Chapter X: Part 10

I took the liberty to ask her, how she first came acquainted with Mr
Arnold; and, as you may not know it, I will give you the story. She
answered, with a profound sigh, It was by mere accident I first saw
him. After the death of Captain Gerrarde, which happened in a little
more than a year after we left Bath, for the gout, poor man, got
into his stomach not long after we returned home (and the crocodile
pretended to drop a tear), I went to London, in order to sollicit
for my pension. As I had formerly been a Roman Catholic, and had not
publickly renounced that persuasion, some difficulties arose in the
business; and a friend of my deceased husband, who had undertaken
the affair for me, happening to be an intimate of Mr Arnold's, and
knowing he had an influence with the secretary at war, endeavoured
to interest him in my favour, by representing my situation in the
most affecting light he could to him. He kindly undertook to
interfere for me, and was as good as his word; but could not
surmount the difficulty of the objection which was made to my claim.
He happened one morning, unluckily for me, to call in at my friend's
lodgings, to tell him of his ill success: I, impatient to know how
my affair went on, had dropped in to inquire about it a few minutes
before him, and was sitting in the dining-room when Mr Arnold
entered. I was in my weeds, and my melancholy looks I believe made
Mr Arnold conjecture I was the person for whom he had so kindly
concerned himself. He told my friend he was sorry to inform him,
that though he had used all means in his power, with regard to the
affair in which he had employed him, he found it was impossible to
effect the business; and I am the more concerned, said he, turning
towards me, as I am afraid this lady is to be the sufferer. My
relation said I was the person for whom he had been so good as to
intercede. I returned Mr Arnold thanks, not without tears, at the
uncomfortable prospect I had before me; for I had then nothing to
depend on, but my small jointure in Kent. I was about to take my
leave; but observing it rained, desired my friend to give his
servant leave to call me a chair. Mr Arnold very politely desired I
would permit him to set me down, as his chariot waited at the door.
I would have excused myself; but my relation said, 'Tis in his way,
child; and since you have no hopes of a pension, you ought to be
sparing of chair-hire. Mr Arnold very obligingly offered me his
hand, and led me to his chariot. He set me down at my lodgings, and
at parting desired permission to wait on me. The fatal consequence
of our acquaintance it was impossible for me to foresee; for I never
had the least hint given me, either from my own relation or Mr
Arnold himself, that he was a married man, till he had so far
secured my gratitude, by repeated acts of generosity, that it was
impossible for me to refuse him the return he demanded.

Too-grateful heart, said I (pretending to believe her cant), what a
pity thou wert not destined to reward a purer love! But I thought,
madam, you really had enjoyed a pension?

It was not necessary, she answered, that I should let the world
suppose otherwise. I was not at all known when I first came to town.
Mr Arnold's excessive profuseness (quiet against my inclination)
threw me into a more expensive way of living than before. I found
myself obliged to account for it, to the few acquaintance I had, by
all the probable means I could devise. For this purpose, I pretended
that I had not only obtained a pension, but had also a fortune left
me by the death of a relation. This was believed, as nobody troubled
their heads to enquire whether it was true or not.

Mr Arnold was passionately fond of the country, and always passed
his summers there; but as he could not think of parting with me, he
was sadly at a loss how to have me near him, without bringing on us
both the observation of an inquisitive neighbourhood (such as all
country places abound in), if I went down, quite a stranger as I
was, into Essex; particularly as he told me there were two families
near Arnold-abbey, who made it their business to pry into other
people's affairs. These were, a Lady Grimston, a censorious old
woman, and the parson of the parish, who was a mighty strict man, of
whom Mr Arnold seemed to stand in some awe. He therefore determined
against my going to that part of the world: but having casually
heard me speak of my little cottage in Kent, where poor Captain
Gerrarde and I had lived for two or three years, he asked me
whereabouts it was, and was delighted to find it joined his own
estate at South Park, and was within a mile of his house. He begged
of me to go down to my own house, which he insisted on furnishing
elegantly for me, and obliged me also to keep a chariot. I (tho'
unwillingly) found myself under a necessity of complying. About a
fortnight after I was settled at Ashby, Mr Arnold and his family
came down: then it was that, for the first time, I saw his lady. I
went to pay my compliments to her, as every genteel family in the
neighbourhood did; and I own I never saw her without feeling myself
shocked to death at the thoughts of the injury I did her; for I
really believe Mrs Arnold is a very well-meaning woman.

Oh! thou scorpion, muttered I to myself, and yet thou hast pursued
her to affliction and ruin!

That Mrs Arnold is a well-meaning woman, said I coldly, I have no
doubt; yet you see Mr Arnold's opinion of her virtue was not strong
enough to be proof against suspicions; for it is most certain, that,
if he had not given credit to your representations of his wife's
conduct, he would not have gone such lengths as to have parted with
her; for Arnold had always some regard to appearances.

_My_ representations, Sir! with a look of astonishment; pray do not
lay more to my charge than I deserve: what the particular reasons
were, which induced Mr Arnold to part with his wife, I will not say;
but whatever his suspicions were, they never took their rise from
me.

