VOLUME II

September 21

I was surprized to-day by a visitor to my mother. Miss Burchell came to pay her respects to her: I have told you they corresponded. My mother, it seems, had given her notice of the time she intended being in town: the young lady had been to wait on her in St James’s Street, and was from thence directed by the servant, who kept the house, to our new lodgings.

She is really a very lovely young woman; and there is something so insinuating in her manner, that there is no seeing her without being prejudiced in her favour. She changed colour when my mother presented me to her by my name; but, at the same time, surveyed me with a scrutinous eye. My mother asked her, had she seen Mr Faulkland since his return to England. She answered, No, with a sigh; but that she believed he had been to Putney. To see his son, said my mother? without reflecting, that Miss Burchell had avoided mentioning that circumstance, and stopped upon naming the place where the child was at nurse. Yes, she replied, in a timorous accent, and stealing a look at me. The woman told me, that a young gentleman had been there about six weeks ago, who said he came from the child’s father abroad, and made her a handsome present. As I did not then know Mr Faulkland was returned to England, I should not have suspected it was he himself who had called, if his housekeeper (that gentlewoman in whose care he left me) had not come to me from him. She is settled now in a lodging-house; and Mr Faulkland, on his coming to London, went to her, to enquire where the child was. She told me he inquired civilly after me, and gave her a letter for me, which the good-natured woman joyfully brought me; but it contained nothing but a bill of a hundred pounds, with two or three lines, polite indeed, but not kind, to inform me it was for the child’s use; and I have heard nothing of him since.

My mother told her, that as Mr Faulkland was returned again, probably to continue in England, she did not despair of his being brought to do her justice; especially as she must suppose the sight of the child had made an impression on him. She then, without ceremony, entered into a detail of my unhappy story: she was full of it; and being, as you know, of a very communicative temper, made no scruple to inform Miss Burchell of every particular. She seemed very much affected with the story, and grew red and pale by turns; especially at finding her aunt so deeply concerned in it. She exclaimed against her barbarity, reproached Mr Arnold for his injurious suspicions, and condoled obligingly with me on the wrongs I had received; and yet, my Cecilia, would you believe it, I thought I could discover, through all this, that Miss Burchell was not entirely free from doubt in regard to my innocence. This observation I gathered only from certain looks that she cast at me, as my mother related the passages. There are little minute touches on the countenance sometimes, which are so transient they can hardly be overtaken by the eye, and which, from the passions being strongly guarded that give rise to these emotions, are so slight, that a common observer cannot discover them at all. I am sure my mother did not; but my sensibility was particularly rouzed at her relating a story that I did not then wish to have divulged; and I was too much interested in the narrative, not to attend precisely to its effects on the hearer. I am neither angry with, nor surprized at, Miss Burchell, for her scepticism on this occasion. She loves Mr Faulkland, and had not herself the power to resist him: she knows he once loved me, and may fancy he does so still; nay, thinks perhaps I am not indifferent towards him: she is a stranger to my heart; but is convinced, that her aunt is base enough, first to ensnare to vice, and then to betray. Upon the whole, there is nothing unnatural in her suspicions; but I think they could not proceed from a virtuous mind.

Upon Miss Burchell’s taking leave, my mother gave her a general invitation to come to her as often as she had leisure; telling her, she must not take it amiss if she did not return her visits, as her health would not permit her to go much abroad.

Miss Burchell, it seems, has a house (not lodgings) in a retired street in Westminster, where she has been ever since she quitted her aunt, to whom she never discovered where she lived. Her fortune enables her to appear very genteelly in the private manner she chuses to live. She goes but seldom into publick, and has but a narrow circle of acquaintance. Those are all of her own sex, and of the best character; and she has had the good fortune to preserve her reputation unsuspected; so that, I hope, she may yet retrieve her error by an advantageous match, should Mr Faulkland still continue averse to her.

September 28

I have had a letter from Patty: she tells me, her master is returned home; and adds, ‘To be sure, that vile wicked wretch let him know you were gone.’ She says, he called for the two dear babes, and kissed them both. Patty carried the youngest to him in her arms, the other in her hand, and she says, he looked troubled. How came you not to follow your lady, Mrs Martha, said he? She replied, My Lady was willing, Sir, that I should stay to look after the children—And to be a spy upon my actions, I suppose: Is that not to be part of your employment too? Ah! Patty, Patty; Mrs Arnold had better have looked to her own conduct. Patty made no answer, but retired in tears. Every one in the house, she writes, is broken-hearted; but that Mr Arnold is never at home, spending his whole time with Mrs Gerrarde, whom the girl, in the overflowings of her zeal for me, heartily execrates. She informed him, that I was gone to London, and purposed living with my mother, who was now there.

October 7

I have just received a letter from Lady V——. She tells me she sent twice to Mr Arnold to dine with them, in order, if possible, to lead him into a conversation, by which they hoped, in some measure, to have cleared my innocence, as my lord could take upon him to justify Mr Faulkland; but he declined coming, not knowing, perhaps, that Mr Faulkland was absent from V—— hall. She said, her lord had gone to South-Park; but either Mr Arnold was not at home, or denied himself. My Lady adds, ‘It is a delicate affair to interpose in; yet would I have ventured to have wrote to your husband, if I had been sure that you had no objection to my telling him, that you had made me privy to the cause of your parting: ‘tis plain, by his avoiding us, it is a subject he does not care to come to an explanation upon. Let me have your sentiments, and I will act accordingly.’

I shall answer Lady V——’s letter directly, and beg of her to leave the matter as it is. Mrs Gerrarde’s testimony will have more weight than all my good lord or lady could urge in my favour: besides, they are not furnished with sufficient weapons to combat against such an enemy: they know nothing of Miss Burchell’s story; my regard to her character prevented me from giving my lady this specimen of her aunt’s baseness. I suppose the same reason may have closed Mr Faulkland’s lips on that subject: so that they have nothing to allege against Mrs Gerrarde, which would help to invalidate her testimony with regard to Mr Faulkland and me. Mr Arnold, indeed, knows that she has forfeited her pretensions to modesty; but the delusion of self-love blinds a man in those cases; and he can believe, that truth, sincerity, and justice, inhabit the bosom of her, whose passion for him alone has caused a deviation from chastity.

I cannot think of exposing the poor Miss Burchell by giving up her secret. Though it might contribute to clear me, by turning Mr Arnold’s suspicions on Mrs Gerrarde, yet would she have great reason to resent it; more especially as she is now, by a blameless life, endeavouring to blot out the memory of her fault. Though my Lady V—— is very prudent, her zeal for me, and my lord’s good-natured earnestness in my cause, might render them unguarded on the occasion; and should they attempt to make use of this secret, in order to eliminate Mrs Gerrarde, it might, at the same time, bring malicious censures both on Miss Burchell and Mr Faulkland.

I think, upon the whole, my mother is the properest person to mediate on this occasion. When Mr Arnold comes to town, she can, with due tenderness to the young lady, disclose the whole affair to him. The knowlege of this black part of Mrs Gerrarde’s character, joined to her arguments, may perhaps have some weight; though, to tell you the secret bodings of my heart, I expect not much from this. I have lost my husband’s love; Mrs Gerrarde possesses it all; and who knows whether he even wishes to lose his pretence for abandoning an unhappy wife. I wish, however, Mr Faulkland were returned to V—— hall: should Mr Arnold know of his absence at this juncture, he might imagine possibly he was gone in quest of me.

October 12

How the scene is changed, my sister! What a melancholy reverse is here, to my late prospect of domestic happiness! I pass my nights in tears, and bitter reflections on my dismal situation. My days are spent in a painful constraint, to conceal the anguish of my own heart, that I may not aggravate that of my poor mother. My endeavours to be chearful, I perceive, have a good effect on her; she is much more composed, and seems resigned to our fate, patiently waiting for a change. I think too she is rather better in her health; she has had the advice of a physician of eminent skill; the medicines prescribed, he gives us hopes, will keep her disorder at least from gaining ground; and that she may hold out for some years.

I have prevailed on her not to give Sir George an account of my unhappy story, till I hear that Mr Faulkland has left him; because I know my brother would conceal nothing from him; and, if possible, I would have Mr Arnold’s suspicions of Him concealed. I have many reasons for this; my own delicacy would receive a wound by it; for who knows what judgment Mr Faulkland might form on this knowlege? But my most material objection is, should he attempt to vindicate his own honour, what might be the consequence! I shudder to think of it. I know Mr Faulkland is rash, when provoked. Rather let my sufferings and my disgrace lie wrapped in oblivion, than bring any disaster on the father of my children.

