Chapter IX

Mrs. Stafford now saw that nothing remained but to follow her husband to a prison, or prevail on him to go to the Continent while she attempted anew to settle his affairs.

Obstinate even in despair, she had the utmost difficulty to convince him of the necessity of this measure; and would never, perhaps, have done it, if the more persuasive argument of a writ, taken out by James Crofts, had not driven him to embrace it rather than go into confinement.

Mrs. Stafford with difficulty procured money to furnish him for his journey, and saw him depart for Dover; while she herself returned to Emmeline, who had passed the three weeks of her absence in great uneasiness. No news had been received of Delamere; and she now believed, that of the promise he had forced from her he meant not to avail himself; yet did not relinquish it; but in proud and sullen resentment, disdained even to enquire whether he had justly harboured anger against her. She wished to have withdrawn a promise she could no longer think of without pain and regret; but she found Mrs. Stafford so unhappy, that she could not resolve to oppress her by complaints; and after some struggles with herself, determined to let the matter take it's course.

Willingly, however, she consented to accompany her friend to France; where Mrs. Stafford, at her husband's request, now determined to go with her family. She had found an opulent tradesman in a neighbouring town, who engaged, on receiving a mortgage on the estate, and ten per cent. interest, (which he so managed as to evade the appearance of usury,) to let her have the money to pay Mr. Crofts, and a farther sum for the support of her family: and having got a tenant for the house, and satisfied as many of the clamorous creditors as she could, she prepared, with a heavy heart, to quit her abode, with Emmeline and her infant family.

As it was necessary that little William should be sent to the Isle of Wight before their departure, Emmeline wrote to fix a day at the distance of a month, on which she desired Lady Adelina to send some careful person for him. But ten days before the expiration of that period, letters came from Mr. Stafford, in which he directed his wife, who intended to embark at Brighthelmstone and land at Dieppe, to change her route, and sail from Southampton to Havre. He also desired her to hasten her journey: and as every thing was now put on the best footing the time would allow, Mrs. Stafford immediately complied; and with her own unfortunate family, Emmeline, and little William, (whom they now meant to carry themselves to Lady Adelina) they left Woodfield.

The pain of quitting, probably for ever, a favourite abode, which she feared would at length be torn from her children by the rapacity of the law, and the fatigue of travelling with infant children, under such circumstances, almost overcame the resolution and spirits of Mrs. Stafford. Emmeline, ever reasonable, gentle, and consoling, was her principal support; and on the evening of the second day they arrived at Southampton.

While Emmeline almost forgot in her attention to her friend her own uncertain and unpleasant state, Delamere remained in Norfolk, where he had hid himself from the enquiries of his father, and from the importunities of his mother, who was now, with her eldest daughter, settled again in Berkley Square. Here he nourished inveterate resentment against Fitz-Edward: and finding it impossible to forget Emmeline, he continued to think of her as much as ever, but with indignation, jealousy and rage.

He had, immediately on receiving, as he believed, a confirmation of all those suspicions with which the Crofts' had so artfully inspired him, resolved to demand satisfaction of Fitz-Edward; and hearing on enquiry that he was in Ireland, but his return immediately expected, he waited with eager and restless uneasiness till the person whom he had commissioned to inform him of his return should send notice that he was again in London.

Week after week, however, passed away. He still heard, that tho' expected hourly, Fitz-Edward arrived not. Time, far from softening the asperity with which his thoughts dwelt on this supposed rival, seemed only to irritate and inflame his resentment; and ingenious in tormenting himself, he now added new anguish to that which corroded his heart, by supposing that Emmeline, aware of the danger which threatened her lover from the vengeance of his injured friend, had written to him to prevent his return. This idea was confirmed, when the agent whom he employed to watch the return of Fitz-Edward at length informed him that he had obtained leave of absence from his regiment, now in England, and was to pass the remainder of the winter with Lord and Lady Clancarryl.

The fury of his passions seemed to be suspended, while with gloomy satisfaction he looked forward to a speedy retribution: but now, when no immediate prospect offered of meeting the author of his calamities, they tormented him with new violence. Emmeline and Fitz-Edward haunted his dreams; Emmeline and Fitz-Edward were ever present to his imagination; he figured to himself his happy rival possessed of the tenderness and attachment of that gentle and sensible heart. The anguish these images inflicted affected his health; and while every day, as it passed, brought nothing to alleviate his despair, he became more and more convinced that the happiness of his life was blasted for ever; and growing impatient of life itself, determined to go to Ireland and insist on an opportunity of losing it, or of taking that of the man who had made it an insupportable burthen.