I found she intended to brazen this denial out; but as it was
absolutely necessary to my design to bring her to a confession of
this particular act of perfidy, I resolved to lead her into it in
such a way as should be least mortifying to her pride.

Come, come, my dear Mrs Gerrarde, said I, I know you are above
concealing any past failings that you are resolved to mend. I know
very well that it was _your_ insinuations, and your's only, that
kindled the fire of jealousy in Arnold's breast. Such arts are not
uncommon in lovers. You loved him then, and wished to have him
intirely to yourself; and a wife, though a forsaken one, is still
intitled to so much attention from her husband, as a fond mistress
may think robs her of too much. I know this was the case, and it is
natural: but were you not an unmerciful little tyrant to involve
_me_ in the mischief, and put it into the man's noddle, that _I_ had
designs upon his wife?

The easy manner in which I affected to speak of this affair, seemed
to reconcile her a little to the charge; but the last part of it,
which regarded myself, struck her all of a heap. She had no notion
that I knew it. She was going to speak, to deny the accusation I
suppose, and therefore I prevented her; and taking her by the hand,
Come now, said I, deal with me ingenuously; and if you persuade me
that you are really in earnest, and mean to repair those little
lapses which you have inconsiderately been led into, tell me truly,
did you really believe that I ever had any thoughts of an amour with
Mrs Arnold?

I chose to give my inquiry this turn, that she might, with less
shame to herself, by laying hold on the hint, acknowlege her guilt.
She hesitated for an answer, and I guessed she was considering
whether to persist in denying the whole charge against her, or avail
herself of the handle I had given her, and make a sort of merit of
her sincerity, by pretending to believe what she was thoroughly
convinced there was not the least foundation even to suspect, but
what her own wicked suggestions had encouraged in the unfortunate
Arnold. Her silence, thus rightly interpreted by me, made me go on:
You see I know all your secrets; and you are not the woman I take
you for, if you conceal your real sentiments in this particular:
more of my quiet depends on it than you are aware of, and I withdrew
my hand from her's with a serious and almost resenting air.

She appeared disturbed, and in a good deal of confusion; but
recovering herself, Why really, Mr Faulkland, I can't say but I
_had_ some suspicion of what you mention. I was no stranger to your
fondness for Mrs Arnold before she was married, and there was
nothing very surprising in a disappointed lover's renewing his
hopes, when he thought the neglect which a lady met with from her
husband, might incline her to be less obdurate to a man she was once
known to favour so much.

This was enough: I did not think it by any means necessary to press
her to a farther explanation; what she said was a sufficient
acknowlegement of her fault, though the cunning sorceress had turned
the hint (which I had thrown out on purpose) to her own advantage;
and had the affrontery to avow an opinion which had never before
entered into her imagination.

I found it necessary now to carry on the farce, by assuring her, I
had never entertained a thought to Mrs Arnold's dishonour; and that
though I made no great scruple of robbing a man of his mistress, yet
I thought it a crime of the blackest dye to deprive him of the
affection or fidelity of his wife.

The serious manner in which I spoke this a little disconcerted Mrs
Gerrarde. Well, said she, I can only say, that I am very sorry I
entertained so false a suspicion; and more so, as it has produced
such unhappy consequences: but I hope Mr Faulkland will not believe
that I meant _him_ any injury?

That I am sure you did not, said I; and yet this very affair has
given me more uneasiness than you can imagine; for as Mrs Arnold's
brother is my most particular friend, he must think me the greatest
of villains, if I could entertain a thought of dishonouring his
family: the fear of losing his friendship, I own, gives me more pain
than I can express, and there is nothing I would not do to
exculpate myself to him.

I am very unfortunate, cried Mrs Gerrarde (pretending to wipe her
eyes), to have been the occasion of so much uneasiness in any-body's
family. I wish I had died before I was so unhappy as to meet with Mr
Arnold: if it had not been for him, I might now have been an
innocent and a contented woman; and she _really_ squeezed out a
tear, though not of contrition.

Dear madam (again taking her hand), do not afflict yourself for what
is past recalling; contentment, nay happiness, I hope, is yet within
your reach; it will be your own fault if you do not lay hold of it:
as for the unhappy family that _I_, as well as _you_, have
contributed to distress, I wish from my heart there could be a
reunion amongst them. Mr Arnold's having lost you might perhaps
incline him to turn his thoughts towards his wife, if he were not
prejudiced against her by the suspicions he has entertained of her
virtue. This I am afraid will be an insuperable bar to their ever
living together, unless your influence, which first gave birth to
his jealousy, is still forcible enough to remove it.

I wish it were in my power, said Mrs Gerrarde; there is nothing I
would not do to effect it: but what influence can I have on Mr
Arnold, after what has happened?

Suppose you were to write to him, said I: you and he probably may
never meet again; and it would be an effort worthy indeed of a noble
mind, to repair the wrongs we have done to others, by a candid
acknowlegement of our own faults. Putting Mrs Arnold out of the
question, 'tis a reparation you owe _my_ character; for however
light the world may make of a piece of gallantry with a married
woman, it is a matter of serious moment to me to acquit myself of
the supposed crime to Sir George Bidulph.

