Chapter IX: Part 9

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.

The plan she had formed of turning to the most lasting advantage the
inclination she supposed I had for her, inclined her to assume a
very different behaviour from what was natural to her. The weakness
of my condition, while it afforded me a pretence for a more cold and
languid behaviour than I could with any colour have put on at
another time, gave her an opportunity of playing off her arts, and
facilitated my design beyond my hopes.

She was seated at my bed-side: our first conversation consisted of
nothing but complaints on my side, and condolements on her's. I
sighed several times, and she sighed in return. Mrs Gerrarde, said
I, you are afflicted; but my illness has no share in your concern.
Something else oppresses you; you regret the being separated from Mr
Arnold, and I am always the object of your hatred. Neither one nor
t'other, answered she, in a kind voice. 'Tis impossible to hate you;
you know it is not in nature for a _woman_ to hate such a man as Mr
Faulkland. As for Mr Arnold, though I _own_ my former weakness in
regard to him, yet I hope I have something to plead in my excuse. I
was married very early to an old man, and had never experienced the
happiness of reciprocal love: he died, and left me destitute. Mr
Arnold's generous, though I must confess unwarrantable passion,
rescued me from distress. I did not know he was married when I first
unwarily accepted of his addresses, and it was too late to retreat
before I found it out; otherwise the universe should not have
tempted me to have listened to him.

In the midst of the affluence I obtained from him, it often grieved
me to think of the injury I did his wife. There is nothing, Mr
Faulkland, so grating to a generous mind, and I think I may venture
to assert that _mine_ is one, as to live in a state of dependence,
and, at the same time, owe that very dependence to a vice that you
disdain.

I was delighted to find that she had got into this strain; it was
the thing I wished, but durst hardly hope for without abundance of
trouble on my part, and a dissimulation that was irksome to me. I
knew she had studied this speech, and got it by rote to answer her
own purpose; but in this, as is generally the case of designing
people, she overshot herself, and became the dupe to her own
artifice. I laid hold of the cue she gave: Oh! madam, you charm me!
go on, go on; now indeed you shew a generous mind: happy would it be
for all your sex, after having deviated from the paths of virtue, if
they could return to them with so good a grace, so just a sense of
their errors! To _you_, Sir, said she with a solemn air, I am
indebted for my present resolutions: I hope from this time forward
that my life will be irreproachable. _I_ hope so too, madam. I
guessed she understood these words as favouring her design: it was
not meet to undeceive her (a little mental reservation, you know,
Bidulph): she went on, little thinking she was forwarding _my_ plan,
when she only meant to promote her _own_. I hope Mr Arnold will be
as sensible of his fault as I am of _mine_, and that he will never
fall into the like indiscretion again. I believe there can be no
true happiness but between a _married_ pair, who sincerely love each
other.

Good! Good! thought I; sure my better genius prompts the woman to
speak thus. Ah! Mrs Gerrarde, how exactly do your thoughts
correspond with mine! How just are all your sentiments! What a true
relish have you for virtue! Yes, I hope with you that Mr Arnold will
be able to tread in your steps: it is a pity he has not your noble
example before him. Mrs Arnold is a good woman, and he might still
live with her in tolerable contentment, if he can get the better of
his irregular passion for you. What a noble triumph of virtuous
resolution would this be, if you yourself were the instrument to
bring this about. For Mrs Arnold's and her brother's sake, as well
as your own, I wish this were feasible.

I would do any thing in my power, said she (thinking she obliged me
by the declaration); but I know not by what means such an event can
be brought to pass.

I was afraid to urge the matter farther: I was within an hair's
breadth of gaining my point, but did not think it prudent to press
too forward. We'll think of it another time, said I, and groaned
heavily, as if my spirits were fatigued with talking. She took the
hint. I am afraid I have tired you; you have talked too much. I
answered her faintly, You are very good! She curtesied to me, and
retired with a majestic step. I saw her no more that day: she had
got upon stilts, and it was not yet time to take her down. To-morrow
may produce a wonder: I will wait for it. I am really weak, but
begin to recover my spirits.

_Boulogne, December 6._

Nothing is so conducive to the body's health, as the mind's being at
ease. I have proved the truth of this observation: my soul had been
racked with suspence and uncertainty during my illness; the uneasy
state of my mind increased my disorder; the disorder itself had
chiefly given rise to my apprehensions, as pain and sickness are
naturally accompanied with a gloominess of thought. Thus the cause
and its effects were united in mutual league against me, and
reciprocally assisted each other to plague and torment me.