October 16

Another letter from Lady V——. She tells me, that Mr Faulkland is returned from his visit to my brother. He was soon informed of my parting with Mr Arnold; ’tis the talk of the neighbourhood; every body lays it on Mrs Gerrarde. Mr Faulkland was very inquisitive to learn particulars from my lady, which, he said, he was sure I had told her; but she took care not to give him the least hint which could lead him to suppose that He had any share in my fate. She says, he raves like a madman; and that she finds it absolutely necessary to keep him in ignorance of the truth. She was obliged to tell him, that my having discovered Mr Arnold’s amour with Mrs Gerrarde, she believed, was the sole cause of our separation. He asked her, Was she sure there was no other? adding, That he thought my temper had been too gentle, to fly, on a sudden, to such extremes. My lady took occasion to ask him, Whether he did not visit Mrs Gerrarde? He replied, He did sometimes, having formerly known her at Bath. She concludes with telling me, That Mr Arnold is become quite invisible to every friend he has, Mrs Gerrarde engrossing him wholly.

I hope Mr Faulkland may not suspect how much He is concerned in my misfortune: my absenting myself, for some time before I left home, from V—— hall, and my departure from my husband, immediately after my interview with Mr Faulkland at Mrs Gerrarde’s, may raise some distrust in his mind; but, while it continues merely surmise, he can have no pretence for requiring an explanation from Mr Arnold; so that, if my husband keeps his own council, which he seems inclined to do, and my lord and lady V—— preserve the secret, I shall rest satisfied.

October 20

My mother has written to Sir George, and given him a full account of my situation, with a request, which I prevailed on her to make, that he would not take any notice of the affair till he saw us. My brother, perhaps, may think of a way, with tenderness and safety, to remove Mr Arnold’s doubts, without farther exposing my reputation, or laying my husband open to mischief. A prudent, cool, and at the same time zealous friend, might devise some means to effect this; but I fear my brother’s disregard to Mr Arnold, his diminished love for me, and his resentment to my mother, will prevent him from engaging with that alacrity or precaution that the nicety of circumstances may require. I will, therefore, wait with patience, till God, in his own time, shall raise me from the state of humiliation into which I am fallen.

October 22

With what a tortoise pace does time advance to the wretched! how dismal are those hours which are spent in reflecting on lost happiness. O Faulkland! how light was thy transgression, if we consider the consequences, compared to that which has driven me from my home, and from my children! steeled my husband’s heart against me, heaped infamy on my head, and loaded my mother’s age with sorrow and remorse! All this is the fatal consequence of Mr Arnold’s breach of his marriage-vow: all this, and much more, I fear, that is to come.

We keep ourselves entirely concealed from the knowlege of all our acquaintance: not a mortal visits us, but, now and then, Miss Burchell; and I have never stirred out of doors but to church.

October 28

Sir George has answered my mother’s letter, just as I feared he would: he speaks of Mr Arnold with more contempt and aversion, than he does of me with pity or brotherly kindness. He says, ‘It is well for him, that Mr Faulkland knows not of his injurious suspicions of him, or he would vindicate himself in a manner he little thinks of.’ He tells us, He does not know (at this distance) how to advise; but that, as I am of so patient and forbearing a spirit, he thinks my wrongs may sleep till he comes to town, which cannot yet be these three or four weeks, having leases to renew with his tenants, and abundance of other business to do in the country.—So much for George’s tenderness.

October 29

My comforts are circumscribed within a very narrow compass; for I cannot reckon one, but what I receive from poor Patty’s letters, who never fails to send me weekly an account of my dear little children. They are well, thank God, and not yet abandoned by their father; but even the knowlege of this is imbittered by repeated hints of Mr Arnold’s lost condition. Lost, I may call it; for his whole soul is absorbed in the mad pursuit of his own ruin. The poor girl, in the bitterness of her indignation, tells me, he has made Mrs Gerrarde a present of a favourite little pad of mine: she says, she had a mind to tear her off, when she saw her mounted upon it.

I wish not to be told of any of Mr Arnold’s motions, and should forbid Patty to write to me any thing upon the subject, but that I fear my letter might fall into Mr Arnold’s hands: his curiosity might lead him to open it (for the conscious mind will descend to meannesses); and, if he should see my prohibition, he would be satisfied that his servant was too free in her censures. I am sure he is quite unconcerned at my knowing his conduct; but I would not, nevertheless, for my children’s sake, bring this tender, faithful, poor creature into disgrace with him, by convincing him of the liberty she takes, though he may very naturally suspect it.

October 30

A lady of our acquaintance, who happened to see me at church, came to pay me a visit to-day. It seems, she is intimate with the widow Arnold, who told her, very lately, that she was impatient for the commencement of term, as she then expected the cause depending between her and us would be brought to a final issue, and determined intirely in her child’s favour. This account alarmed my poor mother so much, that she could not be easy till she sent for our lawyer, who was so obliging as to come upon the first summons. She acquainted him with the cause of her apprehensions; and asked him, whether there was any likelihood of the widow’s succeeding. He laughed at my mother’s fears, and at our antagonist’s flourishes, as he called them; and said, he would not give a bent six-pence to ensure Mr Arnold’s estate to him, which the ensuing term, he says, will put out of the reach of doubt. This assurance has quieted our anxiety on that head. The loss of our suit would indeed be a dreadful blow, as we should have nothing then remaining but my small jointure, for the support of Mr Arnold, myself, and our two children; not to mention Mrs Gerrarde, who, I have reason to believe, has been no inconsiderable sharer in Mr Arnold’s fortune.

November 4

Six melancholy weeks are gone since I have been here, I may say, both a prisoner, and a fugitive. I count the days as they pass, as if I expected some revolution in my fate; yet, whence is it to come? No prospect as yet opens to me. Mr Arnold’s law-affairs will soon call him to town: something may then happen—But does not Mrs Gerrarde come too? He cannot live without her; and I shall reap no benefit from this, but the chance of seeing my children sometimes perhaps; though he may not bring them with him, or, if he does, he may be cruel enough to refuse me the sight of them. Sir George is cold and dilatory: were he on the spot, something might be done; he might expostulate: my mother too could join arguments to intreaties: Mr Arnold perhaps might be recovered from his delusion; it is but a perhaps.

November 15

My brother is arrived in town sooner than we expected, and came this evening to pay us a visit. My altered and dejected looks, I believe, shocked him; but George wants tenderness, or at least a capacity of shewing it. After a recapitulation of my story, he asked me, ‘Could I be so mean-spirited a creature as ever to think of living with Arnold again, even though he should be inclined to desire it?’ I told him, he considered the matter in a wrong light; and that he ought to reflect on my reputation, and the future welfare of my two poor little girls, who would be material sufferers, from the want of my care and attention, as they grew up; not to mention the disadvantages they would enter life with, by my continuing under an aspersion which might in time become very public, as I made no doubt but that Mrs Gerrarde would take pains to propagate it wherever she went. My mother added, Mr Arnold too might be saved from perdition, if he could be so far convinced of his wife’s innocence, as to be reconciled to her, and live with her again. And pray, said Sir George, how is this to be done, if that damned woman has put it into his head, that Faulkland and you are fond of one another? Do you imagine that he will believe what you say? what your brother, or your mother, or even Faulkland himself, could say to the contrary? I own to you very fairly, that I so much despise the man, that, unless you will give me leave to talk to him my own way, I will have nothing to say to him at all. Would you have me sue to him for a reconciliation, and try to persuade him out of the belief of an imaginary injury, which probably he was glad to make a handle of to get rid of you? No, Sidney; you may be as tame as you please yourself, but it does not become your brother to be so. When I go to him, I must insist upon not having rules prescribed to me: your delicacy, in regard to Faulkland’s asserting your innocence, I have nothing to say against; but there can be no objection to your brother’s vindicating the honour of his family. I saw Sir George’s resentment was rouzed to the highest pitch; his eyes sparkled with indignation, and his whole frame seemed agitated.

Dear brother, said I, I conjure you, (and I fell upon my knees and clasped both my arms around his) do not add to my affliction, by involving yourself and my husband in a fatal quarrel. What difference would it make to me, if Mr Arnold should fall, whether it is by your hand or Mr Faulkland’s? The loss would be the same; the misfortune, the publication of my disgrace, the same. Your husband, said he, breaking from me, though a little softened, would have as good a chance as I, if it came to the hazard; or perhaps he might condescend to take you again (if you will have it so), without coming to these extremities, if I am suffered to argue properly with him.—I will not consent to your seeing him at all, said I, eagerly. The cause is now my own, he answered, coolly; but I will do nothing to aggravate your distress. I did not like the manner in which he spoke. My mother, who till now had been silent, caught the alarm. Let me intreat you, son, said she, to drop the thoughts of any violent methods with Mr Arnold. If you value your sister’s peace, or have any regard to the obedience you owe me, I insist on it, that you neither see him nor write to him, without our knowlege and consent; and if you do not promise me this, I renounce all ties of kindred or affection to you: your mother has as just a sense of the honour of her family as you can have; but it is not on so hot a head, and so weak an arm, that she depends to see it justified to the world. Sir George, who was nettled at my mother’s spirited rebuke, made her a low bow. No doubt of it, madam, said he, there will be a miracle wrought in my sister’s favour. I would have you let her try the experiment of the ordeal: I dare say she would come off victorious, and then Mr Arnold would do you the favour to take her home again. I wish, said my mother, gravely, that there was a possibility of bringing my dear child’s innocence to such a proof; I would not hesitate a minute to put it to the trial: but since there is no such a thing now-a-days, I will wait till God, in his own righteousness, shall judge her cause, and clear her to the world. Therefore, son, I insist upon your promise before you leave me.