He set out therefore, attended only by Millefleur, and gave Lord Montreville no notice of his intention 'till he reached Holyhead; from thence he wrote to his Lordship to say that he had received an invitation to visit some friends at Dublin, and that he should continue about a month in Ireland. His pride prompted him to do this; least his father, on hearing of his absence, should suppose that he was weak enough to seek a reconciliation with Emmeline, whose name he now never mentioned, being persuaded that his Lordship knew how ill she had repaid an affection, which, tho' he could not divest himself of, he was now ashamed to acknowledge.

Lord Montreville, happy to find he had really quitted her, was extremely glad of this seasonable journey; which, as the Crofts' assured him Emmeline was on the point of leaving England, would, he thought, prevent his enquiring whither she was gone, and by introducing him into a new set of acquaintance, turn his thoughts to other objects and perfect his cure.

While Delamere then was travelling to Ireland in pursuit of Fitz-Edward, Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline left Southampton on a visit to Lady Adelina in the Isle of Wight; being desirous of delivering little William into the arms of his mother and his uncle. Tho' it was now almost the end of January, they embarked in an open boat, with the servant who waited on the child; but being detained 'till almost noon on account of the tide, it was evening before they reached a village on the shore, three miles beyond Cowes, where they were to land.

On arriving there, they found that the house of Captain Godolphin was situated two miles farther. Mrs. Stafford, ever attentive and considerate, was afraid that the sight of the child so unexpectedly, might overpower the spirits of Lady Adelina, and cause speculation among the servants which it was absolutely necessary to avoid. Emmeline therefore undertook to walk forward, attended by a boy in the village, who was to shew her the way, and apprize Lady Adelina of the visitor she was to expect.

Pleasure, in spite of herself, glowed in her bosom at the idea of again meeting Godolphin; tho' she knew not that he had conceived for her the most pure and ardent passion that was ever inspired by a lovely and deserving object.

He had long since found that his heart was irrecoverably gone. But tho' he struggled not against his passion, he loved too truly to indulge it at the expence of Emmeline; and had therefore determined to avoid her, and not to embitter _her_ life with the painful conviction that their acquaintance had destroyed the happiness of _his_. For this reason he did not intend going himself to fetch his nephew from Woodbury Forest, but had given a careful servant directions to go thither in a few days after that when Emmeline herself prevented the necessity of the journey.

Her walk lay along the high rocks that bounded the coast; and it was almost dark before she entered a small lawn surrounded with a plantation, in which the house of Godolphin was situated. About half an acre of ground lay between it and the cliff, which was beat by the swelling waves of the channel. The ground on the other side rose more suddenly; and a wood which covered the hill behind it, seemed to embosom the house, and take off that look of bleakness and desolation which often renders a situation so near the sea unpleasant except in the warmest months of Summer. A sand walk lead round the lawn. Emmeline followed it, and it brought her close to the windows of a parlour. They were still open; she looked in; and saw, by the light of the fire, for there were no candles in the room, Godolphin sitting alone. He leaned on a book, which there was not light enough to read; scattered papers lay round him, and a pen and ink were on the table.

Emmeline could not forbear looking at him a moment before she approached the door. She could as little command her curiosity to know on what he was thus deeply thinking. The boy who was with her ran round to the kitchen, and sent up a servant to open the door; who immediately throwing open that of the parlour, said--'A lady, Sir!'

Godolphin starting from his reverie, arose, and unexpectedly beheld the subject of it.

His astonishment at this visit, was such as hardly left him the power to express the pleasure with which that astonishment was mingled. 'Miss Mowbray!' exclaimed he--'Is it indeed Miss Mowbray?'

For a moment he surveyed her in silent extasy, then congratulated himself upon his unhoped for good fortune; and answering her enquiries about Lady Adelina, he suddenly seemed to recollect the papers which lay on the table, hurried them into a drawer, and again returning to Emmeline, told her how happy he was to see her look so well. He thought indeed that he had never seen her so infinitely lovely. The sharpness of the air during her walk had heightened the glow of her complexion; her eyes betrayed, by their soft and timid glances, the partiality of which she was hardly yet conscious; she trembled, without knowing why; and could hardly recover her composure, while Godolphin, who would trust no other person to deliver the message, ran eagerly up stairs to acquaint Lady Adelina. 'My sister,' cried he, immediately returning, 'will be with you instantly; a slight pain in her head has kept her on the bed almost all day. But to what do we owe the happiness of seeing you here, when we thought you on the point of sailing for France by another route?'

