded luxury of sorrow.

Madame de St. Hillaire, for some time combated not the intended seclusion [Page 149] of her amiable friend. But the violence of her own distress yielding to resignation and composure, she became conscious that tho' grief is seldom abated by reasoning the most convincing and judicious, time will infallibly lessen, and variety in some measure divert, it's bitterness. Her feel­ings, tho' poignant, were soothing and enthusiastic: tears unceasingly fell from her eyes; but they were tears of relief. Some pleasing recollection, some scene, interesting and endearing, often made them flow, and the luxuriant reveries of past delight in a great measure soothed the present sad reverse.

Far otherwise was the source of the bitter anguish of her friend. The re­membrance of past affection carried a sting which made her in horror fly from the thought; and the idea that the man she had loved and had lost was torn from her arms by the common stroke of death, supported not her feeling mind in the [Page 150] height of languor and depression: all was misery unmitigated: the past was hor­ror, and the future presented only unde­served mortification and perpetual regret.

In solitude and obscurity were centered the only ideas of dejected tranquillity that could find entrance into the bosom of the fair mourner: a bosom of acute sensibi­lity, chilled by the cold hand of disap­pointment: but her anxious friend, re­flecting on her youth and amiable dispo­sition, hoped that after time had been given for meliorating her sorrows into peaceful resignation, a temper so calcu­lated for the active duties of benevolence would not remain unsubdued by the heartfelt gratifications which that noble principle affords, and foresaw that it would not prove impossible to prevail with her to relax in her present system.

Time justified the predictions of this valuable friend. By degrees, at her earnest entreaties, a select acquaintance [Page 151] was admitted; and altho' through the whole of Lady Aubrey's residence a­broad, till the present moment, a weight of melancholy impaired her health and clouded her spirits, religion and princi­ple co-operating with the continual ef­forts of Madame de St. Hillaire, greatly softened the first anguish of her suffer­ings; and while she remained incapable of participating in the gaieties of life, its rational comforts were restored to her re­lish. Her society, tho' limited, was ele­gant, and judiciously chosen; and her solitary residence at length began to wear the aspect of a peaceful retirement, which the sad stroke of Madame de St. Hil­laire's death, added to the dying request of her grandfather, would probably alone have prevailed with Lady Aubrey ever to have quitted.

Lord Aubrey, sinding the infirmities of age overtake him with a hasty pace, the beginning of this year sent an earnest [Page 152] intreaty to his grand daughter to grant him the satisfaction of beholding once more the last and only supporter of his family and dignities. She hesitated not to obey, however painfully her return to England must awaken every source of anguish, and arrived in London about the end of January, just in time to re­ceive his last injunctions, the old Lord having survived this affecting meeting only a few days.

Lady Aubrey now found herself pos­sessed of the accumulated wealth of a long line of noble and opulent ancestry. Independent of those estates which from entail were annexed to the title, her grandfather had left her considerable pro­perty; and he requested that a due re­gard to an ancient and honourable fa­mily, of which she was the head and or­nament, might prevail with her to spend her days in the old family castle; where her predecessors had lived time immemo­rial, [Page 153] adored by their vassals, respected by their friends, and the pride and blessing of the country around.

In addition to these particulars, Lady Meredith mentioned to Mr. Howard, that though from several circumstances which on recollection strike her remem­brance, she conjectures her amiable niece wished her to be made acquainted with the singular event of her rencontre with this famiy, never could she summon cou­rage and calmness sufficient for entering on the painful subject till yesterday evening, when the violence of her emotions ren­dering her aunt at once suspicious and inquisitive, drew the formidable secret from her bosom.

Tho' tenderly attached to my niece, said Lady Meredith, the only surviving child of a deceased sister whom I almost idolized, I have not had the happiness, till her late return from abroad, of en­joying much of her company. She has [Page 154] spent great part of her life on the conti­nent, where it was only in my power to visit her once for a few months; and it is only of late, that strict intimacy and affection have taken place which always indeed subsisted, but in a less powerful degree, between us. Length of absence, and difference of years, have however precluded that unreserved confidence, which, except at the open and undisguised period of early youth, is not easily be­stowed. Aware of the quick sensibility of Lady Aubrey's feelings, I forbore to probe wounds scarce closed, and care­fully avoided every subject likely to re­call the past to her mind: till last night, when the emotion in which I found her paved the way for a communication as unexpected as extraordinary. Lady Au­brey confessed that accident had intro­duced to her knowledge a family, to meet with whom had been her most earnest wish, tho' from a variety of circumstan­ces [Page 155] she had for ever despaired of enjoying that satisfaction; and that altho' a com­plication of agitating sensations had wholly overpowered her at the first meet­ing, and rendered her so apprehensive of a second as to delay it till returning health and strength might enable her to support the feelings which she knew it must occasion, the inherent satisfaction resulting from the event she was convin­ced would be of infinite benefit both to her health and tranquillity in future.

It was not difficult, continued Lady Meredith, to divine who this family must be: and what I have seen of every individual in it, persuades me that Lady Aubrey will not find herself deceived in this flattering expectation.

Mr. Howard had just concluded this interesting narrative, when Lady Mere­dith entering the parlour, told us that Lady Aubrey requested our company; and that while we attended her Ladyship [Page 156] she should accompany Mr. Howard once more in his rambles thro' the wood, as it was impossible ever to tire in walking over so delightful a spot as Hubert Hill, and she had not yet been shewn all the lions.

My sister and I then went up stairs. We found our dear Lady Aubrey in bed, for she is not allowed to rise till the morning is far advanced; but she looked more beautiful as she sat upright sup­ported by pillows, than any other wo­man I ever beheld in all the pride of youth, dress, and loveliness.

There is an expression of feeling lan­guor in her charming eyes, that would be alone captivating beyond expression, even divested of the aid they receive from the perfection of her other features, and I am not certain if it would be in my power to admire her so enthusiastically was she relieved from those traces of de­cay, which betraying the ravages of la­tent [Page 157] anguish, bespeak in the same mo­ment the warmest admiration and the most compassionate sympathy. In the bloom of eighteen, Miss Marsdon may have been more beautiful, but could not have proved so interesting, so insinuat­ing as Lady Aubrey appears at this in­stant.

She embraced us both tenderly, and apologized for requesting our company at her bed side; but I cannot deny my­self, said she, the gratification of your company from mere motives of cold ce­remony, while my heart is under the in­fluence of sentiments so fervent. I am soothed and gratified beyond expression, continued she. My rest last night was more refreshing and tranquil than any I have enjoyed since my accident, which, far from accounting unfortunate, I shall ever regard as the blessing of providence. With a heart overflowing with gratitude to the Almighty, I offered up my hum­ble [Page 158] thanks, and composed myself to sleep with an inward sensation of relief and sa­tisfaction, which cast a gleam of content­ment even over my dreams and my re­pose.

She appeared indeed calm and com­posed beyond our most sanguine hopes; and tho' a tear of feeling often fell from her eye, and her bosom heaved with an oppression not to be suppressed, a smile of resigned benevolence often broke thro' the sedate melancholy seated on her in­teresting countenance, and her sighs seemed more the offspring of relief than uneasiness.

Amidst the effusions of that melting and soothing tenderness which linked our hearts together, and which was tacitly acknowledged to have but one common source in my dear father, yet was his name not once pronounced. Amidst the free and mutual communication which a heart-felt interest claimed, tho' to this [Page 159] every circumstance alluded and every en­quiry tended, it was a point at which none of us could arrive. It seemed too sacred, too aweful to be uttered, and must have led to particulars at which for worlds we would not as yet have ventu­red to hint.

Lady Aubrey, however, by degrees informed us of all we were most anxious to know: that during the whole period of our residence abroad she had main­tained a constant correspondence with Mr. Bensley, unknown to every one, and under promise of profound secrecy. Doubtless the appearance of preserving an intercourse of any kind with the a­vowed friend of my father, must have seemed an act of impropriety in the eyes of her own family, and might have been deemed romantic by the world; yet could not this amiable, this angelic woman, remain contentedly ignorant of the fate of a man to whom her whole heart had [Page 160] once been given up, however unworthy he had proved himself by overwhelming her with unmerited shame and despair, and by driving her, in the gay season of a youth which fortune and nature had conspired to bless with a thousand envied advantages, to bury herself in solitude and obscurity.

The desire of addressing myself to Mr. Benseley, said Lady Aubrey, had taken possession of my mind for several months previous to my quitting England. From him only could a thousand circumstances reach my knowledge, which it was abso­lutely essential to my very existence to know, and which to no other person could even be hinted; yet a number of objections, and difficulties almost insur­mountable, deterred me from gratifying a wish that every moment grew more ir­resistible. The awkwardness of an ap­plication by letter appeared formidable, and the apprehension of being detected [Page 161] in a step which I well knew my father would deem derogatory to my dignity, and fraught with impropriety, terrified me. This last bar was, alas! but too soon removed by that dear parent's death; and yielding to the potency of my anx­iety, I ventured at length to write to Mr. Benseley, and informing him of my resi­dence abroad, where I meant immedi­ately to retire, requested the favor from time to time of hearing from him.