I give you my word, madam, answered Sir George, I will not attempt to hold any conference with Mr Arnold without your knowlege. Will that satisfy you? It does, answered my mother; for I think I can rely upon your word. Sir George left us not very well satisfied with each other; his pride and resentment piqued to the highest. I cannot censure him for it here: he has cause; but the case is a nice and difficult one. The gratification of a private spleen ought not to enter into the measures he should pursue. Glad I am that my mother’s properly-exerted resolution has tamed him a little. Though George sometimes fails in the respect which he owes her, yet I never knew him wilfully to disobey her commands, or oppose her inclinations. ’Tis well there is any hold on a disposition so ungentle and self-willed as his.

November 18

My brother has taken a very handsome house in Pall-mall, and told my mother, between jest and earnest, he is going to give her a daughter-in-law, to make up for the loss of her son-in-law. He is, in reality, making his addresses to Lady Sarah P the daughter of a new-created peer. She has a great fortune, he tells me; but I know nothing more of her. I wish him better success in his nuptials (if they take place) than I have had.

November 20

Mr Arnold is arrived in town: he came late last night, and his man called this morning to enquire how I did. The poor fellow stole out before his master was up; and was afraid of staying a minute, lest he should be wanted at home. I called him up to the dining-room: I saw an honest shame and sorrow in his countenance. How does your master do, Frank, said I? Has he brought the children to town? No, madam, said he; but they are pure and hearty. I believe my master thought it a pity to bring them out of the fresh air, as long as Mrs Patty is there to look after them. They are better where they are. I asked him, was Mr Arnold come to town to make any stay? I believe for good and all, said he. This ugly law-suit, to be sure, will detain him; but he is come alone, said he, with an intelligent nod: I don’t suppose though he will continue long so. Well, Frank, said I, I am glad to hear your master and the children are well. Ah, madam! shaking his head as he opened the door to go out, it was a woeful day for us when you left South Park. God give every one their reward!

November 22

I have not seen my brother these two days: he does not know, I believe, that Mr Arnold is come to town; though, if he did, I am sure he will not break his word; so that I am easy on that particular. My mother says she will go to Mr Arnold herself, to reason with him a little. I shall not oppose it, though I have no hopes of her being able to effect any thing in my favour: she is now laid up with a cold, and is not able to come out of her room; but she pleases herself with the thought of this visit, as soon as she is able to make it. She has planned what she intends to say to him; and is resolved to let him into the whole history of Miss Burchell, that he may know, she says, the full extent of Mrs Gerrarde’s wickedness; as what is there of which that woman is not capable, who could set to sale the honour of an innocent, unsuspecting creature, left to her guardianship?

November 23

Amazing, my dear Cecilia! I thought I should wonder no more at any thing, yet is my wonder now raised to astonishment—I have just received a letter from Lady V——. I have read it over and over again, and can yet scarce believe my senses. Here it is in her own words.

‘I suppose you know, my dear Mrs Arnold, that your husband is in town; and that he left Mrs Gerrarde behind him for no other reason, I imagine, but that he did not chuse to be quite so scandalous as to let her travel with him; for we heard that she purposed following him in a few days. Patty, I conclude, may have informed you of thus much; but the extraordinary part of the intelligence, I believe, is reserved for me to acquaint you with. Know then that Mrs Gerrarde is eloped, no-body knows whither. Good, you say; good, should I say too; but for the conclusion of my story. It is with Mr Faulkland she is eloped: ’tis positively true; she went off with him in triumph last night in her own chariot, and neither of them have been heard of since. I own I am so much confounded at this, I scarce know what I write.

‘I am very glad, for your sake, that bad creature has quitted your husband; but that she should have drawn my cousin Faulkland in, is a matter of serious concern to me. It is evident the plan was previously concerted between them; for I am informed to-day, that Mrs Gerrarde’s maid decamped at the same time, and took with her every thing valuable belonging to her mistress, several of her drawers being found open and empty. Mr Faulkland’s servants have also disappeared; so that we cannot conjecture which way they are gone.

‘Mr Faulkland, who was about leaving us, asked my permission to give a ball to the neighbouring ladies in our new room, which is just finished. As I concluded he would ask nobody but our own acquaintances, I readily consented; and my lord, you know, is fond of those frolics. I own I was surprized to see Mrs Gerrarde amongst the company, as undaunted as the modestest face there. I would not however confront Mr Faulkland so much, as to shew any disrespect to one, who was, at that time, his guest; but I was out of all patience to find that she, along with several others, was asked to supper; my too-good-natured lord joining in the invitation. Mr Faulkland made a pretence to wait on her home, and the audacious creature took that opportunity to march off with him.

‘Now, as Faulkland really purposed leaving V—— hall the next day, I think it would have been but decent in him to have forbore this piece of barefaced libertinism, till he was fairly from under our roof. He might have made his assignation in any other place; but, I suppose, the lady had a mind to shew the world she is above restraint, and chose to make her infamy a sort of triumph.

‘I am quite angry with my lord, for only laughing at this, and calling it a piece of spirited gallantry in them both. He says, he is delighted to think how your good man will shake his ears, when he hears his mistress has left him in the lurch, and gone off with another lover. I should smile too; but that it makes me sad to think, that Mr Faulkland, of whom I had so good an opinion, should so impose upon my judgment, and forfeit his own character, for so vile a creature.

‘Pardon me, my dear madam; I am so full of my own reflections, on the interest I take in this affair, that I have been forgetful of how much more moment it may be to you. Heaven grant that your husband may think of making himself amends, in returning to a faithful and amiable wife, for the loss of a deceitful, jilting mistress. Surely this event must open his eyes, or he deserves to lose them. I hope to embrace you in London in a very little time; till then, believe me,

‘My dear Mrs Arnold,

‘Your most assured friend and servant,

V—— hall, Nov. 12

‘A.V.’

Well, my Cecilia, what say you to this? Are you not as much surprized as I am? Mr Faulkland to emerge at last the favoured gallant of Mrs Gerrarde! Prodigious! I confess, my dear, I am so selfish as not to participate with Lady V—— in her uneasiness on this occasion. That Mrs Gerrarde flies from my husband, I am glad; and that Mr Faulkland is the very man she chose to fly with, I am still gladder: he, of all men living, I would have wished (though least expected) to be the person. This explains every thing that is passed. Surely, as Lady V—— says, this must open Mr Arnold’s eyes. I can now discover a double reason for my poor deluded man’s having his imagination poisoned with jealousy. Mrs Gerrarde did not aim singly at separating my husband and me: this, perhaps, was but a secondary consideration; or who knows whether it was at all intended? But she most certainly designed to secure herself against all suspicions, by making me the object of them; and effectually to blind Mr Arnold, persuaded him, that Mr Faulkland’s visits, made to her, were only in the hope of seeing me.

Let her views have been what they would, this event was beyond my hopes. Some glimmerings of comfort begin to break in upon me. Methinks my heart feels much lighter than it did. How Sir George will stare at this account! My mother will lift up her eyes; but she has no opinion of Mr Faulkland’s morals, and therefore will be the less surprized. I pity Miss Burchell; this is an irremediable bar to her hopes; faint and unsupported as they were before, they must now entirely vanish.