If you think, said she, that my writing to Mr Arnold could produce
such good effects, I am ready to do it; though I confess I hardly
know how to address him; for he must, to be sure, look upon me as
the very reverse of what I _really_ am, and thinks me without
dispute an ungrateful woman.

We can but try, said I: if it does not produce the desired effect,
it will not be your fault; and you will have the satisfaction to
reflect, that you have done your duty. I stepped to my escruitore
while I was speaking; and resolving not to give her time to cool,
took out pen, ink, and paper, and laid them on a little
writing-table before her. If this unlucky breach, said I, were once
made up, my mind would then be easy.

She took the pen in her hand, but seemed irresolute, and at a loss
how to begin. Come, madam, said I, and confute, by your own example,
the received erroneous opinion, that if a woman once strays from the
paths of virtue, she never returns to them.

A false and ill-grounded opinion indeed, said she, lifting up her
prophane eyes as in penitence. What am I to say?

[You are to observe, that my notes, as she went along while I
dictated, are put between hooks.]

[Begin] 'Dear Sir' [for I would neither be too familiar nor too
cold], 'The terms on which you and I have lived, intitles you to an
explanation of my reasons for leaving you so abruptly; and I hope
the generosity of my motive will incline you to overlook the seeming
unkindness of the action.' [This you may assure yourself it will,
when he comes to consider coolly]. 'The unhappiness that I
occasioned in your family, by causing the separation of you and your
wife, has, for a long time, been a thorn in my heart; and the more
so, as besides the robbing her of your affections, I own, and take
shame to myself in the confession' [how noble must he think this
confession!], 'that those aspersions, which I threw on her, had not
the least foundation in truth.' [This is truly great]. 'I always
believed her perfectly innocent; but, if I could have had the least
possible doubt of it before, I must now be confirmed in that opinion
by Mr Faulkland, who can have no reason for excusing or concealing
facts of this nature from me at present.' [Here she added of
herself, repeating it first aloud to me], 'and I think the
preference he has given me to her, now in her state of separation,
is a convincing proof of this.' [An admirable argument] (her vanity
would not let her slip this observation). [Proceed, madam]. 'The
true reasons of my insinuations against her, were no other than that
I could not bear to share your affections with any-body' [and a very
sufficient reason too, which a man that loves can easily forgive].
'I knew, that so long as she gave you no cause of complaint, you
were too just to withdraw your whole heart from her, and nothing
_but_ the whole would content me.' [Still you see you shew a great
mind]. True, said she, going on; but my reason for leaving him
without apprizing him of it, what are we to say for that? [Oh!
nothing more _easy_ to execute: he will admire you the more for the
reason _I_ shall give. Come]. 'My departing without first making you
acquainted with my design, and going off with another person, may,
at first sight, seem very strange; but, to tell you the real state
of my heart, I found I could not trust to its firmness on the
subject of parting with you. I loved you so, that it was with pain
and grief I made the resolution; and I knew too well, that had you
used any arguments, which to be sure you would have done, to
dissuade me, I, like an easy fool, would have given up all my good
designs.' [I am only afraid this will make him love you more than
ever]. (She smiled as she continued to write). 'As for the other
article'--(This I was more puzzled to excuse than the first; but,
putting on a bold face, I said, Madam, I hope you will not condemn
me here, while you excuse yourself: the saying you were _run away_
with, will knock all the rest on the head, and he may chuse whether
he will believe that you really intended to break off with him or
not; therefore that particular had better not be touched upon. Well,
said she, get me out of this scrape as cleverly as you have brought
me into it. Fear not, said I; go on). 'As for the other article,
though I shall never love Mr Faulkland as I have done you, yet in
him I have found a protector; and through his means, I hope to pass
the remainder of my life, in a manner more suitable to a woman of a
generous way of thinking, than that wherein she considered herself
as encroaching on the rights of another. I hope, by this sacrifice
which I have made of my love to a more heroic principle, that I
shall expiate my former offence; and that you will follow my example
so far as to make what reparation you can to the woman we have both
injured.' [How this must raise, how exalt you in his opinion! I
think it must, cried she, bridling up her head, as if they were
really her own sentiments].

I believe, said I, this is all that is necessary to be said: you may
add, in a postscript, that, as he furnished the house for you at
Ashby, every thing in it is at his service; together with your
chariot and horses, which were also his gifts.

She demurred to this; and in the midst of her heroics, said, I wish
I could get somebody to sell them for me privately, and remit the
money to me; for, since I _am_ here, I should like to see a little
more of France before I return.

I told her that would look mean, and below a _great mind_. Well,
said she, let them go. I owe all my servants a year's wages, and
another person about fifty pounds for a little temple he had just
built in my garden, but not quite finished when I came away. I think
I had better desire those debts to be discharged: I have always been
very punctual in my dealings, and would not for the world _wrong_
anybody.

You are in the right, said I: it will look honourable in you to
desire those debts to be paid.

