Barford Abbey Part 10

I wish I may not laugh out in the midst of his fine speeches.--

I wish your Ladys.h.i.+p could see this cool attention I give him.--But I have nettled him to the truth this afternoon:--his pride was alarm'd;--it could certainly proceed from _no other_ cause, after he has _declared off_.

I was sitting at the tea-table, a trouble I always take from Lady Powis, who with Sir James was walking just without the windows, when Lord Darcey open'd the door, and said, advancing towards me with affected airs of admiration,--How proud should I be to see my house and table so graced!--Then leaning over the back of my chair, Well, my angel! how is the bad arm? Come, let me see, attempting to draw off my glove.

Oh! quite well, my Lord; withdrawing my hand carelessly.

For heaven's sake, take more care of yourself, Miss Warley; this might have been a sad affair.

Depend on that, my Lord, for my own sake.

For your _own sake!_ Not in consideration of any _other_ person?

Yes; of _Lady Mary Sutton, Sir James_ and _Lady Powis, good Mr.

Jenkings_ and _his wife_, who I know would be concerned was I to suffer much from any accident.

Then there is no _other_ person you would wish to preserve your life for?

Not that I know at present, my Lord,

Not that you know at _present!_ so you think you may one day or _other?_

I pretend not, my Lord, to answer for what _may_ happen; I have never seen the _person_ yet. I was going to say something further, I have really forgot what, when he turn'd from me, and walked up and down the room with a seeming discomposure.

_If_ you are sincere in what you have said, _Miss Warley_; _if_ you are _really_ sincere, I do p.r.o.nounce--Here he burst open the door, and flew out the instant Sir James and Lady Powis entered.

When the tea was made, a footman was sent to Lord Darcey; but he was no where to be found.

This is very strange, said her Ladys.h.i.+p; Lord Darcey never used to be out of the way at tea-time. I declare I am quite uneasy; perhaps he may be ill.

Oh! cry'd Sir James, don't hurry yourself; I warrant he is got into one of his old reveries, and forgets the time.

I was quite easy. I knew his abrupt departure was nothing but an air:--an air of consequence, I suppose.--However, I was willing to be convinced, so did not move till I saw the Gentleman sauntering up the lawn. As no one perceived him but myself, I slid out to the housekeeper, and told her, if her Lady enquir'd for me, I was gone home to write Letters by to-morrow's post.

You have enough of it now, I believe, my dear Lady; two long letters by the same packet:--but you are the repository of my joy, my grief, the very inmost secrets of my soul.--You, my dear Lady, have the whole heart of

F. WARLEY.

LETTER XVIII.

Lord DARCEY to the Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH.

_Barford Abbey_.

Ruin'd and undone, as I hope for mercy!--undone too by my own egregious folly!--She is quite lost,--quite out of my power.--I wish Lord Allen had been in the bottom of the sea;--he can never make me amends;--no, if he was to die to-morrow and leave me his whole fortune.--

I told you he was to dine here yesterday.--I cannot be circ.u.mstantial.--He did dine here;--to my utter sorrow he did.

Oh what a charming morning I spent!--Tho' my angel persisted in going to France, yet it was in a manner that made me love her, if possible, ten thousand times more than ever.--Good G.o.d! had you seen how she look'd!--But no matter now;--I must forget her angelical sweetness.--Forget did I say?--No, by heaven and earth--she lives in every corner of my heart.--I wish I had told her my whole soul.--I was going to tell her, if I had not been interrupted.--It is too late now.--She would not hear me: I see by her manners she would not hear me.

She has learnt to look with indifference:--even smiles with indifference.--Why does she not frown? That would be joy to what her smiles afford.--I hate such smiles; they are darts dipp'd in poison.--

Lord Allen said he heard I was going to be marry'd:--_What was that to him?_--Sir James look'd displeased. To quiet _his_ fears I a.s.sured him--G.o.d! I know not what I a.s.sured _him_--something very foreign from my heart.

She blushed when Sir James asked, to whom?--With what raptures did I behold her blushes!--But she shrunk at my answer.--I saw the colour leave her cheek, like a rose-bud fading beneath the h.o.a.ry frost.