November 24

I gave you a copy of Lady V——’s letter, while the subject was warm at my heart, and before I shewed it to any one; but my mother and my brother have now both seen it. My mother (just as I expected), without any great emotions of surprize, only exclaimed against their wickedness; but said, she could not help rejoicing in it, as I, she hoped, would derive happiness from their accumulated crimes. Sir George read the letter twice over before he uttered a word; and then said, It was strange; upon his soul, most unaccountable; and that either Faulkland was run mad, or that woman had bewitched him. When he was with me, said he, at Sidney Castle, he did not so much as mention her. I asked him, whether he was acquainted with Mr Arnold (for I had written him word of your marriage, when he was abroad)? He told me, he had seen both you and him, two or three times, at Lord V——’s; but that as he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with you, he had never visited your husband. I presume he was not then a stranger to his connection with Mrs Gerrarde; at least to the conjectures of the neighbourhood upon it: but as it was then but a matter of opinion, and he knew not of the difference between you and your husband, ’tis probable he did not chuse to disgust me more against my brother-in-law, by hinting at this circumstance. He expressed great acknowlegements to my mother, when I told him of the notice she had taken of Miss Burchell; though, he said, he found (from my account of your marriage) that she had deferred her conference with that young lady, till it was too late for her testimony to be of any service to him. As I knew nothing of what had passed between my mother and Miss Burchell, I could give him no satisfaction on that subject; and the recollection of past transactions being equally disagreeable to us both, I avoided ever mentioning them after our first conversation; nor do I remember that Mrs Gerrarde’s name occurred once.

My mother now began to exult over Sir George, and took advantage of the surprize and consternation that Lady V——’s letter had thrown him into. This is your boasted friend, said she; the man whose honour and generosity were not to be questioned, and whose utmost crime was a youthful folly that he was surprized into with a silly girl. I am pleased, however, that this has proved I was not so grossly mistaken in believing him a loose man. Mrs Gerrarde is the fittest mate for him, and I am glad they are gone together.

Sir George was too much mortified at the flagrant misconduct of his friend to attempt excusing him: he contented himself with repeating, It was the strangest thing he ever knew in his life.

My mother then told him Mr Arnold was come to town; and that, as things had taken such a turn, she hoped herself to be able to bring him to the use of his judgment; and therefore thought it would not be at all necessary for my brother to interfere. Sir George said, With all his heart; if her ladyship should be able to patch up a reconciliation that would save his sister’s credit, and she could be so extremely pliant as to think of living with such a husband again, he should not give himself any farther trouble about the matter; but, in his opinion, the affair wore a much odder aspect than it did before. I find Mr Faulkland’s behaviour sticks with him, and has a little cooled his zeal towards him.

November 25

I have had a letter from Patty, who confirms my Lady V——’s account of the lovers flight; and she tells me one of Mrs Gerrarde’s servants is gone off express to town; I suppose, to bring Mr Arnold the news: for they are all in confusion at her house, and know not what is become of their mistress; but they are certain she is gone with Mr Faulkland. Patty adds, The servants believe this scheme had long been concerted, Mr Faulkland having been a private visitor to their mistress for a good while.

I must confess I am astonished at it: it has sunk the man extremely in my opinion.

November 26

Miss Burchell has just been here. Poor creature, she is quite stunned with the news: she could scarce believe it at first, till my mother desired I would shew her Lady V——’s letter, and Patty’s, which corroborated all she said. She then gave way to tears and lamentations; saying, That cruel woman was born to be the destruction of every-body she had any connection with. I have found it so; you, madam (to me), have done so too; Mr Arnold, I believe, has been a great sufferer; Mr Faulkland is now her victim. Inconsiderate and barbarous as he is, I grieve for him.

November 30

I have heard nothing of Mr Arnold. Indeed it is hardly possible that I should: we are shut up here from all commerce with the world. My mother’s illness has confined her to her bed-chamber; we admit no visitors, and I never leave her. I long to know how he takes the ingratitude of his mistress; but I see nobody who converses with him. My brother and Miss Burchell are the only people we see. The latter is pretty often with us; as for Sir George, he only looks in upon us now and then, and we all seem in an aukward situation. I wish my mother were well enough to call on Mr Arnold: I am very anxious to know what his sentiments are; at least in regard to Mrs Gerrarde.

December 6

I have been almost asleep, my dear Cecilia, for this week past; but I have been rouzed this morning in a most extraordinary manner. Sir George called on us; he ran up stairs in a violent hurry; and had a countenance, when he entered the room, that spoke wonders before he opened his mouth. He hardly gave himself time to ask me how I did (though he had not seen me for three days), before he took a bundle of papers out of his pocket, which he gave me. ’Tis from Faulkland, said he, and may be worth your knowlege. Upon opening the cover, I found it contained, at least, four sheets of paper, written on every side. Bless me, brother, said I, do you expect I should take the trouble to read all this? He answered, You may read it at your leisure: you will find it will pay you for the mighty trouble of a perusal. Sir George left me presently; and having read this extraordinary letter to myself, for I happened to be in my own room when my brother came to me, I sate me down to give you a copy of it. My mother, who coughed almost the whole night, is now endeavouring to get a little sleep; so that I will scribble on as fast as I can, while I have no interruption.

Boulogne, Nov. 30, 1704.

My dear Bidulph,

I am in haste to vindicate myself to you, but in much more haste to do so to Mrs Arnold; who, if she bestows a thought at all on me, must, I am sure, hold me in the utmost contempt; and great reason would she have, if things were always as they appear. Methinks I see her beautiful scorn at hearing I had carried off Mrs Gerrarde. What a paltry fellow you must think me too. And yet I have carried her off, and she is now in my possession, not displeased with her situation; and I might, if I would, be as happy as Mrs Gerrarde can make me: but I assure you, Sir George, I have no designs but what are for the good both of her soul and body; and I have hitherto treated her like a vestal. What a paradox is here, say you? But have patience till I tell you the story of my knight-errantry.

You are to know then, that as Arnold’s amour with Mrs Gerrarde was no secret at V—— hall, from the moment I heard it, I meditated a design of breaking the detestable union; not out of regard either to him or her, but in hopes of restoring, to the most amiable of women, a besotted husband’s heart, which nothing but downright magic, infernal witchcraft, could have robbed her of. The woman is handsome, ’tis true; but she is a silly toad, and as fantastic as an ape. I had formed this design, I say, from the first notice I had of the intrigue; and, in consequence of this, resolved to renew my acquaintance with Mrs Gerrarde: for I had known her before; known her to my cost. She it was, this identical devil, whom I have now in my power, that was the cause of Miss Burchell’s misfortune; and therefore the remote cause of my losing Miss Bidulph. Had it not been for her, I should never have had the fall of that unhappy girl to answer for. I should not, I say (mark that); for the mercenary witch was determined to sell her to somebody, when my ill stars threw me in her way. I do not rank this affair in the number of capital crimes; and yet I never think of it without a pang. If half of my fortune would retrieve the girl’s peace of mind, I would give it freely: but it is past now, and cannot be helped. She had the good fortune never to be suspected; and, if she keeps her own council, probably never will. If I die a bachelor (as I believe I shall), I will leave her my whole fortune. What can a man do more?

How I ramble from my subject! I meant only to tell you what my design was in carrying off Mrs Gerrarde. In order to effect it, as I said before, it was necessary for me to renew my acquaintance with her; and accordingly I put on a bold face, and made her a visit. She was not surprized at this, our former intimacy giving me a sufficient pretence for it. She received me with a pleased familiarity, which convinced me my company was far from being disagreeable to her; and I am sure, had my views been other than they were, I should have met with as kind a reception as my heart could have wished; for she certainly thought of retaining me in her service unknown to Arnold. I was soon aware of this; for, though she often desired to see me, she always contrived it at such times, as she was sure of not being surprized by him. This was, in some measure, meeting my purpose halfway; but though I wanted to disengage her from Arnold, I did not mean to sacrifice myself to her; and our views, in the material point, were very different: mine were only to part her from her gallant; her’s were to share her favours between us: for she did not intend to let go her hold on him; and I believe my backwardness, in pushing my good fortune, began to disgust her; but the time for carrying my plan into execution was not yet arrived; it could not be till Arnold’s departure from South-Park. I meant to carry Mrs Gerrarde away with the appearance of her own consent; and I knew this was impossible, whilst her lover remained so near her. I had formed but a rough sketch of my plan when I received your letter, which summoned me to Sidney-Castle; and I resolved not to apprize you of it, till my enterprize was crowned with success; more especially as you were then quite ignorant of your sister’s wrongs.

On my return from visiting you, the first news I heard at V—— hall was, that Mr Arnold and his lady were parted. I curst my own dilatoriness, that I had not executed my plan before things were brought to such extremities; for I well knew it was that artful fiend who had occasioned it, though I then little thought how fatally I had contributed towards the misfortune of the ever-amiable and most-respectable of women.