My fears were intirely on Mrs Arnold's account. What, thought I,
would be the consequence of my project, in case of my death? Mrs
Gerrarde will return back to England; and, upon telling her story,
will be received again by Arnold; their union perhaps established as
firmly as before, and poor Mrs Arnold's hopes ruined for ever. Then
I thought what a wretch I must appear in her eyes, doubtful, may be,
of my sincerity as to the motives I urged to you for my conduct. On
the other hand, if these motives should by any means happen to be
suspected by Mrs Gerrarde, it might be the means of producing the
direct contrary effect from what I intended; and instead of
banishing Arnold's cruel suspicions of his lady, only serve to
strengthen them; for I knew Mrs Gerrarde would leave nothing unsaid
or undone for this horrid purpose; and it is not every one, Sir
George, whose hearts are enlarged enough to suppose a man may now
and then take a little pains from disinterested principles. This
last suggestion of my thoughts made me almost mad, and actually
brought on a delirium; and what may seem a paradox, though it is
literally true, the total deprivation of my senses for two days was
the means of my recovering them afterwards; for I am sure, had I
retained enough of them to have ruminated longer on this fatal
supposition, and my disorder had still threatened me with death,
I should have run mad. The care of a skilful physician recalled
me from the precincts of the grave; the strength of a constitution,
naturally good, joined to all the resolution I could muster, did the
rest.

The first use I made of my recovered reason, was to consult with
myself in what manner, or by what means, I should prevail on Mrs
Gerrarde to lend a helping hand to my design. Her leaving Arnold to
go off with me, and to all human appearance with her own consent,
was a material point gained; but the most important of all, and
without which every thing else would be fruitless, was to get her to
acknowlege, under her own hand, the injury she had done Mrs Arnold
by her vile insinuations to her husband. This was the grand object
of all my wishes. This, you will say, was difficult: I confess it
did then appear so to me. I had not at first weighed all the
consequences of my enterprize with that deliberation that I ought.
The principal object I had in view, was the separating Mrs Gerrarde
and Mr Arnold, and raising his indignation against her, on account
of the apparent infidelity on her side. To say the truth, I had not
considered what I was to do with her when I had her. Two things I
had resolved on; the one was, not to let her return to England; the
other, to provide for her in whatever way she would put it in my
power (the devoting myself to her excepted), in such a manner as
should leave her no room to reproach me with having injured her
temporal welfare.

During my illness, I had resolved all these things in my mind; the
last, viz. the providing for Mrs Gerrarde, was not a matter in which
I expected to meet many difficulties; the other appeared very
formidable. Several methods presented themselves, but none of them
pleased me, and I rejected them one after the other; and, to tell
you my mind honestly, I was almost resolved on using compulsion, and
frightening the poor woman into compliance; for I preferred even
this to artificial dealings. I had already used more than I could
have possibly brought myself to on any other occasion in the world;
and I think I should have threatened her with a nunnery, the
bastile, or even an inquisition, sooner than have failed, if she
herself had not beyond expectation, beyond hope, almost beyond the
evidence of my senses, led me as it were to request the thing of
her, which of all others I most despaired of her consenting to, or
even hearing proposed with patience. And yet, notwithstanding the
seeming strangeness of this, it was nothing but what was very
natural, and most consonant to her own designs. Blinded, and, as I
may say, infatuated by vanity, she imagined, that as I had taken
such uncommon pains to obtain her, I must love her with an uncommon
degree of passion; and that her steadily refusing any dishonourable
proposals, might induce me, rather than lose her, to make her my
wife.

In order to prepare me the better for this, no means were more
natural, than for her to assume the air of a penitent, to seem sorry
and ashamed of her past sins, and resolve on a virtuous course for
the future. At the worst, that is, if she found _I_ was not disposed
to be as virtuous as herself, she knew she might play an after-game;
and could easily relax by degrees from the severity of her chastity,
accordingly as I made it worth her while.

This was the master-key to her behaviour, and once I had got it,
which I soon did, it was easy to unlock her breast.

She came into my room the next morning without an invitation, and
only the previous ceremony of sending Rachael to enquire how I did,
and to tell me, if I were well enough to _rise_ (observe her
nicety), she would sit half an hour with me. I had enjoyed such
tranquility of heart since my last conference with her, and had
rested so well the preceding night, that I found myself quite
another thing from what I was the day before; and, excepting a
little weakness, I was as well as ever I was in my life. I was up
and dressed, and you may be sure sent a suitable answer to her kind
message, which soon brought the lady, sailing with an imperial port,
into my chamber. After some civilities past on both sides, she, by
way of bringing her own interests on the tapis, re-assumed the topic
of our yesterday's conversation.

You can't imagine, Mr Faulkland, said she, how easy I am in my
mind, since I have reconciled myself to the loss of Mr Arnold. I own
I had a regard for him; but I think it had more of gratitude than
love in it; for though he is an agreeable man, to say the truth, he
never was quite to my taste: he always had something too formal
about him.