Emmeline then hastily explained the change in their plan; adding, gravely--'You will have another visitor, who cannot fail of being welcome both to you and Lady Adelina. Mrs. Stafford stays with him at the village, while she desired me to come on to prepare you for his reception, and to know how you will have him introduced?'

'As _my_ child,' answered Godolphin. 'My servants are already prepared to expect such an addition to my family. Ever amiable, ever lovely Miss Mowbray!' continued he, with looks that encreased her confusion--'what obligation does not our little boy--do we not all owe you?'

At this moment Lady Adelina, who had been obliged to wait some moments to recover herself from the joyful surprise into which the news of Emmeline's arrival had thrown her, ran into the room, and embracing with transport her lovely friend, sighed; but unable to weep, sat down, and could only kiss her hands with such wild expressions of rapture, that Emmeline was alarmed least it should have any ill effect on her intellects, or on a frame ever extremely delicate; and which now had, from her having long indulged incurable sorrow, assumed an appearance of such languor and weakness, that Emmeline with extreme concern looked on her as on a beautiful shadow whom she probably beheld for the last time.

She stood a moment pensively gazing on her face. Godolphin said gently to his sister, who still held the hand of Emmeline--'Adelina, my love, recollect yourself--you keep Miss Mowbray standing.'

'What is yet more material,' answered Emmeline, smiling, is, 'that you keep me from writing a note to Mrs. Stafford, which the boy who waits here is to take back to her.'

Godolphin answered that he would go himself to Mrs. Stafford, and instantly departed; while Emmeline began to talk to Lady Adelina of the immediate arrival of her child. She at length succeeded in getting her to speak of him, and to weep extremely; after which, she grew more composed, and her full heart seemed relieved by talking of her brother.

Her words, tho' faint, and broken by the emotion she felt, yet forcibly conveyed to the heart of Emmeline impressions of that uncommon worth they described.

'Never,' said she, 'can I be sufficiently grateful to heaven for having given me such a brother. 'Tis not in words, my Emmeline, to do him justice! He is all that is noble minded and generous. Tho' from the loss of his vivacity and charming spirits, I know too well how deeply my unworthy conduct has wounded him; tho' I know, that by having sullied the fair name of our family, and otherwise, I have been the unhappy cause of injuring his peace, yet never has a reproach or an unkind word escaped him. Pensive, yet always kind; melancholy, and at times visibly unhappy; yet ever gentle, considerate, and attentive to me; always ready to blame himself for yielding to that despondence which he cannot without an effort conquer; trying to alleviate the anguish of my mind by subduing that which frequently preys on his own; and now burying the memory of my fault in compassion to my affliction, he adopts my child, and allows me without a blush to embrace the dear infant, for whom I dare not otherwise shew the tenderness I feel.'

Emmeline, affected by this eulogium, to which her heart warmly assented, was silent.

'There is,' reassumed Lady Adelina, 'but one being on earth who resembles him:--it is my Emmeline! If ever two creatures eminently excelled the rest of their species, it is my friend and my brother!'

Something throbbed at the heart of Emmeline at these words, into which she was afraid to enquire: her engagement to Delamere, yet uncancelled, lay like a weight upon it; and seemed to impress the idea of her doing wrong while she thus listened to the praises of another; and felt that she listened with too much pleasure! She asked herself, however, whether it was possible to be insensible of the merit of Godolphin? Yet conscious that she had already thought of it too much, she wished to change the topic of discourse--But Lady Adelina still pursued it.

'Lord Westhaven,' said she, 'my elder brother, is indeed a most respectable and excellent man. Equally with my brother William, he inherits from my father, integrity, generosity and nobleness of mind, together with a regularity of morals and conduct, unusual in so young a man even in any rank of life, and remarkable in him, who has passed almost all his in the army. But he is, tho' not yet thirty, much older than I am, and has almost always been absent from me; those who know him better, have told me, that with as many other good qualities as William, he has less softness of temper; and being almost free from error himself, makes less allowance for the weakness of others. Such, however, has been the management of my younger brother, that the elder knows not the truth of my circumstances--he does not even suspect them. You may very possibly see him and Lady Westhaven abroad. I know I need not caution my Emmeline--she will be careful of the peace of her poor friend.'

Emmeline soon satisfied Lady Adelina on that head, who then asked when she heard of Delamere?