She now proceeded to conclude her letter in the same stile she had
begun it, and added a postscript to the purport I mentioned. I
hastened to make her seal it up, and direct it to Mr Arnold, at his
house in London, who, I suppose, has had the pleasure of receiving
it before now; for I dispatched it off directly. I flatter myself
with the hope that it will have the desired effect on him.

You will think perhaps, that, as I have managed it, I have really
given her a sort of merit with him in the acknowlegement of her
fault, and the pretended reason she gives for leaving him. No such
thing, Sir George. Arnold is a man of too much sense, and knows the
world too well, to be so deceived. I have been told by my Lord
V----, knows him perfectly, that nobody judges better when he is not
blinded by his passions. All her professions must go for nothing
when _facts_ are against her. 'Tis plain she went off with another
man, and to all appearances premeditately, as her maid and her
riches bore her company. 'Tis also plain, by her own confession,
that this man stands well with her. As for her recanting her
injurious aspersions on poor Mrs Arnold, 'tis the only circumstance
in her letter likely to gain belief, as she could have no temptation
to that but real compunction, with which people of that kind are
sometimes visited; and for the rest of her letter, to any one of
common understanding, that lays circumstances together, it will
appear, as I intended it should, the contrivance of an artful jilt,
who, having almost ruined the wretch she has had in her power, would
afterwards make a _merit_ of deserting him; for they must be
hardened reprobates indeed, that would not, if they could, at least
_try_ to palliate their evil deeds. This is the light I expect
Arnold will consider her in. I know he is hurt deeply in his fortune
by this vile harpy. I hope the remnant may be sufficient to support
your excellent sister, if not in affluence, at least with comfort,
should she regain her influence over him, and submit to live with
him again. This, I am sure, will be the consequence, if he is not
blind to his own happiness.

I shall be impatient to know how the letter operates on him; but
this you are not likely to be let into; and perhaps his pride may
make him endeavour to conceal it from every-body. My Lord V----, I
am sure, will pick up some intelligence, and send it to me.

I think Mrs Gerrarde's confession, in regard to Mrs Arnold (to which
she could have no interested motive), with the corroborating
circumstance of _my_ going off with her at a time when Mrs Arnold
was from under her husband's protection, injured by him in the
tenderest point, and aspersed by a barbarous and invidious world;
all this, I say, must surely clear from all suspicion that admirable
creature: for who, that knows Mrs Arnold, would think that any man
(except her husband) would prefer any woman upon earth to her? If
this does not remove all doubt of her conduct in Arnold, as well as
in the rest of the world, my pains have been to little purpose; and
I know no other human means that can be used to disabuse the mad
credulity of that man. I pity him from my heart in his present
situation; for it will be some time before he will be sensible of
the good I have done him; and, I dare swear, the man is at this time
so ungrateful, that, if he could, he would cut my throat. I do not
want to have him know the extent of his obligation to me: I shall be
satisfied to sit down in the contemplation of my meritorious
actions, without enjoying the fame of them. This greatness of mind I
learnt of Mrs Gerrarde. But to return:

The having gained my material point put me into such spirits, that I
could have kissed Mrs Gerrarde; a liberty which, I assure you,
however I never presumed to take. She, for her part, seemed as well
pleased with what she had done as I was. I praised her for the part
she had acted, though I very much feared she would repent of it when
we came to explanations, which I resolved should be on that very
day. I told her, I hoped she would oblige me with her company at
dinner. She consented with a bow. I had ordered one to be got ready
earlier than usual, and directed that it should be in her apartment.
We were told it was on table. I never saw Mrs Gerrarde so agreeable
as she was during dinner; she was in high spirits and good-humour: I
almost thought it a pity to let her down that day; but I considered
the longer her expectations were kept up, the greater would be her
disappointment; and, out of pure charity, I determined to put her
out of doubt.

I had been told Mrs Gerrarde was no enemy to a chearful glass; but
the designs she had formed upon me put her on her guard, and I
observed she drank nothing but wine and water, made very small.
This, I was afraid, would not be sufficient to keep up her courage
under what I intended to say to her. I pretended to be disposed to
drink, and insisted on her helping me out with a flask of burgundy.
With affected coyness she suffered me to fill her glass; the second
offer I made, her resistance was less; the third she made no
objection to at all; and the fourth she filled for herself. The
wine was excellent; not that poor sort which is commonly drunk in
France. In short, we finished our bottle. I thought her now a match
for what I had to say. I had made the glass pass briskly, and had
filled up the intervals with singing catches, and rattling on any
subject that came into my head.

Mrs Gerrarde, who no doubt expected I should make an advance of some
kind or other, seemed to grow a little out of humour at my levity. I
found the burgundy had been quite thrown away upon her, and had had
very little effect: she was silent for a few minutes, and seemed to
be considering of something: at last she opened, and I will give you
the conversation that passed between us, by way of dialogue.