Lady V—— told me, that your sister, having discovered her husband’s infidelity, had left him on that account; but my lord soon let me into the whole secret. Oh! Sir George, that angel, who deserved the first monarch in the universe, to be cast off by an undiscerning dolt! and I, though innocently, the accursed cause. I cannot think with patience of what the divine creature has suffered on my account; but was it not all, from the beginning, owing to Mrs Gerrarde, that avenging fury, sent on earth as a scourge for the sins of me and of my ancestors?—I rave—but no wonder—I am mad upon this subject.—But to return: I then recollected, that the day before I set out for Sidney Castle, I received a message from Mrs Gerrarde in the morning, desiring my company to drink coffee with her that evening. I obeyed the summons, little expecting to meet Mrs Arnold at her house, whom I had never seen there before. The effect my presence had on her extremely surprized me: she presently quitted the room. Mrs Gerrarde took that opportunity of telling me, that she had dropped in on her very unexpectedly; but, as she supposed she would go directly away, we should have an hour to chat by ourselves. She then followed your sister out, and I remained alone in the parlour. Whilst I was reflecting on this odd encounter, which I did not then imagine had been brought about by design, Mrs Gerrarde came in to me, saying, your sister was so ill she was under a necessity of accompanying her home, and had ordered her chariot for that purpose: she made an apology for being obliged to leave me, and said she should be glad to see me the next day. I took my leave, and in going out saw Mr Arnold at the door, which I judged was the true reason of Mrs Gerrarde’s dismissing me.

I set out for Wiltshire the next morning; and though there was something odd in the whole of this incident, I believed it was owing to chance alone, and thought no more of it; till, upon my Lord V——’s telling me the true cause of your sister’s disgrace, I found that this serpent had laid the whole plan on purpose to destroy her. You see (for to be sure you know all the particulars) how she seduced the innocent Mrs Arnold into this fatal visit, having first engaged me to come at the very point of time when she knew the husband would surprize us; for his coming, you may be satisfied, was not unexpected.

I own to you, Sir George, in the first motions of my rage, I could have stabbed Arnold, Mrs Gerrarde, and myself; but my Lord V—— calmed my transports, by telling me, that it was your sister’s earnest request that this detestable secret should be kept from my knowlege; and that Lady V——, who had intrusted him with it, would never forgive him, if she knew he had divulged it. This reflection brought me back to my senses, and I burned with impatience to execute my first plan, which Mrs Gerrarde’s repeated crimes now called upon me to accelerate. I communicated my design to Lord V——, who was delighted with it; for he perfectly adores your sister. This, said he, though not such a vengeance as that wicked woman deserves, must in the end be productive of what you wish, and Mrs Arnold may be restored to her peace, without injury to her character, or mischief to any-body.

Having settled my measures with Lord V——, I went to pay a visit to Mrs Gerrarde. The cockatrice affected to speak with surprize and concern of your sister’s separation from her husband. I asked her, had she, who was so intimate with both, heard any reason assigned for it? She shook her head, and by a pretended sorrow in her looks, and a mysterious silence, invited me to press for an explanation of her meaning. She told me at length, with a seeming reluctance, that ‘poor Mrs Arnold, though to be sure she was a sensible woman, was not without the little frailties and passions of her sex; and that, astonishing and groundless as her suspicions were, she had taken it into her head to be jealous of Mr Arnold; and with whom do you think, of all people, she suspects him?’ I cannot imagine, said I. Why truly with me, replied the undaunted Jezebel, and looked as if she expected I should be as much amazed as she pretended to be. I affected to laugh at it; and changing the discourse, put an end to my visit.

The measures I had to observe required some management. It would not answer the full extent of my purpose to rob Mr Arnold of his dear, if it did not appear at the same time that she had left him with her own consent. To bring about this, it was necessary that the flight on her part should seem premeditated; which would not carry any face, unless she took with her such of her moveables as were most valuable. This I knew could not be done without the assistance of her maid, whom I therefore not only resolved to trust, but also to make her a partner in her mistress’s elopement.

Having settled thus much of the plan in my own mind, I began my operations, by making the maid presents every time I visited the mistress; and I took care to give those visits as much the air of an amour as I possibly could. I dare swear the girl thought Mrs Gerrarde and I were upon the best terms imaginable. I affected to come at such hours as I was sure Mrs Gerrarde was alone; I always made my visits short, as if through fear of being surprized with her; and went so far as to leave my chariot (when I came in it) at a distance from the house, and walked to it alone, with the caution of one fearful of being observed. It was a matter of indifference to me whether Mrs Gerrarde knew of this or not; my business was only to excite suspicions of an intrigue amongst her servants, in order to answer a future purpose: but if she were to know with what extreme precaution I visited her, my prudence could not but be very agreeable to her: she had her measures to observe as well as myself. As it was of consequence to her to conceal our acquaintance from Arnold’s knowlege, she must necessarily be pleased at the pains I took (without her laying herself open in making the request) to conceal it from him; and she saw I was as careful as she could wish never to interfere with him.

In short, we carried on a private intercourse, that, if it could not be called gallantry, was something very like it; for I amused, complimented, and flattered her so agreeably, that I believe she began to think herself sure of me, and wondered I did not make a better use of the favourable disposition she was in towards me; but I trifled with such dexterity, that even she, with all the cunning she is mistress of, could not possibly fathom my design.

Having thus laid the foundation of my plot, I made no doubt of being able to execute it, with my Lord V——’s assistance: he was in raptures at the thought of our enterprize, and swore he would never have forgiven me, if I had not allowed him a share in it. He said, I would give my right-hand to make Mrs Arnold happy; adding, besides it will save her husband from destruction; for, to my knowlege, that woman has already almost ruined his fortune.

I asked him, might we venture to let my lady into the secret? He said, by no means; my lady was too squeamish to be trusted with such a notable exploit; but, when the affair was over, he would take upon him to excuse me to her, after he had diverted himself a little with her surprize.

I fretted to death at Arnold’s staying so long in the country, as it delayed my enterprize. There was one circumstance indeed that a little compensated for this vexation; and that was, that my long stay at V—— hall, which could be no secret to him, though he dropped visiting there on purpose to avoid me, might in some measure help to efface his injurious suspicions with regard to his lady and me; besides, it gave the better colour to my other designs.

At last the long-sought-for opportunity arrived. Arnold was obliged to go to London on his law-affairs. I took care to inform myself of the day from Mrs Gerrarde’s maid; and learnt at the same time that her mistress purposed going to town in a week after; for she still endeavoured to save appearances, and dared to the last to pretend to reputation. I proposed giving a ball, to take my leave of the ladies, on the night subsequent to the day fixed for Arnold’s departure from South-Park. My lord, almost as anxious for the event as myself, immediately dispatched invitations all over the neighbourhood: there was not a person of any fashion left unasked. Mr Arnold and Mrs Gerrarde, you may be sure, were not forgot. From the former, as we expected, we received a civil apology; from the latter, a message that she would be sure to come.

This was at the distance of eight days from the appointed time. In the interim, I continued to visit Mrs Gerrarde as usual, and took care to bespeak her for a partner. Arnold went to town as opportunely as we could wish. I called on Mrs Gerrarde the same morning; and having my lord’s permission for it, engaged her to come early enough to drink tea, as there were a good many more ladies invited for the same purpose; and, at going away, I dropped a few mysterious hints to her maid.

In the evening there was a very large company met at V—— hall; and having concerted my whole plan, when the ladies were engaged at the tea-table, I slipped out, mounted my horse, and rode to Mrs Gerrarde’s house. I desired to see her maid; and, taking her aside, told her not to be surprized; but that her lady was to go off with me that night: that the thing had, for certain reasons, not been determined on till that very evening: that I had just snatched a minute to desire her to get all her ladies trinkets together, and whatever money and bills she might have in her escruitore. In order to this, I gave her a parcel of small keys, which I had carried in my pocket for the purpose; and bid her hold herself in readiness against seven o’clock, when a person should call on her, who would conduct her to a place where she should find her lady and me.

I needed no arguments to persuade the girl; the thing appeared plausible enough: she was fully convinced of the intimacy between her mistress and me; and knowing her too well to have a doubt of her baseness, she concluded I acted by Mrs Gerrarde’s directions, and promised punctually to obey them. She said, she could easily carry away in the dark as many things as she could conveniently carry; and, to avoid observation from the rest of the servants, she would wait at a cottage hard by, which she named to me, till her conductor arrived.

Whether any of the keys I gave her would fit the locks or not, I was not much concerned; if they did not, I concluded she would think her mistress had made a mistake; and that she would force them open, rather than fail. Having settled this material point, I got back to my Lord V——’s, without having been missed by the company.

