Barford Abbey Part 14

Now, my dearest Lady, am I again perplex'd, doubting, and embarra.s.s'd:--yet Lord Darcey is gone,--gone this very morning,--about an hour since.

Well, I did not think it would evermore be in his power to distress me;--but I have been distress'd,--greatly distress'd!--I begin to think Lord Darcey sincere,--that he has always been sincere--He talks of next _Thursday_, as a day to unravel great mysteries:--but I shall be far enough by that time; sail'd, perhaps.--Likely, he said, I might know before Thursday.--I wish any body could, tell me:--I fancy Sir James and Lady Powis are in the secret.

Mr. Jenkings is gone with his Lords.h.i.+p to Mr. Stapleton's,--about ten miles this side London, on business of importance:--to-morrow he returns; then I shall acquaint him with my leaving this place.--Your Ladys.h.i.+p knows the motive why I have hitherto kept the day of my setting out a secret from every person,--even from Sir James and Lady Powis.

Yesterday, the day preceding the departure of Lord Darcey, I went up to the Abbey, determin'd to exert my spirits and appear chearful, cost what it would to a poor disappointed heavy heart.--Yes, it was disappointed:--but till then I never rightly understood its situation;--or perhaps would not understand it;--else I have not examin'd it so closely as I ought, of late;--Not an unusual thing neither: we often stop to enquire, what fine feat _that?_--whose magnificent equipage _this?_--long to see and converse with persons so surrounded with splendor;--but if one happen to pa.s.s a poor dark cottage, and see the owner leaning on a crutch at the door, we are apt to go by, without making any enquiry, or betraying a wish to be acquainted with its misery.--

This was my situation, when I directed my steps to the Abbey.--I saw not Lord Darcey in an hour after I came into the house;--when he join'd us, he was dress'd for the day, and in one hand his own hat, in the other mine, with my cloak, which he had pick'd up in the Vestibule:--he was dreadfully pale;--complain'd of a pain in his head, which he is very subject to;--said he wanted a walk;--and ask'd, if I would give him the honour of my company.--I had not the heart to refuse, when I saw how ill he look'd;--though for some days past, I have avoided being alone with him as much as possible.

We met Lady Powis returning from a visit to her poultry-yard.--Where are my two runabouts going _now?_ she said.--Only for a little walk, madam, reply'd Lord Darcey.

You are a sauce-box, said she, shaking him by the hand;--but don't go, my Lord, _too far_ with Miss Warley, nodding and smiling on him at the same time.--She gave me a sweet affectionate kiss, as I pa.s.s'd her; and cried out, You are a couple of pretty strollers, are you not!--But away together; only I charge you, my Lord, calling after him, remember you are not to go _too far_ with my dear girl.

We directed our steps towards the walk that leads to the Hermitage, neither of us seeming in harmony of spirits.--His Lords.h.i.+p still complaining of his head, I propos'd going back before we had gone ten paces from the house.

Would Miss Warley then prevent me, said he, from the last satisfaction!

might ever enjoy?--You don't know, madam, how long--it is impossible to say how long--if ever I should be so happy again--I look forward to Wednesday with impatience;--if that should be propitious,--_Thursday_ will unravel _mysteries_; it will clear up _doubts_;--it will perhaps bring on an event which you, my dearest life, may in time reflect on with pleasure;--you, my dearest life!--pardon the liberty,--by heaven! I am sincere!

I was going to withdraw my hand from his: I can be less reserv'd when he is less free.

Don't take your hand from me;--I will call you miss Warley;--I see my freedom is depleasing;--but don't take your hand away; for I was still endeavouring to get it away from him.

Yes, my angel, I will call you _Miss Warley_.

Talk not at this rate, my Lord: it is a kind of conversation I do not, nor wish to understand.

I see, madam, I am to be unhappy;--I know you have great reason to condemn me:--my whole behaviour, since I first saw you, has been one riddle.

Pray, my Lord, forbear this subject.

No! if I never see you more, Miss Warley,--this is my wish that you think the worst of me that appearances admit;--think I have basely wish'd to distress you.

Distress me, my Lord?

Think so, I beseech you, if I never return.--What would the misfortune be of falling low, even to the most abject in your opinion, compared with endangering the happiness of her whole peace is my ardent pursuit?--If I fail, I only can tell the cause:--you shall never be acquainted with it;--for should you regard me even with pity,--cool pity,--it would be taking the dagger from my own breast, and planting it in yours.

Ah! my Lady, could I help understanding him?--could I help being moved?--I was moved;--my eyes I believe betrayed it.

If I return, continued he, it is you only can p.r.o.nounce me happy.--If you see me not again, think I am tossed on the waves of adverse fortune:--but oh think I again intreat _you_,--think me guilty. Perhaps I may outlive--no, that will never do;--you will be happy long before that hour;--it would be selfish to hope the contrary. I _wish_ Mr. Powis was come home;--I wish--All my wishes tend to one great end.--Good G.o.d, what a situation am I in!--That the Dead could hear my pet.i.tions!--that he could absolve me!--What signifies, whether one sue to remains crumbled in the dust, or to the ear which can refuse to hear the voice of reason?