_Mrs G_ Mr Faulkland, it is time that you and I should understand
one another's meaning a little better than we do at present: you
know very well that you have put an end to all my expectations in
England: indeed, if I were at liberty, I could not have the face to
return there again in any character but that of your wife. (I was
glad she began first, and that, though I guessed at her views, she
had used so little caution in discovering them, as it at once roused
in me an indignation which I could not suppress, and without which I
could not have brought myself to mortify her as she deserved).

_Mr F_ My _wife_, madam! (stopping her at that tremendous word) be
pleased to tell me if I heard you right?

_Mrs G_ Yes, Sir, it was as your wife I said: if you think you and I
are to live together on any other terms, you will find yourself
exceedingly mistaken. (I smiled, and suffered her to go on). I
thought, Sir (stifling the anger that I saw rising), that the words
which you yourself dictated in the letter which I just now wrote,
where you say, _I had in you found a protector, and one by whose
means I should be able to pass the rest of my life in a manner more
suitable to a woman of a generous way of thinking, than that wherein
she considered herself as incroaching on the rights of
another_--Were not these your own words, Sir?

_Mr F_ They were, Madam. (To say the truth, there was something
equivocal in the paragraph, though, when I desired her to write it,
this construction never entered into my head).

_Mrs G_ Then, Sir, how am I to understand them?

_Mr F_ I protest, Madam, you have forced a construction that I never
once so much as dreamed of.

_Mrs G_ Why, Mr Faulkland (with a very brisk tone), do you fancy
that by changing Mr Arnold for _you_ on any other conditions, that I
am such a mighty gainer by the bargain?

_Mr F_ Why really, Madam, if that _were_ to be the case, I don't
think you would be a very great loser: you have got as much from
poor Arnold as you could expect: I am able to do better for you;
and, as I am nobody's property, it would certainly, in _that_
respect, be rather a more eligible course.

_Mrs G_ Sir, you use me very ill! I did not expect such treatment.

_Mr F_ How, pray Madam? Did I ever say I would marry you?

_Mrs G_ No, Sir; but your behaviour has given me room to suppose
that such a thing was in your thoughts.

_Mr F_ Are you not then the more obliged to me for treating you with
such respect as made you fancy so?

_Mrs G_ Respect! respect (muttering between her teeth), Mr
Faulkland! (and she stood up) there is not a man in England but
yourself, after what I have declared, that would refuse making me
his wife.

_Mr F_ What have you declared, Mrs Gerrarde?

_Mrs G_ Why, have I not ingenuously owned my failings, shewed myself
sorry for them, quitted them, and made all the reparation in my
power?

(I was amazed to see how audaciously she had adopted as her own, the
sentiments which I had suggested to her: it was so like her, that I
could have laughed in her face).

_Mr F_ Your behaviour, on this occasion, has really been worthy of
the imitation of all your own sex, and the praise of ours: for a
woman _voluntarily_ to quit an irregular life, and that too from
mere motives of _conscience_--(I was stopped by a knavish sneer,
which I could not subdue. She saw it, and fired immediately; but
strutted about the room to cool herself: at last, for I sat very
silent, looking at her, and playing with one of the glasses)--

_Mrs G_ Mr Faulkland, if you are disposed to have done trifling, and
will vouchsafe me a serious answer, pray tell me, Are you absolutely
determined not to marry me?

_Mr F_ Absolutely.

_Mrs G_ You are not serious, sure!

_Mr F_ My dear creature, why sure _thou_ canst not be serious in
asking me the question!

_Mrs G_ Sir, I _am_ serious, and expect a serious answer.

_Mr F_ Why then,--seriously, I have no more thoughts of marrying
thee, than I have of marrying the first sultana in the grand
seignior's seraglio.

_Mrs G_ Very well, Sir; very well; I am answered; (and she walked
quicker about the room than before).

We were both silent. She, I suppose, expected that I should propose
other terms, and a settlement; and waited, to try if I would speak.
I had a mind to teaze her a little, and hummed a tune.

_Mrs G_ (Advancing to me, and making a low curt'sey, with a most
scornful and sarcastical air) May I presume to enquire what your
mightiness's pleasure is in regard to me? Do you intend to keep me
for your nurse against your next illness, or to send me to the grand
seignior's seraglio to wait upon the first sultana?

_Mr F_ Neither (carelessly, and looking another way). I have not yet
determined which way I shall dispose of you.

_Mrs G_ _Dispose_ of me! _dispose_ of me! why sure the man has lost
his senses!

_Mr F_ Look you, Mrs Gerrarde; we will no longer play at
cross-purposes: sit down, and be calm for a few minutes, till you
hear what I have to say.

(She did so, with a kind of impatience in her looks, that informed
me I might have made a very free proposal, without any great danger
of her resentment).

_Mr F_ How long have you and I been acquainted?

_Mrs G_ Lord! what is that question to the purpose?

_Mr F_ 'Tis only in order to my desiring you would look back, and,
upon recollection, ask yourself, if you ever had any reason to look
upon me as your lover.

_Mrs G_ I made that observation to you when we were travelling
together: what is the use of it now?

_Mr F_ Did I, in the course of our journey, declare myself to be
such, or drop the least hint of devoting myself to you on any
condition?