By his answer I was relieved from much misery, and spared the anguish of vague and fruitless conjecture. I was made ac­quainted with a thousand particulars, minute and interesting: I was satisfied in the point nearest my heart—the point in­deed which had dictated my ungoverna­ble and eager desire of information. I was informed of your secluded residence in the south of France, and my fervent and incessant prayers to heaven I found were at length answered:—remorse the [Page 162] most poignant succeeded to errors which—

She stopped for a moment, unable to proceed; but recovering herself—dur­ing this correspondence, continued she, which regularly subsisted between Mr. Benseley and myself till within a fort­night of his death, I was minutely in­formed, according to my most earnest request, of every particular of your man­ner of life, your solitude, your amuse­ments, and the plan of education that had been adopted. All, all was interest­ing to me; and this singular participa­tion in your welfare gave an interest to my existence; and while I deplored the bar that for ever excluded all personal knowledge or intercourse between us, my heart strongly cherished and imbibed a warm and maternal affection, which was daily nourished and encreased by the perusal of letters from B— with which the worthy Mr. Benseley, indul­gent [Page 163] to my secret wishes though not to my avowed request, often favoured me. These letters, dated from your solitary abode in Languedoc, written with all the enthusiasm of paternal admiration and affection, repeated with unwearied de­light the virtues, the talents, and accom­plishments of his amiable daughters; and though merely designed for the friendly eye of Mr. Benseley, were faithfully in secret transmitted to me. The returning consolation these epistles indicated thro' the means of his beloved children, to spirits worn out by agonizing repentance and remorse, began at length to afford comfort to mine, and blessing heaven for having touched a heart where virtue though obscured never was eradicated, I in my distant seclusion partook of his revived though dejected tranquillity, and bending with due humility under the just and aweful dispensations of Providence, strove with augmented fortitude to sub­mit [Page 164] to evils to which it had pleased hea­ven to grant some alleviation.

In this way many years rolled on: in compliance with the earnest entreaties of a friend, who partook of my retire­ment and shared my sorrows, I con­sented to admit the society of a few cho­sen acquaintances, and at length began to experience the calm tranquillity, which, where religion possesses a due influence over a mind unburthened with the acute sensations of self reproach, humility and submission always in some measure re­store: yet still the source, after heaven, from whence my chief comfort flowed, was the frequent and interesting intelli­gence which Mr. Benseley's letters, en­closing others from the quiet retreat at B—, often afforded me; till in Octo­ber last, when a packet from my good friend, which had been anxiously ex­pected for an unusual length of time, was put into my hands. The seal an­nounced [Page 165] fatal news, and my heart with secret apprehensions died within me.

Though the most romantic flight of imagination, continued this amiable wo­man, sighing with a bitterness that seemed to rend her bosom, never flattered me with the possibility of more than merely knowing he lived, and the most miracu­lous fluctuation of human events could grant me nothing beyond what I at pre­sent enjoyed—the cold satisfaction of pe­rusing letters neither addressed to myself nor intended for my view; though the hand of death could scarce place a bar more unsurmountable between us than that which already subsisted; yet to be told that death itself had divided us, over­powered me with a pang yet unfelt, the violence of which appeared astonishing even to myself.

Between those calamities, however, with which, by the common lot of mor­tality, we are overwhelmed, and those [Page 166] which a chequered series of dismal and singular events have produced, a mate­rial difference must ever be felt. The lenient quality that time so powerfully possesses, in mitigating the asperities of the former, proves wholly ineffectual in those afflictions which disappointed af­fection or early mortifications have in­flicted; and I confess this wound, though in the first moments of sorrow not inferior perhaps to any I had endured, reason and reflection much more speedily allayed; unlike the corroding sting which the me­mory of my former miseries perpetually renewed, a soothing and not unpleasing regret now rests on my mind, which, while it melts and subdues my heart, does not raise a blush for the uncon­querable weakness it confesses.

This affecting conversation, to which tears on my sister's part and mine were the only interruption, and which made the eyes of our dear and amiable Lady [Page 167] Aubrey overflow with a bitterness that almost wholly exhausted her, terrified me with the apprehension of her sinking wholly under her agitations. I entreated her to defer for the present all further dis­course on this subject, and to allow of our leaving her. But to this she would not be persuaded to consent. My sor­rows have been of such a nature, said she, that all communication of them is impossible; and confidence, a solace which except with my dear deceased friend Ma­dam de St. Hillaire, I never could enjoy. A painful mixture of shame and pride, encreased perhaps by early prosperity and indulgence, sealed my lips, and confined my sufferings to my own solitary and de­solated bosom; how then can my chil­dren, my dear children, (repeated she, folding us alternately in her arms) deny me the satisfaction of giving vent to griefs in which their sympathetic hearts must feel a generous concern.

[Page 168]You may believe, Sophia, we returned the kind caresses of this amiable friend with all the enthusiastic warmth which a conduct so amiable, so truly great, could not fail to excite in circumstances so sin­gularly interesting.

Lady Aubrey then proceeded to in­form us, that Mr. Benseley had minutely acquainted her with all our intended schemes, and had with his usual kindness voluntarily promised, should his declining health permit of such a journey, to pay her a visit in the course of the following summer, attended by his wards; to whom this angelic woman was to have been personally introduced as a lady who ho­nored him with singular marks of friend­ship and regard, but without the slightest hint of any secret connection.

To this soothing scheme, said Lady Aubrey, which I had been unceasingly revolving in my mind how to accom­plish, I returned a most grateful and glad [Page 169] assent, and requested to know at what time you were expected in England. But alas! to this letter I received no answer. I wrote another, and was informed by a relation, who had opened it after Mr. Benseley's decease, that the worthy man was no more. It is not easy to express the anguish and disappointment I expe­rienced on hearing this dismal intelli­gence. Tho' inured to mortification and regret, I found I had yet much to under­go ere I became callous to their attacks. This blow, by overturning the sole fa­vorite plan on which I had built any re­maining hopes of comfort, sunk me to the lowest state of despondency; and the loss of my invaluable friend, Madame de St. Hillaire, put the finishing stroke to my sufferings.

This last calamity pressed hard indeed. In all my other distresses, this beloved friend had been, under heaven, my chief support, and had in some measure sup­plied [Page 170] the place of all I had lost. I had still a friend to love, a friend who re­turned my warm affection. An early separation from my relations in England, had kept me a stranger to all of them, my aunt, Lady Meredith excepted, and she I had known for too short a period to feel for her that attachment which now fills my heart. I was then berest of my last, my only friend. Ah! can human misery present a more dismal picture to a heart of sensibility, than the melancholy consideration that none exists to animate the feelings of fervent affection.

Still, however, the only form in which alleviation touched my bosom, was the hopes of one day meeting with you; and revolving on the means to procure my­self this consolation, in some measure dissipated my gloomy reflections. I knew not where, or to whom to apply for in­formation; and was in this state of me­lancholy and uncertainty, when the ac­count [Page 171] of my Lord Aubrey's illness and request to see me arrived. Painful as was the idea of revisiting England, I he­sitated not instantly to comply: and my repugnance was in a great measure sub­dued, by the hopes of gaining some in­formation relative to you, tho' to chance alone I could owe the intelligence, Lit­tle likelihood indeed remained of success. A cruel peculiarity of circumstances de­prived me of any light to guide my re­searches, and an open and avowed pursuit was precluded me. Yet the possibility soothed and supported my spirits; and it was not till I had been some weeks in London, that I found how totally im­practicable it was to discover a private family whose names must ever be care­fully guarded from my ears. My own maid, who had been with me from my early youth, I ventured to entrust with the enquiry, and two different channels of information occurred; by means of La­dy [Page 172] Linrose's servants, with one of whom she was acquainted; and if this failed, Mr. Benseley's relation might be applied to; but that gentleman I found was lately gone to Holland; and when I addressed myself by letter to him on the subject, he assured me in answer that the ladies names were as wholly unknown to him as was their abode; and Lady Linrose's maid also informed mine that she did not be­lieve two such relations were expected by the family, nor had she learnt that any account of them had been received.

Worn out by successive disappoint­ments, I could only conjecture that you were still in Languedoc; and unwillingly constrained to relinquish this pursuit, I prepared myself for taking possession of my country residence according to the dying request of Lord Aubrey, where I was anxious to find myself calmly settled. Fatigued with the civilities and attentions paid me by a numerous class of distant [Page 173] relations and family acquaintance, who crowded on me immediately on my ar­rival, I determined to set out for Aubrey Castle even at that unpropitious season of the year, in defiance of sundry remon­strances from my friends, and contrary to the wishes of my kind aunt, who pro­mised to follow when the spring was fur­ther advanced. How shall I ever bless this resolution, concluded Lady Aubrey, how fervently shall my grateful prayers ascend to the Almighty, for having in­spired a measure from which I have de­rived such unspeakable comfort.

Shall not we too bless heaven, cried I, every hour of our lives, for the fortunate and providential rencontre. Ah! had we known, while we remained in that inhospitable city disowned and un­friended—had we but suspected that it contained one kind, invaluable friend, who could have participated in our diffi­culties, soothed our disappointments, and [Page 172] [...] [Page 173] [...] [Page 174] aided us with comfort and advice, what an altered aspect must it not have worn. Lady Aubrey's kind interest would have compensated for every mortification, her friendship would have supported us un­der every reverse, and blest in her society, the cruelty of our relations would have lost the severe pang it inflicted.

Lady Aubrey finds herself now so much recovered, that the physicians de­clare their attendance no longer necessary, and she is now left to Mr. Rudder's care, who generally visits her twice a day.

