VOLUME II (continued 5)

Variety of passions discovered themselves on her face while I spoke, but shame was predominant. She was mute, and hung down her head. I took her by the hand, Do not think, my dear, I mean to ensnare you; far be such perfidy from my heart! Have I not promised you my assistance? I declare, by every thing that is sacred, you shall have it to the utmost stretch of my power; but do not let a false bashfulness stand between you and sincerity; you will stop up the way to your own happiness if you do. Speak, dear madam, has Mr Faulkland been just in his representations?

She burst into a flood of tears: Oh! madam, you read my very soul; what disguise can I make use of, before such penetrating eyes as yours? Yes, Mr Faulkland has spoke the truth, shameful as the confession is for me, I own it. Mrs Gerrarde, base woman! betrayed me; my own mad passion did the rest. Mr Faulkland told me, a few days after the fatal meeting, that he was the most miserable man on earth for what had happened: he said, there was a lady in the world to whom he was bound to offer his hand; that her brother was his particular friend; that his marriage was then actually negotiating; and he was pressed on that occasion to return to London. He owned he had never seen the lady, but as his honour was engaged to her brother, he could not look upon himself as a free man. He cursed his ill fate, that he had not had an opportunity of informing me of this sooner; which, he said, might have prevented me from casting away my affection on a man, who could not deserve it. What could I say, madam? There was no room for reproaches or complaints. I made none; I had nobody to accuse but myself. I had declared my frantic love to Mr Faulkland unasked; I had implored his in return: in one dreadful moment I fell a sacrifice to my own weakness. The only hope that now remained for me, was built on that circumstance of Mr Faulkland’s having never seen his destined bride. Had I known you, madam, to have been the person, there could have sprung but small comfort from that consideration; but ignorant as I was of the lady’s merit, I thought it not impossible but that some objection might have arisen either to her person or temper; or the lady, perhaps, (though that I thought almost incredible) might not approve of Mr Faulkland: in either case, some glimmerings of hope remained for me. Mr Faulkland’s generous compassion for me, gave me room to think he did not hate me, and I was unwilling to lose the little interest I thought I had gained in his heart, by fond complainings, much less upbraidings, for which he had given me no cause. I therefore acquiesced, determined to wait for what my fate was to do with me; resolving privately in my own mind, that in case Mr Faulkland’s intended nuptials should not take place, to remind him of my love. I did not confess to my aunt what had been the result of that interview, which she had contrived between Mr Faulkland and me: shame would not suffer me to indulge it. But it was not long in my power to conceal it: I believe indeed, she suspected it before. She reproached me for the error which she herself had caused; but I believe, what most nettled her was Mr Faulkland’s having escaped the snare; for I am sure she would have been base enough to have had me retain him as a lover, though I could not secure him for a husband; for he was not the first, that this bad woman would have seduced me to favour, for her own private interest.

In the midst of the horror, into which the condition I found myself threw me, I heard that Mr Faulkland was on the point of being married.

The prospect I had before me drove me to despair. I knew I could not remain long in my uncle’s house. I knew not whither to fly. In my distraction I wrote to Mr Faulkland: You, madam, saw the letter, that ill-fated letter, which deprived Mr Faulkland of his happiness.

I soon received an answer, wherein Mr Faulkland related to me at large the unfortunate consequences that letter had produced. He lamented, in the tenderest manner, my unhappy situation; told me, he would provide me a proper place for my retreat; and, as I was an entire stranger in London, having never been there, would recommend me to the notice of one of the best of women, lady Bidulph, from whom, as my unhappy story was known to her, I might expect the utmost humanity. And here, madam, with blushes let me own it, he urged me not to conceal a single circumstance of the truth from that lady.

‘You know, said he, my dear Miss Burchell, I am not a seducer; rescue me from that black suspicion; and, as far as the unhappy case will admit, clear my honour to lady Bidulph. See what a reliance I have on your honour, when I trust the vindicating of my own to you, in such delicate circumstances. He concluded his letter with telling me frankly, that though he had been rejected by Miss Bidulph, he loved her with such an ardent passion, that it was impossible for him ever to think of any other woman; and till he had a heart to bestow, he should never entertain a thought of marriage.’

You know Mr Faulkland at this juncture went abroad; and thus was I circumstanced when I came to that house, which he had provided for me. And so frank and noble were his proceedings, that I solemnly declare, I was determined, though at the hazard of divulging my own shame, to have acquitted him to the utmost of my power to lady Bidulph; and should have rejoiced, could I have been the means of procuring him the happiness he deserved, in regaining your favour; as I had been, though unknowingly, the unlucky cause of his losing it. But fortune had disposed of you otherwise, before I saw lady Bidulph. This she quickly informed me of, and I will own to you, madam, that as I found there was now an insuperable bar to Mr Faulkland’s hopes, I was mean enough not to have the courage to speak truth. I saw it could not avail him, in regard to his prospects with you. Lady Bidulph’s eye awed me; yet I think she led me into a justification of myself, so great were her prejudices against Mr Faulkland. Or, perhaps, having already disposed of you in marriage, in vindication of this step, she did not wish to be undeceived. Yes, again, in spite of my confusion, I must repeat it, I was not sincere; I threw out such hints to lady Bidulph, as must have made her think Mr Faulkland had taken pains to undo me: to this act of disingenuousness, my sole motive was, that I might appear in a less culpable light in the eyes of a lady of such strict virtue as your mother. By making her my friend, I was in hopes one day of making you so too. Devoted, as Mr Faulkland was, to the most charming woman in the world, I was not afraid of his making a second choice. I thought, if he were to be induced to marry, he might, in time, be prevailed upon to turn his thoughts towards me. In this hope I have dragged on so many tedious years. I was not mistaken in my opinion, that he could find none worthy to succeed Mrs Arnold in his heart. He loves you still, madam; but you have declared you will never be his; he is still free; these are the circumstances that nourish my hope. My heart is in your hand; I have made you mistress of my dearest secret. Can you forgive me, madam? But you have an heroic soul! Remember, Mrs Arnold, to your generosity I now trust what is dearer to me than life. Should Mr Faulkland know, should lady Bidulph know, how I have abused their confidence, I think I could not outlive it.