_Mrs G_ We did not talk on the subject at all.

_Mr F_ Did I ever presume, on the advantage of having you in my
power, to venture on the smallest liberty with you; or ever deviate
from that respect in my behaviour, that I was used, at all other
times, to treat you with?

_Mrs G_ I do not say you did; and it was that very behaviour that
inclined me to imagine you had other thoughts than those I find you
have.

_Mr F_ You drew a wrong conclusion, though it is to be confessed
not a very unnatural one. Such a behaviour might have been so
construed by a lady otherwise circumstanced than you were; but I
think a woman of your sagacity might have concluded, that, with Mrs
Gerrarde, a man would first have tried his fortune upon gentler
terms than those of matrimony.

_Mrs G_ Well, well (peevishly); I do not understand your riddles: to
the point.

_Mr F_ Why, the point, in short, is this; that, without any
particular designs on your person, my whole view, in carrying you
out of England, was to break off your intercourse with Mr Arnold.

(She seemed thunder-struck; but recovering herself, And is _this_
what I am to hear calmly? And she flounced off the chair to the
other end of the room.

I followed her; and, taking her hand, begged she would sit down
again, and hear me out. I drew her to a chair, and gently set her
down in it).

_Mr F_ Now, for your own sake, hear me with patience; violence or
perverseness will be of no use to you.

_Mrs G_ Very well, Sir; I am your prisoner; your _slave_ at present:
say what you please; 'tis _your_ turn _now_.

_Mr F_ Well then, Madam, as I said before, I really never had any
designs upon you merely on your own account. I allow you to be a
very fine woman, and capable of inspiring love in any man that sees
you; but I must tell you plainly, that _love_ has had no share in my
conduct. (I saw stifled rage in her face; but I proceeded). I have
already told you the real motive of my carrying you off: it was, as
I said, to dissolve the union between you and Mr Arnold, and my
reasons for wishing to do so are these: Mr Arnold is married to one
of the best women living, for whom I have the highest respect and
esteem, and whom I once adored: That lady has, by your influence
over her husband, not only been thrown out from his heart, but even
thrust out from his house. But the calamity stops not there; she is
cruelly aspersed by the world through your suggestions, and I am the
person pointed at for the injurer of Mr Arnold's honour, and the
destroyer of his wife's innocence. You have brought shame and grief
into a worthy family. Lady Bidulph (an excellent woman) has not been
able to overcome the shock of the barbarous treatment her daughter
has met with. Her brother, the beloved friend of my heart, suffers
equal distress; for, though he is conscious of his sister's
innocence, he feels the wounds that her reputation has received;
nor can he possibly redress the mischief, as his sister's injuries
spring from a cause which her delicacy will not permit to be
scrutinized. Her two poor children are left without a mother; she
herself almost without a friend, and sinking every day under the
weight of such complicated misery. As for Mr Arnold himself, I
profess no personal regard for him: I scarce know him; but, for his
family's sake, I would, on any _other_ occasion, risque my life to
save him from ruin; for ruin you have almost brought on him. I am no
stranger to the sums he has lavished on you; his purchasing an
employment for _one_ of your brothers, and redeeming another from a
prison. You have lost nothing by my proceedings but what I shall
make up ten-fold to you, if you behave so as to deserve my kindness.
I have now laid before you the true reasons for my conduct. I hope,
that by breaking the inchantment that tied Mr Arnold's heart, and
blinded his understanding, he may be induced to do justice to his
injured lady and her family. If this comes to pass, as I have strong
reason to hope, I have no doubt of the lady's character being
retrieved. _Groundless_ calumnies generally die of themselves,
unless industriously kept alive by malice. Mrs Arnold's blameless
conduct, the friendship her brother has all along continued to
favour me with, joined to this last apparent proof of my attachment
to you, will, I am certain, in the eyes of the world, acquit her of
all suspicion of guilt. Your letter to Mr Arnold will, as far as
relates to your own opinion of her, give unquestionable evidence of
her innocence.

Now, Mrs Gerrarde, lay your hand on your heart, and answer me if I
have not given you reasons, which, though they may not be
satisfactory to you, are in themselves of weight sufficient to
justify my conduct.

I had watched her countenance narrowly during my discourse, which
she had listened to without once looking at me. I saw I had shocked
and even confounded her; but I saw no remorse, no contrition in her
looks. All artifice was now at an end, and she unmasked the fiend
directly. She started off her chair with the looks and gesture of a
fury; and fixing her eyes (which had really something diabolical in
them at that instant) steadily on me, You wretch! she cried, with a
voice answerable to her looks, you are such a false, dissembling,
mean-spirited reptile, that if you had a kingdom to offer me, and
would lay yourself at my feet to beg my acceptance of you, I would
trample on you like dirt! and she stamped on the floor with the air
of an amazon. Do you think you shall carry on this fine-contrived
enterprize? No, if I perish for it, I will have vengeance: Mr Arnold
shall know how I have been deceived and betrayed, and I will at
least have the satisfaction of getting your life, if I lose every
thing besides.