I thought I should have sunk to see the agony he was work'd up to.--I believe I look'd very pale;--I felt the blood thrill through my veins, and of a sudden stagnate:--a dreadful sickness follow'd;--I desir'd to sit;--he look'd on every side, quite terrified;--cry'd, Where will you sit, my dearest life?--what shall I do?--For heaven's sake speak,--speak but one word;--speak to tell me, I have not been your murderer.

I attempted to open my mouth, but in vain; I pointed to the ground, making an effort to sit down:--he caught me in his arms, and bore me to a bench not far off;--there left me, to fetch some water at a brook near, but came back before he had gone ten steps.--I held out my hand to his hat, which lay on the ground, then look'd to the water.--Thank G.o.d!--thank G.o.d! he said, and went full speed, to dip up some;--he knelt down, trembling, before me;--his teeth chatter'd in his head whilst he offer'd the water.

I found myself beginning to recover the moment it came to my lips.--He fix'd his eyes on me, as if he never meant to take them off, holding both my hands between his, the tears running down his face, without the contraction of one feature.--If sorrow could be express'd in stone, he then appear'd the very statue which was to represent it.

I attempted to speak.

Don't speak yet, he cried;--don't make yourself ill again: thank heaven, you are better!--This is some sudden chill; why have you ventur'd out without clogs?

How delicate,--how seasonable, this hint! Without it could I have met his eye, after the weakness I had betrayed?--We had now no more interesting subjects; I believe he thought I had _enough_ of them.

It was near two when we reach'd the Abbey. Sir James and Mr. Morgan were just return'd from a ride;--Lady Powis met us on the Green, where she said she had been walking some time, in expectation of her strollers,--She examin'd my countenance very attentively, and then ask'd Lord Darcey, if he had remember'd her injunctions?

What reason, my Lady, have you to suspect the contrary? he returned--Well, well, said she, I shall find you out some day or other;--but her Ladys.h.i.+p seem'd quite satisfied, when I a.s.sured her I had been no farther than the Beach-walk.

Cards were propos'd soon after dinner: the same party as usual.--Mr.

Morgan is never ask'd to make one;--he says he would as soon see the devil as a card-table.--We kept close at it 'till supper.--I could not help observing his Lords.h.i.+p blunder'd a little;--playing a diamond for a spade,--and a heart for a club,--I took my leave at eleven, and he attended me home.

Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings were gone to bed,--Edmund was reading in the parlour; he insisted on our having a negus which going out to order, was follow'd by Lord Darcey:--I heard them whisper in the pa.s.sage, but could distinguish the words, _if she is ill, remember, if she is ill_--and then Edmund answer'd, You may depend on it, my Lord,--as I have a soul to be saved:--does your Lords.h.i.+p suppose I would be so negligent?

I guess'd at this charge;--it was to write, if I should be ill, as I have since found by Edmund,--who return'd capering into the room, rubbing his hands, and smiling with such significance as if he would have said, Every thing is as it should be.

When his Lords.h.i.+p had wish'd us a good night, he said to me,--_To-morrow_, Miss Warley!--but I will say nothing of _to-morrow_;--I shall see you in the morning. His eyes glisten'd, and he left the room hastily.--Whilst Edmund attended him out, I went to my chamber that I might avoid a subject of which I saw his honest heart was full.

On my table lay the Roman History; I could not help giving a peep where I had left off, being a very interesting part:--from one thing I was led to another, 'till the clock struck three; which alarm made me quit my book.

Whilst undressing, I had leisure to recollect the incidents of the pa.s.s'd day; sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain, would arise, from this examination; yet the latter was most predominant.

When I consider'd Lord Darcey's tender regard for my future, as well as present peace,--how could I reflect on him without grat.i.tude?--When I consider'd his perplexities, I thought thus:--they arise from some entanglement, in which his heart is not engag'd.--Had he confided in me, I should not have weaken'd his resolutions;--I would no more wish him to be guilty of a breach of honour, than surrender myself to infamy.--I would have endeavour'd to persuade him _she_ is amiable, virtuous, and engaging.--If I had been successful, I would have _frown'd_ when he _smil'd_;--I would have been _gay_ when he seem'd _oppress'd_--I would have been _reserv'd, peevish, supercilicus_;--in short, I would have counterfeited the very reverse of what was likely to draw him from a former attachment.

To live without him must be my fate; since that is almost inevitable, I would have strove to have secur'd his happiness, whilst mine had remain'd to chance.--These reflections kept me awake 'till six; when I fell into a profound sleep, which lasted 'till ten; at which time I was awaken'd by Mrs. Jenkings to tell me Lord Darcey was below; with an apology, that she had made breakfast, as her husband was preparing, in great haste, to attend his Lords.h.i.+p.

