Chapter III (4)

“Yes, if I could I would choose both of you,” said Louisa, “but you know I can only choose which I like the best.”

“If you mean, my dear Louisa,” said Leonora, “that you like me the best, I am very much obliged to you, for, indeed, I wish you to love me; but it is enough for me to know it in private. I should not feel the least more pleasure at hearing it in public, or in having it made known to all my companions, especially at a time when it would give poor Cecilia a great deal of pain.”

“But why should it give her pain?” asked Louisa; “I don’t like her for being jealous of you.”

“Nay, Louisa, surely you don’t think Cecilia jealous? She only tries to excel, and to please; she is more anxious to succeed than I am, it is true, because she has a great deal more activity, and perhaps more ambition. And it would really mortify her to lose this prize—you know that she proposed it herself. It has been her object for this month past, and I am sure she has taken great pains to obtain it.”

“But, dear Leonora, why should you lose it?”

“Indeed, my dear, it would be no loss to me; and, if it were, I would willingly suffer it for Cecilia; for, though we seem not to be such good friends as we used to be, I love her very much, and she will love me again—I’m sure she will; when she no longer fears me as a rival, she will again love me as a friend.”

Here Leonora heard a number of her companions running along the gallery. They all knocked hastily at the door, calling “Leonora! Leonora! will you never come? Cecilia has been with us this half-hour.”

Leonora smiled. “Well, Louisa,” said she, smiling, “will you promise me?”

“Oh, I am sure, by the way they speak to you, that they won’t give you the prize!” said the little Louisa, and the tears started into her eyes. “They love me, though, for all that,” said Leonora; “and as for the prize, you know whom I wish to have it.”

“Leonora! Leonora!” called her impatient companions; “don’t you hear us? What are you about?”

“Oh, she never will take any trouble about anything,” said one of the party; “let’s go away.”

“Oh, go, go! make haste!” cried Louisa; “don’t stay; they are so angry.”

“Remember, then, that you have promised me,” said Leonora, and she left the room.

During all this time, Cecilia had been in the garden with her companions. The ambition which she had felt to win the first prize—the prize of superior talents and superior application—was not to be compared to the absolute anxiety which she now expressed to win this simple testimony of the love and approbation of her equals and rivals.

To employ her exuberant activity, Cecilia had been dragging branches of lilacs and laburnums, roses and sweet briar, to ornament the bower in which her fate was to be decided. It was excessively hot, but her mind was engaged, and she was indefatigable. She stood still at last to admire her works. Her companions all joined in loud applause. They were not a little prejudiced in her favour by the great eagerness which she expressed to win their prize, and by the great importance which she seemed to affix to the preference of each individual. At last, “Where is Leonora?” cried one of them; and immediately, as we have seen, they ran to call her.

Cecilia was left alone. Overcome with heat and too violent exertion, she had hardly strength to support herself; each moment appeared to her intolerably long. She was in a state of the utmost suspense, and all her courage failed her. Even hope forsook her; and hope is a cordial which leaves the mind depressed and enfeebled.

“The time is now come,” said Cecilia; “in a few moments all will be decided. In a few moments—goodness! How much do I hazard? If I should not win the prize, how shall I confess what I have done? How shall I beg Leonora to forgive me? I, who hoped to restore my friendship to her as an honour! They are gone to seek for her. The moment she appears I shall be forgotten. What—what shall I do?” said Cecilia, covering her face with her hands.

Such was Cecilia’s situation when Leonora, accompanied by her companions, opened the hall door. They most of them ran forwards to Cecilia. As Leonora came into the bower, she held out her hand to Cecilia. “We are not rivals, but friends, I hope,” said she. Cecilia clasped her hand; but she was in too great agitation to speak.

The table was now set in the arbour—the vase was now placed in the middle. “Well!” said Cecilia, eagerly, “who begins?” Caroline, one of her friends, came forward first, and then all the others successively. Cecilia’s emotion was hardly conceivable. “Now they are all in! Count them, Caroline!”

“One, two, three, four; the numbers are both equal.” There was a dead silence. “No, they are not,” exclaimed Cecilia, pressing forward, and putting a shell into a vase. “I have not given mine, and I give it to Leonora.” Then, snatching the bracelet, “It is yours, Leonora,” said she; “take it, and give me back your friendship.” The whole assembly gave one universal clap and a general shout of applause.