This question Emmeline had foreseen: but having predetermined not to distress her unfortunate friend, by telling her into what difficulties her attendance on her and her child had led her, and being shocked to own herself the subject of suspicions so injurious as those Delamere had dared to harbour, she calmly answered that Delamere was returned to England, but that she had seen him only for a few moments.

'And did he not object,' enquired Lady Adelina, 'to your quitting England, since he is himself returned to it?'

Emmeline, who could not directly answer this question, evaded it by saying--

'My absence or my presence you know cannot hasten the period, 'till the arrival of which our marriage cannot take place--_if_ it ever takes place at all.'

'_If_ it ever takes place at all?' repeated Lady Adelina--'Does then any doubt remain of it?'

'An affair of that sort,' replied Emmeline, assuming as much unconcern as she could, 'is always doubtful where so many clashing interests and opposite wishes are to be reconciled, and where so very young a man as Mr. Delamere is to decide.'

'Do you suspect that he wavers then?' very earnestly asked Lady Adelina, fixing her eyes on the blushing face of Emmeline.

'I really am not sure,' answered she--'you know my promise, reluctantly given, was only conditional. I am far from being anxious to anticipate by firmer engagements the certainty of it's being fulfilled; much better contented I should be, if he yet took a few years longer to consider of it. You, Lady Adelina,' continued she, smiling, 'are surely no advocate for early marriages; and Mrs. Stafford is greatly averse to them. You must therefore suppose that what my two friends have found inimical to their happiness, I cannot consider as being likely to constitute mine.'

This speech had the effect Emmeline intended. It brought back the thoughts of Lady Adelina from the uncertainties of her friend to her own actual sorrows. She sighed deeply.

'You say truly,' said she. '_I_ have no reason to wish those I love may precipitately form indissoluble engagements; nor _do_ I wish it. Would to God _I_ had not been the victim of an hasty and unhappy marriage; or that I had been the _only_ victim. Emmeline,' added she, lowering her voice, now hardly audible, 'Emmeline, _may_ I ask?--where is--spare me the repetition of a name I have solemnly vowed never to utter--you understand me?'

'I do,' answered Emmeline, gravely. 'He has been in Ireland; but is now I suppose in London, as the time he told me he should pass there has long since elapsed. I heard he was to return no more to Tylehurst, and that Mr. Delamere had given up the house there; but of this I know nothing from themselves. The person you enquire after, I have seen only once, and that for half an hour. Mrs. Stafford can tell you more, if you wish to hear it.'

'Ah! pardon my wretched weakness, Emmeline! I know I ought to conquer it! But I cannot help wishing--I cannot help being anxious to hear of him! Yet would I conceal from every one but you that the recollection of this unhappy man never a moment leaves me. Tell me, my angelic friend! for of you I may ask and be forgiven--has he seen his son?'

'He has; and was extremely affected. But dear Lady Adelina, do not, I beseech you, enquire into the particulars of the interview. Try, my beloved friend, to divest yourself of these painful recollections--ah! try to recover your peace, and preserve your life, for the sake of our dear little William and those friends who love you.'

The unhappy Adelina, who notwithstanding all her efforts, was devoured by an incurable affection for a man whom she had sworn to banish from her heart for ever, and whose name her brother would not suffer her to pronounce, now gave way to an agony of passion which she could indulge only before Emmeline; and so violently was she affected by regret and despair, that her friend trembled least her reason should again forsake it's seat. She tried, by soothing and tenderness, to appease this sudden effusion of grief; and had hardly restored her to some degree of composure, before Mrs. Stafford entered the room and embraced most cordially Lady Adelina, while Godolphin followed her with the little boy in his arms. In contemplating the beauty of his nephew, he had forgotten the misery of which his birth had been the occasion; for with all the humanity of a brave man, Godolphin possessed a softness of heart, which the helpless innocence of the son, and the repentant sorrow of the mother, melted into more than feminine tenderness. He carried the child to his sister, and put it into her arms--

'Take him, my Adelina!' said he--'take our dear boy: and while you embrace and bless him, you will feel all you owe to those who have preserved him.'

Lady Adelina did indeed feel such complicated sensations that she was unable to utter a word. She could only press the little boy to her heart and bedew his face with tears. Her affecting silence and pale countenance alarmed both Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline; and the former, willing to give her thoughts a new turn, said--

'You do not suppose, my dear friends, that we intend to go back to Southampton to night? so I hope you will give us some supper and beds in this hospitable island.'