I have insisted on attending her con­stantly; and instead of ceremoniously re­fusing my assistance, she receives it with undisguised pleasure, and regards my solicitude and anxiety with a warmth of gratitude which would a thousand times [Page 175] repay my fatigues, were they even as severe as she perpetually imagines them to be; but the permission of being con­stantly with her, is a privilege and indul­gence which I would not for the world relinquish. She is still very weak; and I am so peremptory in the duties of my office as nurse, that I will not allow of her conversing on subjects which I know must agitate and affect her. This morn­ing, however, she entreated me to ac­quaint her where and in what manner we had lived since our arrival in England, and I gave her a brief account of our si­tuation. This I could not possibly con­trive to do, without touching on our disappointment in regard to Lord Bel­mont: but I passed over it as slightly as was in my power. She sighed bitterly however at my relation: alas! said she, how differently men feel: even in his place I should have taken you with de­light to my bosom.

[Page 176]In talking of pecuniary matters, I mentioned my obligations to Mr. Roats­ley. Yet, Sophia, dearly as I love and respect Lady Aubrey, I could not confess more. Shame tied my tongue, and my cheeks even glowed on repeating his name. I have heard a great character of that young man abroad, said she. He spent some weeks at Lisle, where he was much caressed and admired; but as I ne­ver quitted my home, and never enlarg­ed the private circle who sometimes fa­vored me with their visits, I was spared all chance of meeting with him.

I am still at Hubert Hill. Our be­loved Lady Aubrey set off this morning by herself. This change in our plans is occasioned by an indisposition which has seized my sister, and which, without be­ing in the least alarming, renders her low spirited and opprest. I should have been uneasy at leaving her in her present [Page 179] situation; and Lady Aubrey, had I in­clined, would not have desired it. She has contented herself therefore with ex­acting Mr. Howard's promise to carry us both to her in a short time, when his business is finished and my sister's health re-established.

Short as is to be this interval of ab­sence, we did not separate without tears. How gracious, Sophia, have been the dispensations of Providence towards us: when we have imagined ourselves de­serted by the whole world, Mr. Howard excepted, and felt ourselves outcasts from our family, with what augmented relish must we not enjoy the soothing idea of possessing a tender and invaluable friend, who gratifies our hearts every moment with new proofs of attachment, and to whom our tenderness and regard are e­qually essential. What a new source of happiness has this unexpected connexion produced.

Mr. Howard, who is ever anxious to afford us such amusements as the unifor­mity of our tranquil stile of life admits, asked me on Tuesday morning if I chose to accompany him in an excursion on horseback towards a part of the country that was entirely new to me, and beauti­fully romantic. I gladly consented; but just as we were equipt for our little ex­cursion, his attorney from town arrived on business, and perceiving how incon­venient his leaving home must prove, I insisted on prosecuting my expedition without him; and merely taking old James the gardener, who has past his days in the county, as my escort.

Fanny was lazy, and would not be per­suaded to stir from her work; so I set off about eleven, the morning being deli­cious [Page 181] for the season, eager to explore some particular picturesque scenes which Mr. Howard had described as admirable subjects for my pencil.

The country around was so singularly beautiful, that I was tempted to go on further than I at first intended; for as we are regular people at Hubert Hill, and keep early hours, I wished to be home by two o'clock; but the sight of a very fine country seat at no great distance induced me to prolong my ride, from the desire of admiring it on a nearer view.

I had just turned the wall of a park that surrounded a house of a very noble appearance, which James, to whom I applied for information, acquainted me was called Holtenham Abbey, when a party of gentlemen and ladies issuing from a gate, with the intention of cross­ing the road, made my mare plunge, and unable to recover my seat, I was [Page 182] thrown from it with such violence that screams resounded from every voice.

Happily I did not suffer from any in­tanglement with the stirrup or accoutre­ments, and felt at the moment no other bad consequences from the fall, than the painful one of confusion at having so many people to witness this awkward ac­cident, added to that dismay which the sudden shock unavoidably occasioned me.

I believe half a dozen gentlemen at least flew instantly to my assistance, to raise me from the ground, where, con­founded and without motion, I lay for some moments. Good heavens, Madam, exclaimed they all, one after another, how do you find yourself? I hope you are not hurt? Where have you suffered? and the rest of the company, who seemed dispersed in walking parties of two or three together, just then coming up, I felt myself nearly as severely stunned by the successive repetitions of the same en­quiries, [Page 183] to which at first I was unable to make any reply, as I was by the fall it­self. Smelling bottles were presented me from all quarters; yet some little time elapsed before I could even recollect my­self sufficiently to express my thanks for the kindness and humanity of their solici­tude.

An elderly lady, who appeared parti­cularly concerned for me, and who seemed to be owner of the noble mansion, insisted, the moment I was a little reco­vered, on having me conveyed into the house, from which an avenue of no great length only divided us; and asked me, with much civility and tenderness, if I found it impossible with assistance to walk towards it.

Happy to escape from the company, and embarrassed by the curiosity and no­tice I excited, I thankfully accepted this obliging offer, and made a feeble attempt to move forward.

[Page 184]Pray allow me the honor of conduct­ing you, said a young man, who had obliged me to lean on his arm, but whose face from perturbation I had not yet dis­tinguished: the voice, however, was fa­miliar to my ears, and on regarding him I recollected my assistant to be Captain Bradshaw, the friend of Roatsley, against whom, notwithstanding that circum­stance, I had conceived no small degree of prejudice, from causes which you will I am certain recollect.

At the instant I cast my eyes on him, Miss Seymour, I believe, said he, and bowed with a diffidence that testified he had not forgotten the self-introduction to which he owed the acquaintance.

The old lady then led the way; and I slowly followed, supported by Mr. Brad­shaw, without whose assistance I now found I should have been unable to have stirred, from a severe sprain in my foot. Indeed so painful did it feel, that had not [Page 185] my anxiety to escape from observation supplied me with fortitude to endure the uneasiness that walking occasioned, I should have concluded moving impossi­ble.

Most of the ladies seemed inclined to accompany us, tho' I very earnestly en­treated that I might not be the means of interrupting their walk. My worthy pa­troness however perceiving their intended civility considerably encreased my per­plexity, immediately said, pray ladies and gentlemen don't let this accident in­terfere with your rambles: since it has not, thank heaven, turned out very un­happily, Mr. Bradshaw and I shall attend the young lady; and saying this, she made a motion with her hand, which obliged the whole party, tho' with seeming reluc­tance, to leave us; for so powerfully does curiosity and the love of novelty prevail in most dispositions, that perceiving I was not a severe sufferer from the accident, [Page 186] the company appeared to regard it as a little adventure, the conclusion of which they should not have been sorry to have witnessed.

When we reached the house, at which I did not arrive without considerable dif­ficulty, the door was opened by a foot­man, who ushered us into a superb par­lour, where a young lady apparently of about seventeen, who might have sat for the picture of Hebe, was placed by the fire with a book in her hand.

She seemed to have been confined by some slight ailment, having a large cap and hood tied carelessly under her chin.

I have brought you an unfortunate in­valid, Miss Lucy, cried my conductress, and explained my accident in a few words, while Mr. Bradshaw flew to pro­cure me a glass of cold water.

Good God, Madam, what a shocking accident! cried the young lady with much kindness. How dreadfully pale [Page 187] you look: pray where are you hurt? I hope not severely? and no sooner had I acknowledged that I suspected my foot had been slightly dislocated, than she in­sisted on supporting me into her dressing room; where, while the lady of the house dispatched a servant for a neigh­bouring surgeon, this amiable stranger assisted her maid in chafing my foot with Goulard and water to allay the swel­ling, which had encreased rapidly from the effort of walking.

Lady Mary, for so I found this hospita­ble old lady was called, ordered wine and cordials of all kinds to be instantly brought, which she insisted on adminis­tering to me with a benevolence that displayed her character in a point of view so humane as to give me the most fa­vourable opinion of her heart. Her young friend was if possible still more kind and equally anxious to provide every thing for my ease and comfort. My foot [Page 188] however grew more uneasy, and soon be­came so swelled as to be perfectly stiff and extremely painful.

Finding myself worse, I was appre­hensive of being laid up with this stranger family, which spite of their civility and goodness might have proved as inconve­nient for them as disagreeable to myself: I made therefore as light of the accident as I possibly could; assured the ladies it was quite trifling, and insisted on re­mounting my mare and returning home; promising to walk her gently, and plead­ing the terror my sister must endure at my unaccountable length of absence.

The surgeon made his appearance just as I spoke, and joined the ladies in re­garding this proposal as absolute frenzy. There is no treating casualties of such a nature in this manner, Madam, said he, with much pomposity, and though it is to be hoped that ten days confinement, with proper care, may effect a cure, as [Page 189] many weeks, if you are imprudent, may not set you again on foot.

If I was your father or mother, my dear Madam, cried Lady Mary, or any relation who possessed authority or influ­ence over you, I should not only now, but for ever prohibit your again ventur­ing on the back of that fiery, dangerous animal. I can no way reconcile myself, added she, to the present prevailing mode of ladies becoming professed jockies; an unaccountable passion for the masculine accomplishment of horsemanship seems now a days to have extended even to our sex, and it must certainly be acknow­ledged the least graceful and most absurd custom that fashion ever introduced among females. I am sure it persuades many a timid girl to brave dangers from which, under any other form, she would shrink with terror: but the ton is not only a sufficient apology for such enterprizes, but a support likewise. Excuse the free­dom [Page 190] of my observation, dear Madam, continued she with a good humoured smile, and pray give me leave to send to inform your friends that you are safe and in good hands.

I returned a thousand thanks to Lady Mary for her benevolent civilities; but entreated she would not insist on my stay as I acknowledged myself extremely anx­ious to get home, and assured her there was not the slightest probable danger in my returning on horseback, as my mare was remarkably safe, and my fall had merely resulted from the sudden appear­ance of some of the company, which had startled her.