I _will_ know my fate.--Twill be with you in a few days,--if Sir James should consent.--_What if he should consent?_--She is steeled against my vows--my protestations;--my words affect her not;--the most tender a.s.siduities are disregarded:--she seems to attend to what I say, yet regards it not.

Where are those looks of preference fled,--those expressive looks?--I saw them not till now:--it is their loss,--it is their sad reverse that tells me what they were. She turns not her head to follow my foot-steps at parting;--or when I return, does not proclaim it by advancing pleasure tip-toe to the windows of her soul.--No anxiety for my health!

No, she cares not what becomes of me.--I complain'd of my head, said I was in great pain;--heaven knows how true! My complaints were disregarded.--I attended her home. She sung all the way; or if she talked, it was of music:--not a word of _my poor head_;--no charges to draw the gla.s.ses up going back.

There was a time, Molesworth--there was a time, if my finger had but ached, it was, My Lord, you look ill. Does not Lady Powis persuade you to have advice? You are really too careless of your health.

Shall she be _another's?_--Yes; when I shrink at sight of what lies yonder,--my sword, George;--that shall prevent her ever being _another's_.

Tell me you believe she will be _mine_:--it may help to calm my disturbed mind.--Be sure you do not hint she will be _another's_.

Have I told you, Mr. Powis is coming home?--I cannot recollect whether I have or not;--neither can I pain myself to look back.

All the world has something to comfort them, but your poor friend.--Every thing wears the face of joy, till I turn my eyes inwards:--_there it is_ I behold the opposite;--_there it is_ where Grief has fix'd her abode.--Does the fiend ever sleep? Will she be composed by ushering in the happy prospects of others?--Yes, I will feel, joy.--Joy did I say? Joy I cannot feel.--Satisfaction then?--Satisfaction likewise is forbid to enter.--What then will possess my mind; on recollecting peace is restor'd, where grat.i.tude calls for such large returns?--I'll pray for them;--I'll pray for a continuance of their felicity.--I'll pray, if they have future ills in store, they may light on the head of Darcey.--Yes, he can bear more yet:--let the load be ever so heavy, he will stoop to take up the burthen of his friends;--such friends as Sir James and Lady Powis have been to

DARCEY.

LETTER XIX.

The Honourable GEORGE MOLESWORTH to LORD DARCEY.

London.

Well, give me the first salute of your fair bride;--_and for your bride_ I'll ensure Miss Warley.--Why there is not a symptom but is in your favour.--She is nettled; can't you perceive it?--Once a studied disregard takes place, we are safe:--nothing will hurt you _now_, my Lord.--

You have been stuttering falsehoods.--From what I can gather, you have been hus.h.i.+ng the Baronet at the expence of your own and Miss Warley's quiet.--If you have, never mind it; things may not be the worse.--Come away, I advise you; set out immediately.--See how she looks at parting.--But don't distress her;--I charge you not to distress her.--Should you play back her own cards, I will not answer for the pride of the s.e.x.--

Sir James's consent once gained, and she rejects your proposals, lay all your letters to me on the subject before her.--I have them by me.--These cannot fail of clearing every doubt; she will be convinced then how sincerely you have loved her.--

You surprise me concerning Mr. Powis:--I thought he was settled in his government for life;--or rather, for the life of his father.--However, I am convinced his coming over will be no bad thing for you;--he has suffered too much from avarice, not to a.s.sist another so hardly beset.--

Was not his settling abroad an odd affair!--If he determined to remain single till he had an opportunity of pleasing himself, why did he leave England?--The mortification could not be great to have his overtures refused, where they were made with such indifference.--

As he has lived so many years a batchelor, I suppose there will be now an end to that great family.--

What a leveller is avarice! How does it pull down by attempting to raise? How miserable, as Seneca says, in the desire?--how miserable in attaining our ends?--The same great man alledges, that as long as we are solicitous for the increase of wealth, we lose the true use of it; and spend our time in putting out, calling in, and pa.s.sing our accounts, without any substantial benefit, either to the world, or to ourselves.--