A burst of malignant tears now gushed from her eyes; but she robbed
them of their efficacy, by mixing with them the bitterest
imprecations against me. She curst even the innocent Mrs Arnold,
you, and the whole family; and her own folly, in being blinded by
the arts of such a worthless milk-sop as myself.

I let her give vent to her passion, calmly walking about the room
all the time; only now and then casting an eye on her, for fear she
should have rushed on me with a penknife; for I have not the least
doubt, if she had had such an instrument about her, she would have
made an attempt that might have given a very tragical turn to my
adventures.

When she had done sobbing, I addressed her in a very stern voice;
for I found I had no baby to deal with, and therefore resolved to
frighten her into submission.

I told you before, Madam, that violence would be of no use to you:
your menaces I laugh at; you are in my power intirely, and
absolutely at my disposal: to think of getting out of my hands would
be vain; for it is as impracticable as flying. No mortal knows where
you are but the people of this house, who are strangers to your name
and circumstances; and if they knew both, they are so totally at my
devotion, that it would not avail you. I shall cut off all
possibility of a correspondence to England. What then must be your
resource? I am prepared against all events; and I would carry you
about locked up in an iron cage, like the Turkish tyrant, till I had
subdued that termagant spirit, sooner than you should have your
liberty to do more mischief. If you have any regard to your own
interest, you will endeavour to make me your friend: I have the
power and the will to serve you; I have done you no injury; I said I
would be your protector; and so I will, if you will suffer me to be
so. I said I would be the means of your passing your days in a state
more eligible to a woman of either spirit, discretion, or a grain of
honour, than you have hitherto done. This I am ready to make good,
if you will not be wanting on your part to your own happiness. You
have acknowleged that you are conscious of your own errors, are
sorry for them, and are willing to quit them (This was turning her
own weapons against herself); if you are in earnest in this
declaration, I will give you the means of quitting them. The money
you have now in your possession, even with the addition of your
little jointure, is not sufficient to promise you such a support as
would make you easy, if you were to return to England to-morrow; and
your story known (as it would be), what could you expect? Do you
think Arnold could be so besotted as to receive you again? What must
be your resource? Why, to continue, while your beauty lasts, in a
wretched, abandoned course. Ten thousand to one you might never
light on another whose love would be prodigal enough to enrich you.
The only choice left you, is to stay where you are not known, and
where, if you behave well, you may gain the respect and esteem which
you could never hope for in a place where your history is known. If
you will content yourself with an easy fortune, joined to a life of
virtue and tranquillity, I will provide you with a husband that many
a woman in your circumstances would bless her stars for: I will
double the portion you have already, and get it settled on you; and
will, on certain conditions, add a handsome yearly income. If you do
not like this proposal, I have no other alternative to offer but a
nunnery. I know you were bred a Roman Catholic: I am sure therefore
I shall do no violence to your religious scruples, if you have any.
I can get you admitted with ease: the religious here will think it a
meritorious act in me, especially on the terms I shall propose; for
I will make it worth their while to receive and treat you as a lady
of the first family in France: but remember there is a final period
to all intercourse with this world. If you think you can bring
yourself to submit to such a life, I would really recommend it to
you; for I am sollicitous for your happiness both here and
hereafter: if not, you have the other choice to make; and so, Madam,
a husband or a convent; take which you like best: I give you three
days to consider of it.

I kept up a severe countenance, and a resolute tone. I rang the bell
as soon as I had done speaking. Rachael came in before Mrs Gerrarde
could answer me. Take care of your mistress, said I, and left the
room, without even the ceremony of a bow, or deigning to look at
her. I locked the chamber door, which I took care to clap after me;
and, putting the key in my pocket, left the lady and her maid to
consult at their leisure.

You know, Bidulph, I am not naturally morose; and that I am not very
apt to be wanting in that complaisance which all women expect, and
which I really think due to _almost_ all women: but this one had, in
the preceding scene, so intirely thrown off her sex, that I could
hardly consider her as a female. I had known many of her ill
qualities before; but those she now discovered, if they did not
shew her more wicked, certainly rendered her more disgustful to me
than the others. In short, I found that all decorum was to be laid
aside: I had gone too far not to put the finishing hand to my work;
and I had no other measures to observe, but to finish, by dint of
force, what I had begun by stratagem. When I mentioned the nunnery
to you in a former letter, it was in mere gaiety of heart: I had no
serious thoughts of that kind, nor did I now propose it as a
practicable scheme. I knew the woman too well to suppose she would
acquiesce; though, to confess the truth to you honestly, I think, if
she refuses my other plan of accommodation, I must compel her to
accept of this: nor ought it to be considered in any other light
than that of confining a wild beast, who, having already done a
great deal of mischief, would still do more, if left at liberty: but
I think I shall not be driven to this. I believe she will accept of
a husband with a good settlement, sooner than resign her liberty.