As to your going on horseback, cried she, pray talk of it no more, for indeed you must not think of such imprudence. However, since you are so very eager to leave us, I really wish it was in my power to contrive your removal in the way that would the least subject you to [Page 191] inconvenience and uneasiness; but un­fortunately I have at present no carriage to offer you; my niece's chariot requir­ing some alterations, was left behind us in town, so that for some weeks we shall have no equipage but my coach, which a lady, who is just now my guest, got this morning to pay a visit in the neigh­bourhood, and I am really uncertain whe­ther or not she will be home till the even­ing. Pray, my dear, turning to her young friend, is there any hopes, think you, that Lady Linrose will behave bet­ter than her promise, and return to us before dinner.

Conceive my regret and astonishment, Sophia, at the sound of a name I so lit­tle expected to hear, and imagine to your­self my concern upon finding there was so much probability of my meeting with her Ladyship, which her return every instant might subject me to; a mortifica­tion which of all things on earth I most [Page 192] wished to avoid. I was thunderstruck on perceiving myself plunged into a situ­ation so awkward, and changed colour so rapidly, that had not the ladies been happily otherwise engaged, they must have remarked my emotion.

I am indeed afraid, Madam, replied Miss Lucy, that my mother's return will hardly leave time sufficient for the young lady's removal this evening; for you know Mrs. Pelcourt and she are old friends; they must always have a long chat when they meet, and I make no doubt that if she insists on it, my mother will pass the day with her.

Her mother. Here was a fresh sur­prise, which wholly disconcerted me. To find myself all at once involved in difficulties so singular and unlooked for, surrounded by relations who had behaved so unworthily by me, and who must feel themselves, when they made the disco­very, so ashamed, so vexed at the ren­contre, [Page 193] threw me into a confusion and perplexity not to be expressed; and the idea that it was not impossible but Roats­ley himself might be of the party, put the finishing stroke to my embarrassment.

You will ask, I know, Sophia, why I, who was on this occasion the suffering person, who had done no injury to La­dy Linrose, and who had no cause to blush for my conduct towards her or her family, should undergo such apprehen­sions at the thoughts of seeing her:—ap­prehensions that ought only to have at­tended the consciousness of misconduct. I own there might have been more spirit perhaps in braving than in yielding to my present feelings; but the certainty of plunging a whole family into confusion was by no means either soothihg to my pride or gratifying to my resentment. I felt myself an unwelcome intruder, who was about to create disturbance and un­easiness, and I sunk under the dread of the scene that awaited me.

[Page 194]Come, dear Madam, cried Lady Ma­ry, finding I was silent, this day at least you must be contented to remain my guest: to-morrow, if you continue thus impatient, my carriage shall attend your commands; but in the mean time pray allow me to ask whither the message shall be directed with the assurances of your safety?

You are all goodness, Madam, said I at length, and I am truly ashamed of appearing thus obstinate and ungrateful; but indeed business of real moment, bu­siness of the last importance, renders my absence from home so particularly un­fortunate, that my stay is impossible.

I spoke with an energy that I believe surprised them, and must have surmount­ed all opposition had my removal been practicable.

Since the lady is so eager to be gone, said the surgeon, I think she might be conveyed with tolerable safety in a coach, [Page 195] where her leg might be extended at ease on the opposite seat; but as for any other mode of travelling, particularly on horse­back, that, Madam, addressing himself to me with much importance, you would find not merely inconvenient but painful in the extreme, and really when patients refuse to be directed by their medical at­tendants, they undoubtedly cannot be­come responsible for the consequences of imprudence.

The awkwardness of my situation giv­ing defiance to all alarm, I was beyond measure provoked with the pedantic pa­rade of this man, who made my deter­mination to depart appear still more stub­born and unaccountable: but the mo­ment he left the room, I enquired, tho' with many expressions of gratitude and obligation, if a carriage could not be procured from the neighbouring village.

It is a poor little place, answered Lady Mary, and boasts of no conveyance be­yond [Page 196] a cart. I believe a hired chaise might indeed be had from N—; but 'tis twelve miles distant, and it must be so late before it could arrive, that I should imagine a few hours could make little difference. 'Tis already almost two; and before a servant could go and return, the night must be far advanced: at all events to-morrow you shall have my coach; and tho' I ought to ask pardon for importun­ing you so much, I must confess that I secretly suspect this business of impor­tance to be nothing more than a pretext under which you wish to relieve the fears of your family in person. Now, my dear Madam, be assured I shall be most happy to be favoured with the company of any of your friends who on this oc­casion may chuse to visit you, and as a message to that effect can be instantly dispatched by your own servant, some of your family will join you in a few hours.

This is a plan, cried Miss Lucy with [Page 197] the utmost kindness, which cannot fail to render you perfectly at ease; so do pray, dear Madam, be prevailed with at least to continue with us till to-morrow.

My situation became now more distres­sing than ever. I at last determined on dispatching James in all haste to Hubert Hill, with orders instantly to return with Mr. Howard's one horse chair, and this plan I flattered myself would save me the mortification of the impending meeting, as in all likelihood it would arrive before Lady Linrose returned from her visit.

Yet a thousand different reasons ren­dered this scheme, tho' the best I could devise at the time, defective and un­comfortable. Lady Linrose I might by this means avoid; but her son might still be of the party; he, and the rest of the family, I might still encounter; and the late pecuniary transactions that had taken place since we last met, the indigent light in which I had been represented to [Page 198] him, and the pride and incivility of his behaviour on the discovery he had so re­cently made, all conspired to make me wish myself in any quarter of the globe at that instant rather than under the same roof with him. A confusion of painful and even opposite sensations agitated and perplexed me, while I felt proud, piqued, and displeased. I was sunk, humbled, and dejected, and tears, owing their source less to mortification than sensibility, threatened every moment to burst from my eyes.

This plan, however, I now discovered with bitter dismay, was impracticable, for the day had suddenly changed it's as­pect, and it rained with great violence; and tho' I would with pleasure have de­fied any inconveniency, I knew not how to insist further on departing without in­curring the imputation of being self-wil­led and capricious. The weather equally prohibited every mode of travelling, ex­cepting [Page 199] that which was not to be procur­ed; therefore all resistance was at an end; and it only remained that I should en­deavour to comply with a good grace to this cruel necessity. My countenance, I am afraid, betrayed my feelings; for my two amiable companions joined in intreat­ing me to make myself easy, and be­sought me to lose no time in dispatching my servant home with Lady Mary's kind message to my friends.

Just as they spoke, two ladies entered the dressing room. May I use the free­dom to enquire for the young lady, said one of them, (whom I recollected to have been particularly obliging and attentive to me at the moment of my accident,) I was sorry to learn below that it had been found necessary to call a surgeon.

His attendance Madam, answered I, was wholly unnecessary, as a slight sprain is all the inconvenience my fall has occa­sioned; and I am sure I ought not to re­gret [Page 200] an accident to which I owe so much kindness and civility.

Indeed I am extremely sorry you have been so unfortunate, returned she; tho' we have profited so much from the event, that if it is only the means of confining you with us for some little time, we shall find difficulty enough in regretting it.

I endeavoured to return an answer ex­pressive of my satisfaction on having en­countered a family whose humanity did so much honor to their characters; but my mind was uneasy, and I fear my looks contradicted my words.

Yes, cried Lady Mary, interrupting, me, yet you were so extremely unwilling to trust yourself, tho' but for a single night, with this same hospitable family, that do you know, niece, our invalid in­sisted on returning upon the identical horse that gave us all this alarm, in spite of the surgeon's denunciation against so imprudent a scheme.

[Page 201]Good heavens! dear Madam, what an idea! But I hope you have entirely given up all thoughts of such a plan.

Before I proceed, however, in my ac­count of this formidable day, I must in­terrupt the present conversation by giving you a description of this lady, whose manners and conversation appear so affa­ble and engaging. I told you there were two who entered together; but the friend who accompanied this engaging young lady, and on whose arm she hung, was remarkable for nothing but an air of sycophantish obsequiousness, which in­stantly informed me she resided in the fa­mily in the comfortable capacity of an humble friend.

The young lady herself appeared about twenty. Her extreme height, which rendered her figure at first sight remarka­ble, had not imbibed the slightest degree of that awkwardness which often in very tall people precludes grace; on the con­trary, [Page 202] her form was uncommonly ele­gant, and her features, tho' not so regu­lar on examination as a first glance lead me to conclude, being embellished by a very beautiful complexion, and her shape improved by an easy air, fully entitled her to the encomium of being what is generally esteemed a prodigious fine woman. You will presently discover, Sophia, why my pen is so minute in it's descriptions.

I was much embarrassed how to make an adequate return to so much civility, and yet retain in my own option the power of departing should an opportunity offer.

I hope you will believe Ladies, said I at length, that on any other occasion I should have been beyond measure grati­fied with an opportunity of cultivating an acquaintance, which even by anticipa­tion gives me the most sincere pleasure; but this day my leaving home is so singu­larly inconvenient, that I must confess I [Page 203] shall not be quite at ease till I find my­self there; and if the evening improves, I hope you will neither conclude me un­grateful nor obstinate, if I still persist in my first intentions. Hubert Hill is not, by my servant's account, above seven or eight miles distant, and I mean to send him off directly with orders to return with Mr. Howard's little carriage, which if the afternoon proves tolerable, is a very easy conveyance.