This was a hint he was not to stay long; so I put on my cloaths with expedition; and going down, took with me my whole stock of resolution; but I carried it no farther than the bottom of the stairs;--there it flew from me;--never have I seen it since:--that it rested not in the breast of Lord Darcey, was visible;--rather it seem'd as if his and mine had taken a flight together.

I stood with the lock of the door in my hand more than a minute, in hopes my inward flutterings would abate.--His Lords.h.i.+p heard my footstep, and flew to open it;--I gave him my hand, without knowing what I did;--joy sparkled in his eyes and he prest it to his breast with a fervour that cover'd me with confusion.

He saw what he had done,--He dropp'd it respectfully, and inquiring tenderly for my health, ask'd if I would honour him with my commands before he sat out for Town?--What a fool was I!--Lord bless me!--can I ever forget my folly? What do you think, my Lady! I did not speak;--no!

I could not answer;--I was _silent_;--I was _silent_, when I would have given the world for one word.--When I did speak, it was not to Lord Darcey, but, still all fool, turn'd and said to Mr. Jenkings, who was looking over a parchment, How do you find yourself, Sir? Will not the journey you are going to take on horseback be too fatiguing? No, no, my good Lady; it is an exercise I have all my life been us'd to: to-morrow you will see me return the better for it.

Mrs. Jenkings here enter'd, follow'd by a servant with the breakfast, which was plac'd before me, every one else having breakfasted.--She desir'd I would give myself the trouble of making tea, having some little matters to do without.--This task would have been a harder penance than a fast of three days;--but I must have submitted, had not my good genius Edmund appear'd at this moment; and placing himself by me, desir'd to have the honour of making my breakfast.

I carried the cup with difficulty to my mouth. My embarra.s.sment was perceiv'd by his Lords.h.i.+p; he rose from his seat, and walk'd up and down.--How did his manly form struggle to conceal the disorder of his mind!--Every movement, every look, every word, discover'd Honour in her most graceful, most ornamental garb: _when_ could it appear to such advantage, surrounded with a cloud of difficulties, yet s.h.i.+ning out and towering above them all?

He laid his cold hand on mine;--with precipitation left the room;--and was in a moment again at my elbow.--Leaning over the back of my chair, he whisper'd, For heaven's sake, miss Warley, be the instrument of my fort.i.tude; whilst I see you I cannot--there stopt and turn'd from me.--I saw he wish'd me to go first,--as much in compa.s.sion to myself as him.

When his back was turn'd, I should have slid out of the room;--but Mr.

Jenkings starting up, and looking at his watch, exclaim'd, _Odso_, my Lord! it is past eleven; we shall be in the dark. This call'd him from his reverie; and he sprang to the door, just as I had reached it.--Sweet, generous creature! said he, stopping me; and you will go _then?_--Farewell, my Lord, replied I.--My dear, good friend, to Mr.

Jenkings, take care of your health.--G.o.d bless you both I--My voice faulter'd.

Excellent Miss Warley! a thousand thanks for your kind condescension, said the good old man.--Yet one moment, oh G.o.d! yet one moment, said his Lords.h.i.+p; and he caught both my hands.

Come, my Lord, return'd Mr. Jenkings; and never did I see him look so grave, something of disappointment in his countenance;--come, my Lord, the day is wasting apace. Excuse this liberty:--your Lords.h.i.+p has been _long_ determin'd,--have _long_ known of leaving this country.--My dearest young Lady, you will be expected at the Abbey.--I shall, indeed, replied I;--so G.o.d bless you, Sir!--G.o.d bless you, my Lord! and, withdrawing my hands, hasten'd immediately to my chamber.

I heard their voices in the court-yard:--if I had look'd out at the window, it might not have been unnatural,--I own my inclinations led to it.--Inclination should never take place of prudence;--by following one, we are often plung'd into difficulties;--by the other we are sure to be conducted safely:--instead, then, of indulging my curiosity to see how he look'd--how he spoke at taking leave of this dwelling;--whether his eyes were directed to the windows, or the road;--if he rid slow or fast;--how often he turn'd to gaze, before he was out of sight:--instead of this, I went to Mrs. Jenkings's apartment, and remain'd there 'till I heard they were gone, then return'd to my own; since which I have wrote down to this period. Perhaps I should have ran on farther, if a summons from Lady Powis did not call me off. I hope now to appear before her with tolerable composure.--I am to go in the coach alone.--Well, it will seem strange!--I shall think of my _late_ companion;--but time reconciles every thing.--_This_ was my hope, when I lost my best friend, the lov'd instructress of my infant years.--_Time_, all healing _Time!_ to _that_ I fear I must look forward, as a lenitive against many evils.

Two days!--only two days!--and then, adieu, my dear friends at the Abbey;--adieu, my good Mr. and Mrs. Jenkings!--and you _too_, my friendly-hearted Edmund, adieu!