Our ball was very well conducted; I danced with Mrs Gerrarde, and we passed a very agreeable evening. We supped at twelve, and she had ordered her chariot to come a little after that hour; but I had given my fellows their cue. As the dancing was not renewed, the company broke up between one and two. Mrs Gerrarde was one of the first that offered to go; but as her servants were not to be found, she was detained till every-body else had taken their leave. At length her coachman and footman were found in the cellar, with one of my mean, all so drunk that they were not able to stand. Her servants were really so, and mine counterfeited so well, there was no discovering the cheat. In this emergency, nothing was more natural than the offering my servants to attend her home, and of course to wait on her myself to see her safe. She readily accepted the first offer, but declined the other. This was easily got over; I handed her into her chariot, and stepped in after her. Our route was settled: we drove from my Lord V——’s door; and turning short from the road that led to Mrs Gerrarde’s house, we struck down a lane which was to carry us by cross-roads to our first destined stage, which was at the distance of seven miles. This was no other than a poor gardener’s house, to which place two of my emissaries had been dispatched that day to wait our coming, with a travelling chariot, and four stout horses. I had taken care, according to promise, to send a trusty groom for the maid, with a boy to carry her luggage. They were both well mounted, and had orders to carry her to an inn on the road to Rochester, and within about a mile of the town. This inn was kept by a fellow, who had formerly been my servant; I had placed him there, and he was intirely at my devotion. He had already received his instructions, and his house was to be our second stage. I concluded the maid had arrived there long before us, having had six or seven hours the start of us, and the place was not more than twenty miles from her own house.

Mrs Gerrarde was not immediately aware of our going out of the road; she was in high spirits, and I kept her in chat. As soon as she perceived it, she cried out, with some surprize, Lord, Mr Faulkland! where is the fellow carrying us? He has missed his way. She called to him; but the coachman, who had orders not to stop unless I spoke to him, only drove the faster. Pray do call to him, said she; the wretch has certainly got drunk with the rest of the servants. I told her there was no possibility of turning in the narrow road in which we then were: that when we got out of it, I would speak to the coachman; and begged of her, in the mean while, not to be frightened. The lane was a very long one, but our rapid wheels soon carried us to the end of it, where I had appointed Pivet and one of my footmen to meet us on horseback. I had another servant behind the chariot, whom I purposed to send back with it in the morning.

At the sight of two horsemen, who were apparently waiting for us, she screamed out, Oh! the villain; he has brought us here to be robbed. She had a good many jewels on her; and, to say the truth, had some reason for her fears. The chariot had now got on a good open road, and the horses rather flew than galloped. The two horsemen joined us, and kept up with us at full speed. I saw she was heartily frightened, and thought it time to undeceive her. I was not ill-natured enough to keep her longer under the apprehensions of highwaymen, and thought she would be less shocked at finding there was a design upon her person, than on her diamond ear-rings. Now, said I, taking one of her hands with rather more freedom than respect, since we are out of all danger of discovery, or any possibility of pursuit, I will tell you a secret; and I spoke with an easy assured tone. She drew her hand away. What do you mean, Sir? Nothing, madam, but to have the pleasure of your company in a little trip I am going to take: believe me, you are not in the least danger; you are under my protection; those are my servants that you see riding with us; and you may judge of the value I set upon you, by the pains I have taken to get you into my possession. Lord, Mr Faulkland! why sure you can’t be serious! Never more so in my life, madam; I have long had a design upon you; but your connection with Mr Arnold—My connection with Mr Arnold, Sir! interrupting me; I don’t understand you!—Come, come, Mrs Gerrarde; you and I are old acquaintance, you know; ’tis no time for dissembling. He has been a happy man long enough: ’tis time for a woman of your spirit to be tired of him; especially as I think I may say, without vanity, you do not change for the worse in falling into my hands. The lady had now recovered her courage; she was no longer in fears of being robbed, and her spirits returned. You audacious creature! how dare you treat me thus? Have you the assurance to insinuate that there was any thing criminal in my attachment to Mr Arnold and his family? My dear madam, I accuse you of no attachment to any of his family; he himself was the only-favoured person—Sure there never was such an impertinent wretch!—But I know the author of this scandal: it was Mrs —— (and she dared to prophane your sister’s honoured name); but I despise her; and Mr Arnold shall soon know how I have been affronted; and she fell a crying.—My dear Mrs Gerrarde, I beg your pardon; I did not mean to offend you: if Mr Arnold admired you, he did no more than what every man does who sees you. I beseech you to compose yourself; by all that is good, I mean you no harm: be calm, I conjure you, and don’t spoil the prettiest face in England with crying. A daring, provoking creature, she sobbed; what could put such an attempt as this in your head? and to what place are you carrying me? Only to France, my dear creature? have you have been there? To France! to France! she exclaimed; and do you dare to think you shall carry me there? Oh! you’ll like it of all things, said I, when you get there—What do you think her reply was: Why, neither more nor less than a good box on the ear. I catched hold of her hand, and kissed it: you charming vixen, how I admire you for your spirit! She endeavoured to wrest her hand from me; but I held them both fast, for fear of another blow. Base, insolent, ravisher, villain! As she rose in her epithets, I replied with, lovely, charming, adorable, tender, gentle creature—She cried again; but they were spiteful tears, and did not create in me the least touch of that pity, which, on any other occasion, they might have moved me to.

I was glad our altercations had a short truce, by the chariot’s stopping at the gardener’s cottage, where I had ordered my equipage to wait. All the family were in bed but the man’s wife, who came curt’sying to the door. I led, or rather lifted, Mrs Gerrarde out of the chariot; for she would not give me her hand; and begging she would repose herself for a few minutes, whilst I gave orders to my servants, put her into the good woman’s hands. She went sullenly in, without making me any answer: and seeing nobody but the old woman, she was convinced that complaints, or an attempt to escape, would be equally fruitless, and so prudently acquiesced. I soon dispatched my orders: I made the footman, who came behind the chariot, mount the box, and directed him to drive to an inn in the next village to Mrs Gerrarde’s house, and from thence to send it home by some one who did not know to whom he belonged. I then ordered my own equipage to the door; and entering the cottage, told the lady I was ready to attend her. The old woman presently vanished; so that seeing nobody to apply to, she suffered me very quietly to put her into my chariot, and I placed myself by her. It was made on purpose for travelling, and I took care to have nothing but wooden windows; to which I had the precaution to add a couple of spring-locks, which shut on drawing up, and were not without difficulty to be opened. One of the windows was already up, and I flurted up the other as soon as I got into the coach. It was a fine moon-light morning, the postilion cracked his whip, and, though the roads were deep and dirty, the four horses darted away like lightning.

I believe, madam, said I, you are by this time convinced that my scheme is too well laid to be baffled by any efforts you can make. I mean to treat you with due respect, and beg you will use me with a little more gentleness than you have done; that is all the favour I shall ask in return, till you yourself are disposed to shew me more.

You are the most amazing creature, said she, that ever breathed! What is the meaning that, in the whole course of our acquaintance, your behaviour never gave me room to believe that you were serious in your designs on me, and now at once you souse upon your prey like a hawk? I’ll answer you in two words, said I. When we first met, you had a husband; since the renewal of our acquaintance (you’ll pardon me), it was no secret that you had a favoured lover in Mr Arnold: I am not of a temper to solicit a lady by stealth, and I would not give a pinch of snuff for the woman who is not intirely at my disposal. Your attachments to Arnold forbad this, and I was determined to have you all to myself. My attachments to Mr Arnold! cried she, impudently, again. Ay, said I, coolly, it began to be talked of so openly, that your reputation was mangled at every tea-table in the country; and had you staid much longer there, you would have found yourself deserted by every female of character that knew you. Mr Arnold’s parting with his wife, was by every-body charged to your account; and as she is reckoned a very good sort of a woman (was not that a pretty phrase?), every one took her part, and were not sparing in their invectives against you. Add to all this, that Arnold has certainly run out his fortune, and is so involved that it will not be possible for him long to make those returns of generosity which your merit deserves.—You and I have been acquainted long; I am no stranger to your circumstances; I know, at Captain Gerrarde’s death, your pension as his widow, and the very small jointure at Ashby, was the whole of your income. Arnold’s love, it is apparent, has hitherto been bountiful; how long it could be in his power to continue it so, may be a question worth your considering.

I found I had mortified her pride, by mentioning the narrowness of her circumstances, and the demolition of her character. If all you say were true, Sir, which is far from being the case (with a toss of her head), you will find it no very easy matter to make me amends for what I shall perhaps lose for ever by this violence of yours, notwithstanding the smallness of my income, which you seem so well informed of. I have a considerable sum of money, and some valuable jewels, lying by me, of which my servants may very probably rob me. I assured her, upon my honour, I would make good to her every thing she should lose through my means, and would take care her situation should never be upon the same precarious footing which it had been. I did not chuse to mention the circumstance of my having secured her maid and her money too; I reserved that for an agreeable surprize. I had measures to observe; I did not want to be on good terms with her too soon for obvious reasons, as nothing was farther from my heart than a thought of gallantry.