Oh no doubt he will send his coach for you, cried the young lady. But are you quite determined to leave us?

Mr. Howard? said Lady Mary. I have the pleasure of knowing him well, and an excellent man he is. I was indeed told that he had lately entered into the mar­ried state, but I did not know how for­tunate he had been.

Perceiving her mistake, I presently un­deceived her by saying that my sister was equally so in her union with a man of his singular worth.

[Page 204]I make no doubt of it, returned she: Mr. Howard is a character of uncommon merit, whose connexion must confer hap­piness on any family with whom he is al­lied. I had at all events intended my­self the honor of waiting upon him and his new married lady, but I shall now have an additional motive.

Both Mr. Howard and my sister, I told her, would be much flattered with the intended favor; and added, that my bro­ther's one horse chair would prove a safe and comfortable conveyance for my re­turn, as in spite of my apparent courage I felt no inclination to venture on horse­back, since a more agreeable method of getting home could be adopted.

It was wonderful to observe the sud­den change which this last speech effected upon the manners of the young lady whose affability had hitherto appeared so engaging. An expression of surprize, which her countenance betrayed, might [Page 205] have passed unnoticed, as also the obser­vation of her companion, who had not as yet articulated one syllable, but had remained in respectful silence till a faint smile from her young patroness induced her to say, truly it may prove a very safe, but surely it can't prove a very comfortable conveyance in such an evening as this promises to be.

The alteration which took place in the behaviour of the other, soon after con­vinced me I had considerably abated of my importance in her eyes, from being known. She immediately walked to­wards the window; her friend followed, and they whispered together some mi­nutes, while the bell summoned Miss Lucy's maid to dispatch James to Hu­bert Hill.

So tis only the people at the little white house on the hill, said the young lady in a low voice which I could distinctly over­hear while the message was transacting; [Page 206] her friend replied with so much caution that I could only distinguish the words, quite private sort of people, I assure your Ladyship.

Lady Mary looked towards them as if uneasy at their behaviour, and address­ing herself to her niece, endeavoured to engage her in general conversation: but evidently undeceived as to the fancied importance of the visitor, her looks of civility and expressions of kindness were converted into silent indifference and haughty unconcern; and as if her curio­sity had been now thoroughly satisfied, she soon after left the room.

Well, Miss Seymour, cried Lady Ma­ry, whether you leave us or not, pray, while we have the pleasure of your com­pany, don't let us deprive the rest of my guests of partaking of it. I hope you are able to walk into the next room.

The amiable Miss Dudley then insist­ing that I should take the assistance of [Page 207] her arm, I made shift, tho' with no small degree of pain, to walk into the drawing room, which was luckily on the same floor.

When we entered, we found several gentlemen and ladies differently employ­ed: the young lady before mentioned was placed at the harpsichord, surround­ed by most of the former, whom she seemed enchanting by the divine power of music. Our appearance interrupted her for a moment; but after slightly bowing, she continued her concerto.

The gentlemen all advanced, and made their enquiries after me with great po­liteness. I cast my eyes over them with an anxious look, and a sensation of some­thing not unlike disappointment, on per­ceiving that Roatsley was not of the party, discovered to me that I should not have been quite so sorry to have beheld him as I had imagined.

Captain Bradshaw, the only person in [Page 208] company whom till that morning I had ever set eyes on, appeared to regard him­self as an acquaintance, and paid me par­ticular attention. Ah, Sophia! how do trifles, as I have more than once ob­served, often influence us. This young man, against whom I had cherished no small degree of dislike, now no longer appeared what I used formerly to consider him. Nothing had occurred to alter my prejudice; yet it was already gone. I could regard him only as the friend of Roatsley; as his friend, I was convinced he must have merit; and the attentions of that friend could not but prove agree­able to me.

The certainty too of making him ab­jure his injurious opinion of me, grati­fied my pride, and the idea, supposing Roatsley was not at Holtenham, that on their next meeting Captain Bradshaw might chance to mention me to him, gave life to my conversation, even while [Page 209] my spirits were every moment sinking under the apprehension of the return of Lady Linrose.

I could not help feeling confounded, when Miss Lucy Dudley, taking her re­ference from Mr. Bradshaw, called me occasionally Miss Seymour. The name, it is true, could lead to nothing, yet the certainty that she must have heard of me under that appellation confused me.

Oh! with what pleasure did I contem­plate the countenance of the only female relation, my sister excepted, whom I ever recollect to have seen, and how did I trace all the amiable qualities in its ex­pression which Miss Parsons's letter lead me to expect. Miss Jenny kindly tells me, that a family likeness between her features and mine augmented the parti­ality she was inclined to feel for her. Ah! Sophia! do you imagine that a strong and remarkable resemblance to her bro­ther diminished the affection I was dis­posed [Page 210] to retain for her, from the mo­ment she was introduced to me.

The instant I was presented to her, I thought I remembered having seen her before; but it was not immediately that I recollected her to be the young lady who once occasioned me a pang, (I am sorry to confess it,) not unlike jealousy on perceiving her seated next her brother at the Opera, the evident object of his peculiar regard. There is the strongest similarity in the tones of their voices, which are both uncommonly pleasing, and something even in their turn of ex­pression so much alike, that the sweet Lucy recalled her brother every instant to my mind. Indeed, independent of this prepossession, her countenance and manners convey an idea of such infinite sweetness and sensibility, that I think at all times I must have been partial to her.

She had placed herself on the sopha by me; but in spite of her evident wish to [Page 211] lessen the awkwardness of my situation, surrounded by a large company to whom but two hours before I had been acciden­tally introduced, and not one of whose names, (Captain Bradshaw's excepted,) I even knew, you may believe the con­versation was not kept up without visible difficulty.

At this time the young lady, before so particularly described, sat at her harpsi­chord rattling over some little cotillion tunes, and occasionally interrupting her­self to laugh and chat with several gen­tlemen who leant over her chair. Indeed I soon perceived the music was only a pretence to render the conversation, of which the poor stranger was evidently the topic, less remarked. She often looked at me herself, and carried the eyes of the gentlemen to examine me, while she continued her discourse in a half whisper, which the jumbling of the keys prevented my overhearing.

[Page 212]She appeared in great spirits; but an affectation too visible in every motion destroyed at least to me the natural grace of her appearance. I began to suspect she might be Miss Dudley; which idea prevented me from gratifying my curio­sity by means of her sister, and I em­ployed myself ineffectually in trying to discover a resemblance in her features either to those of Miss Lucy or her bro­ther.

At length,however, on that young lady's being called to the end of the room to examine some music, I enquired of Captain Bradshaw the name of the lady at the harpsichord; adding, I was so singularly situated as to be a stranger to the whole company.

Is it possible you should be ignorant of it, said he in a tone of surprize. It is the celebrated and admired Lady Eliza­beth Sedley, whom I am certain you must at least have heard of often.

[Page 213]Sophia, conceive, if you can, my feel­ings at this information. Ah! no! it is impossible: for except in a similar situ­ation, they are not to be conceived. My heart beat violently, even while a sudden faintness came over me, and I fear my agitation must have been too apparent, for Miss Lucy just then returning to her seat, said with much sweetness—I am afraid, Miss Seymour, your foot is more uneasy than you will own, for you look extremely pale; and Mr. Bradshaw fixed his eyes on me with a look of investigation that soon changed my complexion from the palid to a deeper dye.

The gentlemen now approaching the sopha, the harpsichord seemed deserted; and so I imagine thought Lady Elizabeth, for advancing towards us, she called out in a tone of careless familiarity, I am a­fraid, Miss Seymour, this will be a mi­serable afternoon for your excursion in the one horse chair, for it rains extremely hard.

[Page 214]The voice in which she pronounced these words let me into a secret that I had before half suspected, viz. that the mean­ness of my equipage had so much lowered me in her Ladyship's estimation, as to produce the change in her manner for which I had not been able to assign any other motive.

I know not whether Miss Dudley felt the indelicacy of her behaviour, but she immediately said, it is indeed extremely unfortunate, since Miss Seymour is so anxious to go, that Mamma should have occupied Lady Mary's coach to-day; for these little carriages, tho' mighty pleasant in fine weather, are not well adapted for rain.

Oh in such an evening the thing is im­possible, cried all the gentlemen at once. Miss Seymour cannot surely think of it.

It rained indeed harder than ever; and I was truly provoked by a change of weather so teizing and unlucky. My [Page 215] foot was painful, my mind uneasy, I re­quired rest for both, and here I was not likely to enjoy ease in any form.

A carriage was soon after heard driv­ing up to the door, and my heart panted with expectation. I was convinced it was Mr. Roatsley, and no longer har­boured a doubt when I heard Mr. Brad­shaw call out, I dare say it is Roatsley, and instantly went out to meet him.

My perturbation, however, was not of long continuance; for this speech con­vinced me that tho' he might be expected he made not one of the family; and pre­sently after Mr. Bradshaw returned, ac­companied by Sir Edward Sudbury.

He met with a very gracious reception from the whole company, particularly from Lady Elizabeth, who seemed much pleased by his entrance. As he did not immediately recognize me amongst so large a company, I began to imagine that perhaps he designed to conduct himself [Page 216] with a prudent reserve; and recollecting his advances in town, which had been in­terrupted by my departure, now absence had probably cooled his flame, he might incline to keep at a distance and withdraw his notice by degrees.

I soon found, however, how unjust was this surmise, when Sir Edward, dis­covering me, approached with his usual modesty and politeness, a glow of satis­faction being visible on his countenance.