Godolphin, who had been too much enchanted to think before, immediately saw that the meaning of Mrs. Stafford's solicitude was merely to call the thoughts of his sister from herself to her guests; he seconded therefore this intention, by desiring Lady Adelina to give proper orders about the apartments for her friends; and to take _his_ little boy to that which had been prepared for his reception. The three ladies therefore withdrew with the child; where Lady Adelina soon recovered some degree of serenity, and was able to sit at table while they supped.

Had Mrs. Stafford been before unsuspicious of the passion of Godolphin for Emmeline, she would have been convinced of it during the course of this evening. His voice, his countenance, his manner, evidently betrayed it; and whenever the eyes of Emmeline were turned to any other object, his were fixed on her face, with looks so expressive of tender admiration, yet tempered by a kind of hopeless dejection, that the most uninterested observer could hardly have mistaken his thoughts.

But it was not her face, however interesting; or her form, however graceful; that rivetted the chains of Godolphin. He had seen many faces more regularly beautiful, and many figures equally elegant, with indifference: he had heard, with coldness, the finest sentiments uttered by the fairest mouths; and had listened to the brilliant sallies of fashionable wit, with contempt. In Emmeline, he discovered a native dignity of soul, an enlarged and generous heart, a comprehensive and cultivated understanding, a temper at once soft and lively, with morals the most pure, and manners simple, undesigning and ingenuous. To these solid perfections, genius had added all the lighter graces; and nature, a form which, enchanting as it must ever have been, seemed to receive irresistible charms from the soul by which it was informed.

All his philosophy could not prevent his being sensible of the attractions of such a woman; nor was his resolution sufficiently strong to enable him to struggle against their influence, even when he found he had nothing to hope. But yielding to the painful delight of loving her, he persuaded himself that tho' he could not conquer he could conceal it; and that while she was ignorant of his passion it could be injurious only to himself.

His absence and silence during supper was broken only by his natural politeness. After it concluded, they drew round the fire; and the three ladies entered into one of those interesting conversations that are so pleasant where mutual confidence and esteem reign among the party.

Godolphin continued silent; and insensibly fell into a train of thought the most dangerous to that appearance of indifference which he believed he could observe. Looking at Emmeline as she talked to his sister, and remembering all the friendship she had shewn her, hearing the sound of her voice and the elegance of her expressions, he began insensibly to consider how blessed he _might_ have been, had he known her before her hand was promised and her affections given to the fortunate Delamere.

'Had it but been _my_ lot!' said he to himself--'had it been _my_ lot!--ah, what happiness, after the fatigues and dangers of my profession, to return to this place which I love so much, and to be received by such a friend--such a mistress--such a wife as she will make!' He indulged these ideas, 'till absolutely lost in them, he was unconscious of every thing but their impression, and starting up, he struck his hands together and cried--

'Merciful heaven!--and can it then never be?'

Alarmed at the suddenness of an exclamation so causeless, Lady Adelina looked terrified and her friends amazed.

'What, brother?--what are you speaking of?' enquired she.

'I beg your pardon,' said Godolphin, instantly recollecting himself, and blushing for this unguarded sally--'I beg your pardon. I was thinking of some business I have to settle; but I do not deserve to be forgiven for suffering my mind in such company to dwell on any thing but the pleasure I enjoy; and for yielding to a foolish custom I have acquired of uttering aloud whatever is immediately in my mind; an habit,' added he, smiling, 'that has grown upon me by living so much alone. Since Lady Adelina is now fixed with me, I hope I shall cease to speak and think like an hermit, and be again humanized. Adelina, my love, you look fatigued.'

'Ah!' replied she, 'of what fatigue can I be sensible when with those who I most love and value; and from whom, to-morrow--to-morrow I must part!'

'I doubt that extremely,' said Godolphin, trying to carry the conversation entirely from his own strange behaviour. 'If I have any skill in the weather, to-morrow will bring a gale of wind, which will opportunely make prisoners of our two fair friends for another day.'

'How infinitely,' cried Lady Adelina, 'shall I be obliged to it.'

The rising of the wind during the whole evening had made Godolphin's conjecture highly probable. Mrs. Stafford, impatient to return to her children, whom she never willingly left wholly in the care of servants, heard it's encreasing violence with regret. Emmeline tried to do so too; but she could not prevail on herself to lament a circumstance likely to keep her another day with Lady Adelina and her little boy. She wanted too to see a little of this beautiful island, of which she had heard so much; and found several other reasons for wishing to remain, without allowing herself to suppose that Godolphin had on these wishes the smallest influence.