For this purpose, I assumed a more distant behaviour, and affected to shew her something like respect. I did not drop the least hint of my knowing that Mr Arnold had made his lady uneasy on my account, much less that I suspected her for the wicked contriver of that mischief. I deferred the discussing of this point till a more favourable opportunity should offer, when it would be in my power to make a better use of it.

My design was by degrees to make her satisfied enough with her situation, not to wish to return to Arnold. When I had once brought her to this, I judged it would not be difficult to carry her still farther, to the point I aimed at; and that was, to write a letter to him of my dictating. You will think this was a strange expectation, and yet it was what I resolved to accomplish. I knew the turn of the mind I had to deal with: bring a woman of this sort into good-humour, and it is easy to wheedle her into compliance. She has no solid understanding; but possesses, in the place of it, a sort of flashy wit, that imposes on common hearers, and makes her pass for what is called clever. With a great deal of vanity, and an affectation of tenderness, which covers the most termagant spirit that ever animated a female breast, her ruling and governing passion is avarice; and yet, strange to tell! generosity is of all things what she professes to admire, and is most studious of having thought her characteristic. Her pretensions to this virtue I have opposed to her vice of avarice, as the terms appropriated to each seem most contrary in their natures; yet I do not mean by generosity, that bounteous disposition which is commonly understood by the word: no, no; she aimed at the reputation of this virtue in our most exalted idea of it, and would fain be thought a woman of a great soul. This phrase was often in her mouth; and though her whole conduct gave the lye to her professions, she would tell you fifty stories, without a word of truth in any of them, to prove how nobly she had acted on such and such occasions. On the knowlege of this part of her temper, I chiefly built my hopes of success.

I kept up a sort of forced conversation during the rest of our journey. She was sullen, but not rude. As I was far from desiring to come to an eclaircissement with her, I did not wish to have her in better temper.

We reached the inn, which was about a mile on our side of Rochester, at eight o’clock in the morning. This was a favourable hour, as by that time every traveller must have left the stages they lay at. The house stood alone, and luckily enough had no company in it. My old servant, Lamb, had received my instructions by letter, and was prepared accordingly for our reception. This was the place to which I had ordered the maid to be carried; she had arrived there some time before us, and was safely lodged.

The chariot drove into the court-yard close to the door of the inn; the step was let down in an instant, and Mrs Lamb appeared to receive us. We both darted into the house. Dressed as we were for a ball, we made an odd appearance as travellers at that hour of the morning. I believe this consideration made Mrs Gerrarde very readily hurry upstairs with the woman of the house.

I enquired for Mrs Gerrarde’s maid, having given orders to Lamb that she should not been seen till I first spoke to her. I was carried into the room where she was: she seemed very glad that we were arrived. I desired her to lay out her lady’s toilet, which I concluded she had brought with her; for that Mrs Gerrarde would presently put herself in a proper habit for travelling. The maid told me she had brought her mistress’s riding-dress with her, and as many other things of her wearing apparel as she could conveniently carry. I saw a vast heap of things lying unpacked on a bed which was in the room, and asked her how she had managed so cleverly as to get such a number of things together without observation. She told me she had lost no time, from the minute I left her, till the arrival of her guide; but had employed the interval in carrying out some of the best of her lady’s cloaths piece by piece, and conveying them to the cottage, which she could easily do without the servants seeing her; for as it was dark, she passed in and out without observation. Here she huddled them into a large portmanteau. After this she went to examine her lady’s escruitore; but was a long time puzzled in endeavouring to open it, as none of the keys I had given her answered. She endeavoured to force it open with as little noise as possible, but in vain. She then had recourse to a second trial of the keys, when one of them, which probably had been passed by before, luckily opened the lock; and she secured all the money and jewels she could find. These, said she, kept me in continual dread all the way as I travelled; for I have eight hundred pounds in bank notes; and though my lady has such a quantity of jewels on her, I am sure I have as many more about me, which I have hid in different parts of my cloaths.

I commended the girl’s diligence, as indeed it deserved; and having before ordered tea and coffee into Mrs Gerrarde’s room, I now went in to breakfast with her. I found the woman of the house still with her, at which I was not at all uneasy; for as she had been tutored by her husband, I knew she was not to be wrought upon, if Mrs Gerrarde had attempted it.

As I did not at that time desire a tête à tête with her, I contrived to keep Mrs Lamb in the room, by desiring her to drink tea with us.

When we had done breakfast, I told Mrs Gerrarde, that as I feared she was a good deal fatigued, if it was agreeable to her, we would remain where we were for that day; and that I would by all means have her think of taking some rest. She said she was extremely tired, and should like to get a little sleep. I think, madam, you had better go to bed, said Mrs Lamb; I have a very quiet chamber ready, where no noise in the house can disturb you. Shew me to it, answered Mrs Gerrarde, with a tone of weariness and ill-humour. The woman obeyed; I followed: she carried her to the door of the room where the maid was, and throwing it open, Mrs Gerrarde, who supposed she was attending her, went in: I stepped in after her; Mrs Lamb withdrew.

Mrs Gerrarde’s astonishment at the sight of her maid, is past description. Rachael! in a tone of admiration. Rachael, who did not think there was any thing unexpected or extraordinary in their meeting, quite at a loss to guess at what her mistress wondered, answered her in her turn with some surprize. Madam! and waited, expecting she would give her some orders; which finding the lady did not, the maid asked her, very composedly, Would she please to undress? I hope, Madam, said I, stepping forward, that Mrs Rachael has taken care to bring you every thing you may have occasion for; I shall leave you in her hands, and wish you a good repose. Strange, astonishing creature! said Mrs Gerrarde, looking at me with less anger than surprize. I bowed, and left the room.

I ordered Mrs Lamb to have an eye to my prisoners; and heartily tired as I was, between dancing and travelling, I undressed and threw myself into bed. I slept till six o’clock in the evening; then rose, and put myself into a habit fitter for my journey than that in which I came; and which I had sent in a post-trunk before me, by the messenger whom I had employed to apprize Lamb of my coming.

Mrs Gerrarde was not yet stirring. I called for Rachael, and asked her how she had come off with her lady, upon telling her the manner of her falling into my snare. Rachael told me her lady wondered mightily at my art, and said I was the strangest gentleman that ever was born. My friend Rachael softened the expression I fancy; I am sure Mrs Gerrarde did not call me a strange gentleman. She said her mistress smiled two or three times at her relation, particularly at my giving her the keys. I found, upon the whole, that my conduct in securing to her her money and her jewels, together with the attendance of her maid, had a good deal appeased her resentment.

Mrs Gerrarde did not rise till near eight o’clock. I had ordered as elegant a dinner as the house could afford; and the lady having put herself into a genteel dishabille, with great alacrity sat down to table, and did not appear to have fretted away her appetite. I would suffer no one to attend but Rachael. I told Mrs Gerrarde that I purposed setting out for Dover that night, and that as it could not be supposed her maid should be able to ride so far, and that a second carriage with four horses (as less might not be able to keep pace with us) would be liable to observation, I would, if she pleased, resign my place in the chariot to Mrs Rachael, and attend her myself on horseback. She answered me coldly. Since she must go, it was indifferent to her who was to be her companion. Though the motive I offered for this manner of travelling was not without its weight, yet my true reason was to avoid being boxed up so long again with Mrs Gerrarde. My time was not yet come for explanations, and I was afraid of being upon good terms with her too soon.

The remainder of the evening was spent by her and her maid in carefully packing up their baggage, which had been brought in a confused huddle to the inn. Mrs Gerrarde had a convenient trunk bought at Rochester for the purpose, and assisted herself in laying them up safely.

She equipped herself in a smart riding-dress, and at eleven o’clock, without any great reluctance, permitted me to put her and her maid into the chariot. The inn had no company in it, at least that we saw; and our host was too discreet to let any of his servants be in the way. I mounted my horse, and triumphantly galloped off with my prize.

We reached Dover early next morning, and immediately got on board the packet. The lady by this time appeared so perfectly serene, that I believe in my soul I should not have got rid of her, if I had desired her to have gone back again; but she had assumed a new air, and affected a fine tender melancholy in her countenance. I guessed at her thoughts, and found afterwards my conjecture right. Will you believe me, Sir George, when I tell you the baggage had formed serious honourable designs upon my person? Fact, upon my word. I saw it presently (you know my knack of reading people’s minds in their faces), and was not sorry for the discovery; for though I determined not on any account to encourage such a wild expectation, yet I intended to make a discreet use of it; besides, I knew it would afford me a handle for keeping a respectful distance.

We landed next evening. She had been very sick at sea, and continued so much out of order, that she was put to bed as soon as we got to the inn. She ordered her maid not to stir from her; the very thing I wished; so that I had nothing to do but to be very troublesome in my enquiries after her health, and very sorry for her indisposition.