He enquired with anxiety after my health, then for my sister and Mr. How­ard, and regretted in strong terms my un­expected departure from town, which he said had astonished him, as he had no doubt of finding me at Mrs. Hindon's on his return from a short visit he had made in the country about that time.

Dinner was soon after announced; and tho' with pain I walked into the parlour, supported by the arm of the sweet Lucy, who gaily ordered all the gentlemen to [Page 217] depart before us, and resolutely refused all their offers of assisting me.

She kindly placed herself next me at table; and Sir Edward, though Lady Elizabeth in a manner invited him to go to the other side by herself, contrived to seat himself on my other hand. This little mortification by no means softened the hauteur of her behaviour to me; on the contrary, from the moment she remarked Sir Edward's assiduities, her countenance betrayed a scornful displea­sure, but ill concealed under the mask of neglect and indifference.

As the evening advanced, I grew more engrossed with the expectation of seeing Lady Linrose; and about eight her La­dyship entered the drawing room, ac­companied by her eldest daughter.

I easily recollected the face that had been pointed out to me at the Opera. It's expression, however, was much changed. The sour severity of her aspect [Page 218] had now entirely given place to smiles, good humour, and condescension; and though I could not wholly divert myself of the prejudice of my first prepossession, I had at least the impartiality to condemn myself for it.

I hope you did not wait dinner for me, Lady Mary, cried she, after the first compliments were over, for my good friend was rather indisposed, and so anxious for my stay, that I found it would have been unkind to have refused.

I did not expect your Ladyship, re­turned Lady Mary, and now that you are returned I ought not to regret your absence, as to that alone I owe the com­pany of another visitor, who has only fa­voured me with it because my coach was not to be had to carry her home. Pray give me leave, Miss Seymour, added she, to have the pleasure of in­troducing you to Lady Linrose.

I coloured at the introduction. But [Page 219] Lady Linrose, with much politeness and no change of countenance, said she should be happy to have the honour of knowing me, and hoped her having the carriage had been no very material inconvenience to me.

Miss Dudley, however, to whom I un­derwent the same ceremony, only half bowing to my curtsey, stared me in the face with evident curiosity, and a look of supercilious ease which wholly discon­certed me.

She is by no means plain; but a look of conscious superiority renders her fea­tures determinedly unpleasing.

My accident, for which Lady Linrose testified much regret and concern, fur­nished conversation for the first quarter of an hour: but her open and unreserved affability immediately convinced me that no suspicion had arisen in her mind on hearing my name, and her manner was so totally opposite from what I expected [Page 220] to have found it, that in spite of my long cherished resentment I could not avoid feeling delighted to perceive the mother of Roatsley so much more amia­ble than I had conceived possible.

Relieved from my alarm of being known, I flattered myself I should soon grow more composed: but ah! Sophia, remained there not yet sufficient to dis­turb and distress me? Lady Elizabeth! to meet with her, and in a party so gay, where the relations on both sides seemed met to rejoice over the approaching union which was soon to cement their friendship and intimacy by still stronger ties! Oh how sunk, dejected, and dispi­rited did I feel.

The company were not yet sat down to cards, but continued chatting during a short interval which succeeded to the entrance of Lady Linrose and her daugh­ter, when the door opened, and Mr. Howard, who anxious to relieve Fanny's [Page 221] apprehensions, had set off in defiance of the inclemency of the evening, was an­nounced.

Lady Mary received him with the kindness and familiarity due to an old friend, (for I find they have been long acquainted), and congratulated him on my fa [...]ety, which I give you my word, said she, you chiefly owe to me; for so eager was Miss Seymour to return home, that I was obliged to exert the authority which above forty years seniority has given me over her, to prevent her risk­ing her neck upon that horrid horse of your's, which I hope you will dispose of in all haste.

My joy at seeing Mr. Howard, who was equally delighted to find me so slightly hurt, drove Lady Linrose for an instant from my mind. The idea soon recurred, however, when on turning round, I perceived the alteration which his unexpected appearance had produced [Page 222] on her countenance. A look of gloom, astonishment, and vexation, were there predominant; and a flush of embarrass­ment tinged her cheeks. The truth seemed at once to have flashed upon her mind. Mr. Howard, she well knew; and my name had been repeated to her so often from his lips, that no doubt could remain. She seemed for a mo­ment confounded and irresolute, but on Lady Mary's presenting Mr. Howard to her, she appeared suddenly to recollect herself and received him as an utter stranger, whom she had never before beheld, with a cold formality not untinc­tured with hauteur.

He on his part, finding her design was to affect ignorance, bowed with po­lite distance, and continued to chat with his usual ease to Lady Mary.

From the moment of his appearance, Lady Linrose kept a profound silence. She often glanced upon me an eye of [Page 223] scrutiny as if by stealth, and her looks were by no means expressive of satisfac­tion: but the instant I seemed to remark her notice, she withdrew it and employed herself very busily at her knitting, which she entangled and disentangled unceas­ingly with much ingenuity.

Mr. Howard, in spite of the most pressing entreaties, insisted on returning home, though the evening was damp and cold. I would have given the world to have accompanied him; but finding the proposal would be received with great opposition, I prevailed on myself to say nothing, Lady Mary promising herself to accompany me to Hubert Hill in the morning.

After he was gone, the company di­vided into little parties. Those who preferred cards, sat down to the card ta­ble, while most of the young people seemed more inclined to chat.

All the gentlemen, Sir Edward and [Page 224] Captain Bradshaw excepted, flocked around Lady Elizabeth's chair. They seemed indeed most zealous in their de­voirs, and attached themselves wholly to her; listening with delight to every little sally which levity drew from her lips, while she received their homage with a pride she took but little pains to conceal. Oh! my Sophia, from this severe ex­pression, are you not afraid that my un­fortunate partiality has given birth to the worst of passions, envy and injustice. Disappointment, by calling forth our powers of exertion, is generally thought to improve the heart; but I fear you will conclude my mortifications have had a very different effect on mine. Believe me, however, my dear, when I solemnly declare that those mean passions are far from having influenced me in my repre­sentation of Lady Elizabeth. Had her manners possessed that polished dignity, or her conversation that unassuming good [Page 225] sense, which from the choice of Mr. Roatsley I could not but expect, be as­sured I should have admired with un­prejudiced eyes the woman of his heart: but oh! how opposite did I conceive that woman to be from what I find her. How pleased, how gratified did she not seem with the flattery and attention of the gentlemen present; who really, as far as one day's acquaintance could ena­ble me to judge, appeared uncommonly insipid in their conversation, and far from engaging in their address. But pro­bably they suffered not a little from the comparison my thoughts were continu­ally drawing between them and another, ah! how infinitely their superior.

Ought I not to regard this marriage as a material fault in Mr. Roatsley's charac­ter: for that his chief, if not his only aim in it is fortune, I cannot help being convinced; and is it not an unpardona­ble error to prize the advantages of splen­dour [Page 226] so highly, and to hold domestic happiness in so low estimation. Yet I ought not to judge thus harshly. We know not a thousand circumstances which may render this match not only laudable but meritorious; and of Lady Elizabeth I merely form my opinion from the obser­vation of a few hours, where the little de­fects of address must be supposed wholly to have influenced my judgment. Erro­neous as this mode of conclusion may be, yet the manner so generally bespeaks the character, that where the one is informed and intelligent, the other seldom or ne­ver appears trifling or disgusting.

But to return to the company. Lady Linrose being engaged at whist, still pre­served towards me the cold distance she had assumed since Mr. Howard's appear­ance, and addressed herself to me no more during the remainder of the even­ing. Her eldest daughter seemed lan­guid and out of spirits, and at length [Page 227] took up a book, in which however she only occasionally looked, often recurring to the investigation of my figure, which appeared much the most amusing em­ployment of the two; for she examined me sometimes for minutes together with no great cordiality in her countenance, and with entire disregard to the uneasi­ness it gave me. Lady Elizabeth was soon persuaded to retire to the next apartment, where she was solicited to play on the organ, which induced almost all the company to follow her. Miss Lucy Dudley, however, seeing me dis­engaged and silent, kindly resumed her seat on a sopha; where, with Sir Edward and Mr. Bradshaw, we made a sort of distinct cotterie, and began to chat very agreeably together.

Lady Linrose, who appeared to re­mark with displeasure her daughter's at­tention to me, soon called her to look over her cards, and kept her by her side [Page 228] the rest of the evening; and a message from the music room soon after request­ing Sir Edward to accompany on the flute Lady Elizabeth's voice in a song, unwillingly obliging him to leave the drawing room, Mr. Bradshaw and I were left in a manner tete a tete on the sopha. I found him agreeable and intelligent, attended with a certain bluntness of man­ner which rather inspired the idea of sin­cerity than rudeness, and we soon entered into a most interesting conversation.

Pray, said he, may I ask your opinion of Lady Elizabeth. She is universally followed and admired; yet I cannot help suspecting that her splendid fortune and brilliant prospects have contributed full as much to place her so high in the lists of beauty as any intrinsic charms she possesses; but I make no doubt you will not agree in my opinion, for I know on this subject it is impossible you should talk according to conscience.

[Page 229]Why so, said I.

Because it is wholly but of nature for one fine woman to give her genuine sen­timents of another.

Do you then imagine envy so univer­sally prevalent.

By no means. I only believe that the terror of such an imputation induces every handsome female to bestow upon another encomiums infinitely beyond her private opinion.

To prove my sincerity, said I, I will acknowledge, that Lady Elizabeth, tho' undoubtedly a fine looking woman, is less so than from report I expected to find her.