“I cannot be surprised at this from you, Cecilia,” said Leonora; “and do you then still love me as you used to do?”

“Oh, Leonora, stop! don’t praise me; I don’t deserve this,” said she, turning to her loudly applauding companions. “You will soon despise me. Oh, Leonora, you will never forgive me! I have deceived you; I have sold—”

At this instant, Mrs. Villars appeared. The crowd divided. She had heard all that passed, from her window. “I applaud your generosity, Cecilia,” said she, “but I am to tell you that, in this instance it is unsuccessful. You have not it in your power to give the prize to Leonora. It is yours. I have another vote to give to you. You have forgotten Louisa.”

“Louisa!” exclaimed Cecilia; “but surely, ma’am, Louisa loves Leonora better than she does me.”

“She commissioned me, however,” said Mrs. Villars, “to give you a red shell; and you will find it in this box.”

Cecilia started, and turned as pale as death; it was the fatal box!

Mrs. Villars produced another box. She opened it; it contained the Flora. “And Louisa also desired me,” said she, “to return to you this Flora.” She put it into Cecilia’s hand. Cecilia trembled so that she could not hold it. Leonora caught it.

“Oh, madam! Oh, Leonora!” exclaimed Cecilia; “now I have no hope left. I intended—I was just going to tell—”

“Dear Cecilia,” said Leonora, “you need not tell it me; I know it already; and I forgive you with all my heart.”

“Yes, I can prove to you,” said Mrs. Villars, “that Leonora has forgiven you. It is she who has given you the prize; it was she who persuaded Louisa to give you her vote. I went to see her a little while ago; and perceiving, by her countenance, that something was the matter, I pressed her to tell me what it was.

“‘Why, madam,’ said she, ‘Leonora has made me promise to give my shell to Cecilia. Now I don’t love Cecilia half so well as I do Leonora. Besides, I would not have Cecilia think I vote for her because she gave me a Flora.’ Whilst Louisa was speaking,” continued Mrs. Villars, “I saw this silver box lying on the bed. I took it up, and asked if it was not yours, and how she came by it. ‘Indeed, madam,’ said Louisa, ‘I could have been almost certain that it was Cecilia’s; but Leonora gave it me, and she said that she bought it of the peddler this morning. If anybody else had told me so, I could not have believed them, because I remember the box so well; but I can’t help believing Leonora.’ But did not you ask Cecilia about it? said I. ‘No, madam,’ replied Louisa; ‘for Leonora forbade me. I guessed her reason.’ Well, said I, give me the box, and I will carry your shell in it to Cecilia. ‘Then, madam,’ said she, ‘if I must give it her, pray do take the Flora, and return it to her first, that she may not think it is for that I do it.’”

“Oh, generous Louisa!” exclaimed Cecilia; “but, indeed, Leonora, I cannot take your shell.”

“Then, dear Cecilia, accept of mine instead of it! you cannot refuse it; I only follow your example. As for the bracelet,” added Leonora, taking Cecilia’s hand, “I assure you I don’t wish for it, and you do, and you deserve it.”

“No,” said Cecilia, “indeed, I do not deserve it. Next to you, surely Louisa deserves it best.”

“Louisa! oh, yes, Louisa,” exclaimed everybody with one voice.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Villars, “and let Cecilia carry the bracelet to her; she deserves that reward. For one fault I cannot forget all your merits, Cecilia, nor, I am sure, will your companions.”

“Then, surely, not your best friend,” said Leonora, kissing her.

Everybody present was moved. They looked up to Leonora with respectful and affectionate admiration.

“Oh, Leonora, how I love you! and how I wish to be like you!” exclaimed Cecilia—“to be as good, as generous!”

“Rather wish, Cecilia,” interrupted Mrs. Villars, “to be as just; to be as strictly honourable, and as invariably consistent. Remember, that many of our sex are capable of great efforts—of making what they call great sacrifices to virtue or to friendship; but few treat their friends with habitual gentleness, or uniformly conduct themselves with prudence and good sense.”

THE LITTLE MERCHANTS.