They never shall, madam, said I: I thank you for this frank acknowlegement of your heart; such a proof of your confidence in me, I should be a wretch to abuse; and I hope to make such a use of the candid confession you have now made me, as will greatly promote your interest.

And is it possible, madam, said she, you can yield up the interest you have in Mr Faulkland without a pang? Oh! the exquisite charmer! and she said it with such an emphasis, drawing out her breath in long sighs. But you are heroic, as I said before: Nature did not mold your heart, as she has done those of the rest of your sex. Who that was beloved by Mr Faulkland, would yield him to another? Worlds! ten thousand worlds would I give to be beloved by him as you are! but you are a prodigy of a woman! I stopped Miss Burchell in her transports. There is less merit, madam, than you ascribe to me in my conduct: I readily acquiesced under my mother’s rejection of Mr Faulkland, when he had some interest in my heart; but there is no self-denial in what I am now about to do for you. My affections have long since changed their object, and now lie buried with him in his grave.

My tears here bore witness to the truth of what I said: Miss Burchell wept too. Her mind was agitated; the confession she had made to me had humbled her; her heart overflowed with fondness; I had filled her with pleasing hopes: all these sensations combined together, melting her into tenderness: she is made up of tears, and sighs, and romantic wishes.

I can now, said I, assure Mr Faulkland, that you have done him justice, and that he is highly obliged to your candour.

She interrupted me; But, madam, if he should know how late my acknowlegements came—He need not know it, said I; my mother shall not know it either; leave every thing to my management, and depend upon my word. She snatched my hand eagerly, and kissed it.

But oh! madam, above all things, said she, let not Sir George Bidulph know any thing of your intended goodness, in mediating for me. He hates me, implacably he hates me. I upbraid him not for it: his strong attachment to Mr Faulkland is the cause of it: he accuses me in his heart of being the occasion (which I own I was, though ignorantly) of Mr Faulkland’s disappointment. I am sure, were he to know what you design in my favour, he would counterwork you, and use all his influence over his friend to ruin me.

I made her easy on this head, by assuring her Sir George should know nothing of the matter; and put her in mind how lucky it was for her that he was absent.

I cannot help thinking, my Cecilia, that there is a sort of fatality has attended Mr Faulkland’s attachment to me. By what a strange accident did we come to the knowledge of Miss Burchell’s affair! How strong were my mother’s prepossessions against Mr Faulkland; and how many little circumstances concurred her to encourage in this disposition! His letter from Bath to my brother helped to confirm her in her dislike of his conduct; Miss Burchell’s letter to Mr Faulkland, though meant very differently, was a strong motive of condemnation. The only means of justification left for him, my mother did not apply to, till it was too late; and then that very circumstances of it’s being too late to serve him, Miss Burchell acknowleges, was the reason that the very method which he had proposed for his defence, was turned to his condemnation.

Rooted, as my mother’s prejudices were, she engages herself, she engages me, in a promise, to use my endeavours to promote Miss Burchell’s marriage with Mr Faulkland. Does this not look as if some unseen power, who guides our actions, had set a stamp of disapprobation on the union between this man and me.

I wish I had seen that letter which Mr Faulkland wrote to my brother from Bath: my mother said, she did not read it through. He treated the subject lightly, and there was one circumstance in particular in it that shocked her; and yet surely, if the whole might not have borne a favourable construction, Sir George would not have shewn her that account, by way of justifying his friend. This reflection comes too late! Why did it not occur sooner to my mother or to me? We drew no other inference from Sir George’s disclosing this letter, than that as Mr Faulkland treated the affair ludicrously, it was therefore expected, both by him and my brother, that we should consider it so too. That could not have been the case. Miss Burchell’s confession has opened my eyes.—Poor Mr Faulkland! What wayward fate is thine! But let me beware of relenting; that might be fatal. There is still one indelible blot remains upon his conduct. Miss Burchell, blameable as she acknowleges herself, was still betrayed; and though not by Mr Faulkland, yet sure his having paid the price of her innocence to the wicked aunt, renders him so far guilty, as that he owes her a great reparation. This was a particular I durst not touch upon; the unhappy girl herself being ignorant of it. There is a wide gulph fixed between Mr Faulkland and me. How many things are leagued against him! Alas! he thinks the principal bar to his hopes is removed, and that if Miss Burchell has been just, he ought to be forgiven. But he little knows thy Sidney’s heart; critically delicate as my situation is, in regard him, I am removed a thousand times farther than ever from his wishes. Neither knows he the engagements I am under to Miss Burchell; which alone would put an ever-lasting bar between us. Unhappy Miss Burchell! She has bound me to her by stronger ties than ever. She has been ingenuous; she has owned her weakness to me; she declares she would have done this sooner, if it could have promoted my happiness: perhaps she would; shall I not then endeavour to promote her’s? I will, I must; my word is given. Yet Faulkland deserves—oh! he deserves a worthier lot.