Had she trusted to nature, returned he, she might have merited the appella­tion you give her; but affectation and coquetry will distort the finest features, and produce awkwardness where we ought to admire grace.

That the friend of Mr. Roatsley should [Page 230] express to a stranger, with so little re­serve, an opinion so unfavourable of the woman who was soon to be united to him, surprized me not a little, and I could only account for it by supposing that her coquetish behaviour had pro­voked him so much as to put him out of all patience and had rendered his pru­dence off its guard.

I thought, said I, all her little follies of that sort were soon to have a speedy conclusion.

Conclusion, repeated he, in a voice of undisguised displeasure; not so long as youth and good looks remain, I'll be sworn; at least if we may judge of the future by the present.

I thought Lady Elizabeth had been on the verge of matrimony, said I, with as much composure as I could assume, yet trembling to hear it confirmed from authority so indisputable.

And pray can you, Miss Seymour, [Page 231] who have passed part of the winter in town, pretend to imagine that matri­mony, to a vain woman, excludes the attentions of a crowd of followers.

Your reproof of my ignorance is just, said I, (attempting to smile, though in­wardly depressed by an answer so unsatis­factory and evasive, and which yet ta­citly acknowledged the truth of Lady Elizabeth's engagement) but I was little in company, had few acquaintance, and spent my time chiefly at home in a very sober domestic family.

Yes, we could not conceive where you had hid yourself, for you were to be seen no where. It was at one time con­cluded that you must have left town.

That was exactly the case, returned I.

Not exactly, for I think you did not go till the beginning of March.

I could not avoid being rather sur­prised, on finding Mr. Bradshaw, with whom I had had when in town not the [Page 232] slightest intercourse or acquaintance, so well informed of my motions; and read­ing my thoughts from a transient ex­pression in my countenance—you are astonished, said he, smiling, to find me so accurate in this point; but I believe you would be still more so were I to inform you how long I have had the ho­nour of considering myself intimately ac­quainted with you, though entirely with­out your knowledge or participation.

I must confess my surprise, cried I, laughing, and also my regret, that I should have been so fortunate without knowing it.

O, in regard to Miss Seymour, I give you my word I am extremely intelligent.

I began faintly to suspect from whence this information had been derived, and to flatter myself that it might have owed its origin to Roatsley's solicitude. This idea produced an anxiety beyond mea­sure potent, to draw some soothing par­ticulars [Page 233] from his friend; but as if eager to excite a curiosity be meant not to gra­tify—perhaps, cried he, you might be no less surprized were you to know that I was in constant pursuit of you all the beginning of the winter; nay, and what is yet more wonderful and perplexing, I do not claim either merit to myself or gratitude from you, for the indefatigable pains and industry I employed in hunting after you at every place of amusement where it was probable you might appear.

It is very wonderful indeed, cried I, secretly delighted, nor could I ever have suspected, stranger as I found myself in this country, that I possessed any friends sufficiently interested in me to be solici­tous how or where I passed my time.

O, cried he with an investigating look that seemed to penetrate into what effect his words might produce, nature has been so bountifully profuse to some of her happy favorites, as to endow them [Page 234] with the gift of creating friends by a coup d'oeil—friends, who exist but in their sight, who live but on their smiles, and who watch with unwearied patience and assiduity, every opportunity for a meet­ing which indulgent fortune may throw in their way: friends, who develope at one glance, and adore almost in an in­stant, those virtues and excellencies which in common mortals require inti­macy, investigation, and length of time, to expand and discover themselves.

Vague as were these expressions, a dawning ray of hope led me to give them an interpretation so conscious, as covered me with blushes. I knew not what re­ply to make; and the earnest look with, which he evidently tried to develope my thoughts, compleated my embarrassment.

I am quite in the dark, cried I at length, and cannot conceive at what you aim.

So I perceive, said he with a satyrical [Page 235] smile; but I intreat that my words may not throw you into any perplexity. I should be miserable, were your rest to­night to be disturbed from a fruitless at­tempt to unriddle my mysterious oracles.

I believe my rest will not be easily in­terrupted this night, replied I with a careless air, for my fatigues, or rather my alarm, has exhausted me a good deal, and I feel quite drowsy and stupid.

Perceiving the gravity with which I spoke, Mr. Bradshaw instantly-assumed a more reserved behaviour, and shifting the discourse to other topics, I discovered that he had not gone into the country at the time I imagined, from the private conversation I overheard, nor for some weeks after. "I was several times un­der the apprehension of recruiting orders, said he, but received a longer reprieve than I had dared flatter myself with the hopes of obtaining.

The card party having now concluded [Page 236] their rubbers, and Lady Elizabeth, with her suite of attendants, being returned into the drawing room, a period was put to our conversation. But it left the strongest impression on my mind, and at supper I could not help secretly wishing that Mr. Bradshaw might be placed next me. In this however I was disappointed; for Sir Edward betrayed an anxiety so eager to procure a seat next mine, that the other with a grave bow gave way to him.

At this little manoeuvre Lady Eliza­beth appeared by no means pleased. In­deed nothing could be more pointed than the haughtiness of her manner to me the whole evening. A coquet, it would ap­pear, expects the exclusive privilege of enjoying the homage of every man who beholds her; for tho' the rest of the gen­tlemen, Mr. Bradshaw excepted, attend­ed her with the most zealous assiduity, the mortification she experienced in finding [Page 237] this devotion was not unanimous, evi­dently hurt and corroded her. Whether the meanness of my equipage, and the humility of my abode, at the little whtie house on the hill, increased her indignation, I know not, but she regarded me with looks of contempt, and behaved to Sir Edward with so much childish ill hu­mour, that I began at length to suspect some secret partiality must have produced a conduct for which mere selfish vanity seemed an inadequate cause.

This sullen behaviour of Lady Eliza­beth, the cold distance of Lady Linrose, and the imperious disregard of her eldest daughter, added to my being conscious how disagreeable my presence, tho' from very different motives, must prove to them all, made me feel beyond measure uncomfortable; and the painful weight which lay heavy at my heart, and wholly depressed my spirits, made Sir Edward's conversation not merely unpleasant but [Page 238] irksome to me; especially as my suspi­cion of Lady Elizabeth's attachment was strengthened and confirmed every instant by her increasing uneasiness. When I considered however how inferior Sir Ed­ward was in all points to his competitor, it was not possible for me to conceive that caprice, or folly itself, could be blind to the striking difference between them.

The cordial intimacy that subsisted be­tween the two families, and indeed in­cluded all present but myself, not only ex­cluded me from all share of the conver­sation, which I was far from regretting, but made me feel awkward, as well as miserable. Lady Mary indeed often ad­dressed herself to me with peculiar civili­ty; but as I was placed at a distance from her, politeness did not compensate for the rude neglect of her niece.

The conversation happening to turn on resemblances, I think, said Sir Edward, I never beheld a more striking likeness [Page 239] than the profiles of Miss Lucy Dudley and Miss Seymour exhibit at this mo­ment. I have been considering them on each side of me for some time, with al­most an equal mixture of wonder and admiration.

A likeness! repeated Miss Dudley. I must acknowledge I scarce ever beheld two faces in my opinion more opposite.

I am extremely sorry to differ from you, Madam, returned he; but I still dare ap­peal to the company if my remark is not just.

Strikingly so indeed, cried Lady Ma­ry; tho' till it was mentioned I own I was not sensible of the resemblance. But in spite of the difference of complex­ion it is really remarkable. Don't your Ladyship think so, added she, turning to Lady Linrose?

I must confess, returned her Ladyship, with a cold, embarrassed air, I am of [Page 240] Caroline's opinion: I cannot perceive the likeness.

Good heavens! cried Caroline, how should there be any. The eyes of the one are black, and Lucy's are quite blue.

I did not speak of the eyes of the two ladies, but of their profiles, said Sir Ed­ward. There is even somewhat in the ex­pression of countenance so much alike, that had I never before been in company with either, I should have concluded them nearly related.

What effect these words produced in the countenances of Lady Linrose and her daughters, I had not resolution to examine, and conscious confusion made me keep my eyes fixed on the table; from which however I soon raised them in astonishment on hearing Lady Linrose say, you pay my daughter a very unme­rited compliment by the comparison, Sir Edward, and really now you put it into my head, I don't know but there is some [Page 241] sort of likeness, especially in the under part of the face: and soon after, when we were separating for the night, her La­dyship wished me a good night with par­ticular civility and affability.

Confounded with the various events of the day, the moment I found myself a­lone in the chamber allotted me, I threw myself into a chair, and gave way to a train of reflections, which so wholly over­powered me, as to banish all desire of sleep. I could not but admire the singu­larity of that chance, which had conduc­ted me so strangely into the midst of my relations, and to the party which of all others I wished the most to avoid; while I knew that my presence, by overwhelm­ing them with confusion and embarrass­ment, must prove still more disagreeable to them than to myself. Lady Elizabeth too—to feel all my half-suppressed emo­tions animated and renewed by this un­expected [Page 242] and unwished for rencontre, ah! Sophia! don't you pity me?

After passing a very restless night, I found my foot so much worse, that walking even into the next room was al­most impracticable. I therefore sent a message to Lady Mary by her maid, who assisted me to dress, intimating that if her Ladyship would give me leave, I should breakfast in my own apartment, where I wished to remain till the carriage was ordered to carry me home. By this means I avoided seeing any of the com­pany, whom I really dreaded encounter­ing at breakfast, after the perturbation of the preceding day. I regretted how­ever, that in escaping from the others, I must be deprived of seeing Mr. Brad­shaw, whose mysterious discourse it must be owned astonished though it did not perplex me, and formed no inconsidera­ble portion of my reflexions during the night.