The next morning however set all to rights; and after congratulating her on her recovery, and the revival of her beauty, I told her I meant to carry her to Boulogne, whither I had sent Pivet the night before to take lodgings for us, in a private house which he knew. I found that neither Mrs Gerrarde nor her maid spoke French; a circumstance I was very glad of, though the former bitterly lamented her having forgot it. She made not the least objection to the travelling from Calais to Boulogne, as she had done before: her late indisposition gave me a pretence for insisting on Rachael’s attending her in the chariot.

The lodgings Pivet had taken were very handsome; our apartments were on the same floor, separated only by a lobby. Mrs Rachael had a little bed fitted up for her by my directions in her lady’s dressing-room. Thus far I had sailed before the wind; but now came the difficult part of my task. It was impossible for Mrs Gerrarde to conceive that any thing, but down-right love for her person, could have induced me to do what I had done. I had actually run away with her, put myself to some hazard, and, what in her estimation was no small matter, some expence too. No other motive had appeared in all my conduct towards her; and tho’ I had not absolutely made love to her, yet what other construction could my actions bear? for my words, to say the truth, were equivocal. She must necessarily have concluded that I had no other view but a piece of gallantry with her. Her designs on me were of a much more serious nature; and her vanity made her imagine, that, notwithstanding my thorough knowledge of her character, her cunning, joined to my passion, might lead me into her snare.

Now, I had two nice points to consider of, and two difficulties to surmount. The first was, not, by any part of my conduct, to carry the deception so far as to give her the least room to hope I could be mad enough to marry her. This, bad as she is, and extravagant as I am, I could not think of doing, even to gain my favourite point. The other was, to keep up such an appearance of gallantry towards her as she must naturally expect, and at the same time avoid all approaches which usually forerun the catastrophe of an amour; than which nothing was more repugnant to my wishes.

To steer between these two extremes was the difficult task, particularly the latter; for, between ourselves, I began to be much more afraid of her than she was of me. I knew it would be impossible for me to keep up the farce long; the sooner it was over the better; and therefore I determined to enter on my part directly.

I had been ruminating on my project all the way as I rode. When we arrived at Boulogne, I found myself a little out of order, having caught cold; and as I was really somewhat feverish, a thought started into my head, that this illness might aid me in my design. When we came to our lodgings, I made my excuses to Mrs Gerrarde for not being able to attend her: I told her I found myself ill, and must be obliged to go to bed. She said she was very sorry, and perhaps she spoke truth.

I left her in possession of her new apartment with her maid Rachael. Their being strangers to the language of the country cut off all communication with the people of the house, who could not speak English. I introduced Pivet to them, whom they had never seen before (for he had taken particular care to keep out of their view during the whole journey), as a gentleman who was to be their interpreter; and having thus settled my household, I retired to my bed-chamber.

Not well, nor sick enough to go to bed, I threw myself however down on it; and after revolving in my mind all the occurrences of the three or four past days, I started up again, sat down to my desk, and have given you, my Bidulph, a faithful narrative of my proceedings down to the present period of time, being November 20, eight o’clock in the evening.

You may soon expect to have the second part of this my delectable history; ‘Shewing how Orlando, not being able to prevail, with all his eloquence, on the as fair and beautiful, as fierce and inexorable, Princess Gerrardina, to put the finishing hand to his adventures and most wonderful exploits, did, his wrath being moved thereby, like an ungentle knight, bury his sword in her snow-white, but savage and unrelenting breast; whereat, being stung with remorse, he afterwards kills himself.’

Would not this be a pretty conclusion of my adventures? No, no, Sir George, expect better things from thy friend. I hope my knight-errantry will not end so tragically. But hasten to make my peace with that gracious creature your sister: yet why do I name her and myself in the same sentence? She cares not for me, thinks not of me, or, if she does, it is with contempt. I said this before, and I must repeat it again; but tell her, what I have done was with a view to promote her happiness. Oh! may she be happy, whatever becomes of me. I know the means I have used will make her angry; but try to make her forgive the means for the motive’s sake. Tell her as much of this wild story as you think proper; but do not let her see it in my wild rambling language; that is only fit for your own eye.

Your mother, I know, is out of all patience with me. I am black enough in her opinion already. This last action, as far as she has yet known of it, will dye me ten shades deeper; but pray put in a word for me there too. I know she will say, that ‘we are not to return evil for evil; and that it is not lawful to do evil, though to bring forth good.’ But put her in mind that there are such things as pious frauds (though, by-the-bye, I do not take this of mine to be one of them); ‘that wicked people are to have their arts opposed by arts; and that good people have not only been permitted, but commanded to execute vengeance on sinners.’ And you may hint at the children of Israel’s being ordered to spoil the Ægyptians, though far be it from me to spoil Mrs Gerrarde of any thing she has. This however, and as many wise sayings as you can collect for the purpose, you may string together; and be sure you tell her I have hopes of reclaiming Mrs Gerrarde from her evil courses, and do not despair of prevailing on her to go into a nunnery; for Mrs Gerrarde, you must know, was bred a Roman Catholic, though she conformed on marrying Captain Gerrarde.

Now put all this into decent language, fit for that very good woman’s ears; for good I must call her, notwithstanding she was inexorable to me.

I am fatigued with writing so long a letter—I feel my disorder increase upon me; I will be let blood, and hope soon to give you a good account of my undertaking. Mean while, if I am not quite reprobated, write me a line, directed under cover to Monsieur Larou, at the Post-house, Boulogne. Farewel, my dear Bidulph; sick or well, I am ever your’s,

O.F.

December 7

Was there ever such a piece of knight-errantry? What a mad-cap is this! Pray, my dear, are you not astonished at him? I am sure I am. I had not an opportunity to finish the copying of this very long letter, which I began yesterday morning, till very late this night. My poor mother has been so restless, and so much out of order, these two days, I desired her leave to read to her Mr Faulkland’s history (for I can call it by no other name) as I sat by her bed-side. She told me, I might let her know the substance of what he said, as it would fatigue her too much to attend to so long an epistle.

You would have smiled, my Cecilia, at my good parent’s amazement, when I told her Mr Faulkland’s proceedings, and his reasons for them. She would scarce give credit to it at first, and I was obliged to repeat several circumstances to her over again. And so, said she, this was all on your account, and he had really no ill design on Mrs Gerrarde. I am glad of this for Miss Burchell’s sake, and shall be impatient to tell her of it. I begged of my mother to wait a while for the result of Mr Faulkland’s adventure, before she mentioned any thing of the matter to Miss Burchell. We do not yet know, said I, how this matter may turn out; Mr Faulkland, to be sure, will make haste to communicate to my brother the issue of this odd affair, and it will then be time enough to inform the young lady.

My mother unwillingly consented to postpone a discovery which she knew would be so agreeable to Miss Burchell. I applaud her humanity; but think that, good and prudent as she is, she is too unreserved in her confidences. This strange business is, I think, at present in too critical a suspence to trust the knowledge of it to anybody. If Mr Faulkland fails in his design, his avowal of it will be far from serving me. Sir George was with us for a few minutes to-day, only to exult in Mr Faulkland’s recovered credit. Has he not well explained himself, said he? Oh! I knew there must have been some mystery at the bottom of that conduct which surprized us all so much. There’s a man for you! Shew me another who would carry his noble disinterested love to such lengths!

My mother did not like that he should run on in that strain, and therefore stopped him. The end crowns all, Sir George: let us see how your friend will conduct himself through this ticklish affair. Let him get through it how he will, answered my brother a little bluntly, I think Sidney has obligations to him she ought never to forget.

December 16

More intelligence, my dear; stranger and stranger still! I am sorry I sent off my last packet, as I am sure you must be impatient for the conclusion of Mr Faulkland’s adventure; and then what sorry stuff has the interval been filled up with! but I will now make you amends. My mother is better too, thank God! and every thing promises well.

Sir George has had a second packet from Boulogne. Take the continuation of Mrs Gerrarde’s history as follows:

How rude is the hand of sickness, my Bidulph! it had like to have spoiled one of the best projects that ever was undertaken, and consigned to oblivion an action worthy of immortality. I have been very ill since I last wrote to you; the disorder, which I then complained of, turned out to be an ugly fever; and I was for three days in extreme danger. Mrs Gerrarde was, during that time, closely attended by Pivet, whose services I dispensed with on that account. He told me she appeared uneasy at my situation, and enquired constantly, and kindly too, after my health. When I grew well enough to sit up, I begged the favour of seeing her in my chamber. She came very readily, and seemed downright anxious for my recovery. I told her I hoped she had been treated with proper care and respect during my sickness. She said Mr Pivet was a very obliging, good-natured man, and had endeavoured to make her confinement as easy to her as possible.