And now who do you think the husband is whom I have under
contemplation for her? Why, no less a man than my valet de chambre
Monsieur Pivet. He is young and handsome, of good parts, and a man
of birth. He tells me he has an uncle that is a marquis, and three
or four cousins that are in the high court of parliament. Without a
joke, the fellow is of a pretty good family: he was bred a mercer,
and in a frolic had run away from his business, when I picked him up
at Paris, at the time you and I were there together. He then told
me, that he only hired with me for an opportunity of seeing a little
of the world, and that he would one time or other sit down and
settle to his trade. I have sounded him on the point, and find him
very ready to accept of the lady with all her faults.

I told you I introduced him to Mrs Gerrarde, to serve as her
interpreter in the house, at the time I was ill. I did not then tell
her who he was; and both she and her maid take him for no other than
an acquaintance of mine, who happens to lodge in the same house with
us. The vain rogue has encouraged this opinion, and I suppose passes
for a very pretty fellow with them; for you know Pivet is a Beau,
and is really not ungenteel. But do not fancy that I intend to
impose him on the lady for any other than what he really is. All
disguise is now laid aside, and I shall proceed with the utmost
plainness and sincerity, as soon as I know the lady's mind in regard
to her choice.

Here, my dear Sir George, I must take breath a little: it has been a
busy day. I undertook a difficult voyage without the certainty of a
landing-place; a few storms I expected to encounter; I hope I have
weathered the worst, and have come at length to some prospect of an
harbour. I expect my next greeting to you will be from a fairer
shore.--Upon second thoughts, I will not send this off, till I can
put both you and myself out of the reach of suspence....

Congratulate me, Sir George, honour me, as the first of politicians,
the greatest of negotiators! Let no hero of romance compare himself
to me, for first making difficulties, and then extricating myself
out of them; let no giant pretend to equal me in the management of
captive beauties in inchanted castles; let no necromancer presume to
vie with me in skill for metamorphosing tigresses into doves, and
changing imperious princesses into plain country nymphs. _All_ this
I have brought to pass, without the assistance of enchanted sword or
dwarf, in the compass of a few days; but take the circumstances in
the order they occurred.

I left the lady, as I told you, to utter her complaints to her
confidante. Rachael, a simple girl, who had just sense enough to
regard her own interest, was not likely to give her mistress much
consolation; for she was at least as much _my_ friend as her's. How
_they_ passed the night I know not; for my own part, I slept in
perfect tranquillity. I desired Pivet in the morning to go and
inquire, as from himself, how the lady rested. Mrs Gerrarde, who was
still in bed, no sooner heard his voice in the outer room, as he was
speaking to her maid, than she called out to Monsieur Pivet, and
desired he would be so good as to step into her chamber. Pivet, not
much abashed at being admitted to a lady's _ruèlle_, obeyed her
summons, and placed himself in an armed chair by her. He said he
hoped it was not owing to illness that he saw her in bed. Yes, Sir,
said she, I am exceedingly ill: I have not slept the whole night,
and am now in a high fever. Has Mr Faulkland told you any thing in
relation to me? I had prepared Pivet, and he had his answers ready.
Madam, said he, I am not a stranger to your situation, and am
exceedingly sorry for it: I wish the little influence _I_ have over
Mr Faulkland could be employed for your service; but he is a
positive man, very enterprising, and not to be controlled by
any-body. Do you know my story, Sir, cried Mrs Gerrarde? He bowed,
and looked down. Mrs Gerrarde understanding this as an affirmative,
and raising herself up a little, cried out, A base, ungenerous man!
Does he intend to expose me wherever he goes? By no means, Madam,
answered Pivet: there is nothing in your story that would do you the
least injury in any-body's opinion here: the ladies in France do
not think it any disgrace to have lovers.

You are very obliging, Sir, she replied; and perhaps I have as much
to say in my vindication as any woman: but sure never was mortal
used in the barbarous manner I am. Do you know the proposal he had
the insolence to make me last night? Either to take a husband of
_his_ chusing (_any_ low fellow, I suppose, he thinks good enough
for me), or immediately to go into a nunnery. Oh! Sir, and she
catched hold of his hand, as you are a gentleman, if you have
compassion, any humanity towards an unfortunate woman, try to
deliver me out of his hands. I have a pretty good sum of money in my
possession; contrive the means of my escape; my gratitude to you
shall be unbounded! and she wrung his hand.

Ah! Madam, said Pivet, looking tenderly at her, I would it were in
my power; I should think myself but too happy if it were possible
for me to accomplish what you request; but I fear it will be
impracticable: I declare to you, if I were at my own disposal, I
would fly with you to the remotest part of the world; but I am a
young man, who have my fortune to make: I am under particular ties
here, and have besides such obligations to Mr Faulkland, as makes it
impossible for me, consistently with _honour_, to interfere in this
business.

Sir, said she eagerly, can't you write a letter for me, or furnish
me with the means of informing my friends in England of my
situation?

Madam, said he, before Mr Faulkland permitted me the honour of
seeing you, he engaged my solemn promise that I would not
intermeddle in your affairs.

Lord, what will become of me! What would you, Sir, advise me to do?
For as for that wretch (meaning me), I am determined, if I can help
it, not to suffer him to come near me.