[Page 243]Lady Mary entered my chamber soon after, and made a thousand kind enqui­ries respecting my health. She informed me that Lady Linrose was confined to bed with a headach, and that Mr. Brad­shaw had set off for his quarters two hours before breakfast: and after kindly disapproving of my imprudence in ven­turing home, told me, since I was deter­mined to go, she should herself see me safe to Hubert Hill, as she wished to take the earliest opportunity of waiting on Mrs. Howard.

Miss Lucy Dudley was likewise so obliging as to pay me a visit before I left Holtenham. While she sat with me in my chamber, Lady Mary again entered. I think an airing will be of service to you, my dear, said she to her, after your late confinement. Pray will you accom­pany me to Mrs. Howard's. Her hus­band is an old friend of mine, and I pos­sess few or none I respect so highly.

[Page 244]With all my heart, my dear Madam, cried she; and having sent the maid for her hat, we immediately proceeded down stairs, which was to me a very difficult undertaking and one that I did not ac­complish without great pain, though I had an assistant on each hand.

When we entered the hall, we were met by Lady Elizabeth and Miss Dud­ley. The former, with a reluctant bow, hoped I was well: and the other, with­out even vouchsafing me that civility, hastily called out—Lucy, where are you going?

I mean to accompany Lady Mary and Miss Seymour. The day is fine, and an airing will be agreeable.

I believe Mamma will not allow of your going, sister.

Why so.

Nay, I shall go ask her: and instantly returning, said—Mamma does not chuse [Page 245] you should risk taking cold by airing to­day Lucy.

Lord how odd, when it is the sweetest weather in the world.

O there is no chance of cold in such a morning, cried Lady Mary. It will do her good I'm convinced.

It is Mamma's commands, said Miss Caroline gravely; and although the sweet Lucy went herself to solicit, she came back disappointed. I am very sorry, said she, taking my hand, that I cannot have the pleasure of your company a lit­tle longer; but I hope Lady Mary will visit at Hubert Hill more than once while we remain at Holtenham, and I shall most assuredly be of the party next time.

Lady Linrose, you perceive, adheres with conscientious integrity to her pro­mise of debarring all intercourse between her family and ours. Angry as I am, there is somewhat in her manners so insi­nuating, [Page 246] that I cannot so cordially blame her conduct as I did before I saw her: nay what is still more strange, I cannot avoid suggesting excuses for her beha­viour; and even feel somewhat soothing and consolatory in the idea that Roatsley's mother, whom I desire so much to love and respect, seems more worthy of these sentiments than I ever imagined she could prove. Her son resembles her extremely, though the expression is different.

I believe, Sophia, prejudice and par­tiality blind the eye of judgment so un­accountably, that people are seldom to be trusted in their prepossessions where a strong and lively interest is at stake. Per­haps we have judged too hardly of this family. To oppose Lord Belmont in a favourite point, may be to relinquish all hopes of his favour for ever; and if such is the inflexibility of his temper Lady Linrose is not so much to blame.

Fanny was much relieved by my re­turn [Page 247] though I looked miserably ill. My foot was painful, and my mind in agita­tion; and the instant Lady Mary left us, I was put to bed, where however I did not sleep, but enjoyed a more soothing relief in relating to my sister all the cir­cumstances of my disagreeable adventure.

I have been visited during my confine­ment by the good parson's family, who spent yesterday with us.

Mrs. Heathcote, though unacquainted but by report with Lady Mary Lawrence, told us a thousand little country anec­dotes [Page 250] of her, which all proved the good­ness of her heart and the liberality of her ample purse; for she is possessed of a splendid income, having been left by her late husband the sole disposal of his fortune. This fortune, Mrs. Heathcote said, it was generally supposed would center in her neice, Lady Elizabeth Sed­ley, who was not much beloved by the ladies in the neighbourhood, as she uni­formly behaved to them with a conscious superiority, and imperious reserve, that rendered her company formal and dis­gusting. Indeed, said she, her Ladyship, I am told, exacts a deference and atten­tion that few are willing to pay; for which reason there is usually a party at Holtenham of people of the first rank and importance from town, with whom alone Lady Elizabeth will associate on a footing of equality.

I ventured to enquire, finding the good woman both intelligent and communi­cative, [Page 251] whether or not Lord Linrose pos­sessed any property in this part of the country. She believed not, she told me: but since Mr. Howard had left England, above one half of the estates around had changed their original proprietors; and my Lord Belmont had lately made two different purchases of considerable amount, which had secured to him a decided par­liamentary interest in the county. On one of these estates, said she, to which he has given the name of Mount Dudley, and which is not above seven miles dis­tant, he has built a very elegant though not a very large house, and has presented it to his favourite grand son Mr. Roats­ley, who however has never lived in it as it has not yet been put in order for a family: but I understand they are fitting it up in all haste, and furnishing it very magnificiently for his place of residence so soon as his marriage is concluded: so [Page 252] you will have them for neighbours pre­sently.

Is that event soon to take place, de­manded Fanny.

Indeed, Madam, nobody seems to know. It has been long talked of; and before Mr. Roatsley set out on his tra­vels, every one said it would happen di­rectly on his return. But it has been whispered since his return, that matters are not in such forwardness as was ima­gined. The young man's ardour is sus­pected to be cooled; nay some people say it never was extremely violent; but that when he was very young, and the lady hardly fifteen, there subsisted a childish attachment between them, which originated entirely on the side of Lady Elizabeth; and that Lord Belmont, who has been unfortunate in some of his fa­mily, particularly in the article of ma­trimony, and who was not easily recon­ciled to the present Lord Linrose on his [Page 253] marriage, although by the death of a dlstant relation her Ladyship has brought him a very considerable fortune, exacted a promise, and promoted an engagement between his grandson and this lady, which is intended to be concluded on his Lordship's return from the Continent.

Lady Elizabeth is much to be pitied, in my opinion, cried Fanny, if with all her splendid advantages of birth and fortune they cannot secure the heart of the man she has chosen.

I agree with you perfectly, Madam: But I believe ladies of superior rank and education don't always think in that man­ner; and by what I hear, Lady Eliza­beth is not much calculated for domestic happiness.

Conscious of my secret anxiety, I for­bore, while Mr. Howard and the rest of the company were present, to prolong the subject: but finding my self acciden­tally alone with Mrs. Heathcote, for a [Page 254] quarter of an hour after dinner, I artfully renewed the topic of Lady Elizabeth; and she then told me she was intimately connected with the gentlewoman who had superintended her education as go­verness, from whence she had drawn the early part of her information. Mr. Roats­ley, said she, has been I know acquainted with the young lady from infancy. She was his sister's friend, and had often been his own playfellow. It is not improbable therefore that her infantine attachment had produced in him a return of affection before he went abroad that might par­take more of gratitude than passion. It must be owned Lady Elizabeth has but ill answered the fond expectations of her family; and probably he finds himself disappointed, after several years absence. But there is no trusting to report. It is very certain however that he has not once visited at Holtenham since his arri­val; though, owing to Lady Mary's in­disposition, [Page 255] the family only passed a very few weeks this winter in town. They say Lady Elizabeth is much offended at the coolness of his assiduities, and that there is a very formidable rival, Sir Ed­ward Sudbury, in the way, who is much in favour with her Ladyship at present, but I dare say there is nothing in it.

All this accounts a little, Sophia, for Captain Bradshaw's insinuations.

To-day I have ventured to take a short walk, and am considerably better. We have had compliments of enquiry from Lady Mary after my health more than once.

We have been rather uneasy at not hearing from our dear, dear Lady Au­brey all this while; and we now find we have had but too much reason for appre­hension: [Page 256] alas! she has had a relapse; but thank God not an alarming one. She is now, she tells us, in the kindest of letters which we received this morn­ing, quite recovered, and has got Sir William and Lady Meredith with her at the castle. I find myself settled here, says she, much to my satisfaction. The ancient architecture of my abode has nei­ther banished light, nor precluded cheer­fulness; and I am determined its gran­deur shall on no account be fettered with state or parade. My mind begins to partake of the tranquility around me; and I am enabled myself to taste that comfort which an overgrown and other­wise useless fortune allows me the privi­lege of dispensing to others. But when shall my rising satisfaction receive its full completion in the dear society of my be­loved children? when shall I again fold them to my heart, and receive, in tears of heartfelt pleasure, a compensation for [Page 257] those of bitterness and misery which have flowed with such profusion from my eyes? I will not however soften your feeling hearts into a hasty compliance with my wishes, which may not prove, just at this time, wholly convenient to the wor­thy Mr. Howard. I will trust to your affection to expedite your visit as soon as you can, and till I enjoy the happiness of seeing you, do not fear that I am either solitary or desponding; no, on the con­trary, be assured I am grateful, con­tented, and happy. I have at present the pleasure of Sir William and my dear aunt's company, who will not leave me for some time. My doors are never shut against those in my neighbourhood who favour me with their visits, without exacting a scrupulous return; and my mind is at ease while I rest assured of the love and attachment of those clear and amiable children who are so entirely pos­sessed of mine.

[Page 258]Dear and ever valued Lady Aubrey! With what delight shall we fulfil our promise. Mr. Howard's business will detain him a fortnight longer: but I have written that if any more delays in­tervene, and my sister continues well, I shall undoubtedly make the journey by myself.