I took an early opportunity of addressing a few lines to Mr Francis, informing him of my situation, and entreating his counsel. I waited a week, impatiently, for his reply, but in vain: well acquainted with his punctuality, and alarmed by this silence, I mentioned the step I had taken, and my apprehensions, to Montague, who immediately repaired, himself, to the house of Mr Francis; and, finding it shut up, was informed by the neighbours, that Mr Francis had quitted England, a short time before, in company with a friend, intending to make a continental tour.
This intelligence was a new shock to me. I called on some of my former acquaintance, mentioning to them my wish of procuring pupils, or of engaging in any other occupation fitted to my talents. I was received by some with civility, by others with coldness, but every one appeared too much engrossed by his own affairs to give himself the trouble of making any great exertion for others.
I returned dispirited--I walked through the crowded city, and observed the anxious and busy faces of all around me. In the midst of my fellow beings, occupied in various pursuits, I seemed, as if in an immense desart, a solitary outcast from society. Active, industrious, willing to employ my faculties in any way, by which I might procure an honest independence, I beheld no path open to me, but that to which my spirit could not submit--the degradation of servitude. Hapless woman!--crushed by the iron hand of barbarous despotism, pampered into weakness, and trained the slave of meretricious folly!--what wonder, that, shrinking from the chill blasts of penury (which the pernicious habits of thy education have little fitted thy tender frame to encounter) thou listenest to the honied accents of the spoiler; and, to escape the galling chain of servile dependence, rushest into the career of infamy, from whence the false and cruel morality of the world forbids thy return, and perpetuates thy disgrace and misery! When will mankind be aware of the uniformity, of the importance, of truth? When will they cease to confound, by s.e.xual, by political, by theological, distinctions, those immutable principles, which form the true basis of virtue and happiness? The paltry expedients of combating error with error, and prejudice with prejudice, in one invariable and melancholy circle, have already been sufficiently tried, have already been demonstrated futile:--they have armed man against man, and filled the world with crimes, and with blood.--How has the benign and gentle nature of Reform been mistated! "One false idea," justly says an acute and philosophic writer,[20] "united with others, produces such as are necessarily false; which, combining again with all those the memory retains, give to all a tinge of falsehood. One error, alone, is sufficient to infect the whole ma.s.s of the mind, and produce an infinity of capricious, monstrous, notions.--Every vice is the error of the understanding; crimes and prejudices are brothers; truth and virtue sisters. These things, known to the wise, are hid from fools!"
[Footnote 20: Helvetius.]
Without a sufficiently interesting pursuit, a fatal torpor stole over my spirits--my blood circulated languidly through my veins. Montague, in the intervals from business and amus.e.m.e.nt, continued to visit me. He brought me books, read to me, chatted with me, pressed me to accompany him to places of public entertainment, which (determined to incur no pecuniary obligation) I invariably refused.
I received his civilities with the less scruple, from the information I had received of his engagement with Miss Morton; which, with his knowledge of my unhappy attachment, I thought, precluded every idea of a renewal of those sentiments he had formerly professed for me.
In return for his friendship, I tried to smile, and exerted my spirits, to prove my grateful sensibility of his kindness: but, while he appeared to take a lively interest in my sorrows, he carefully avoided a repet.i.tion of the language in which he had once addressed me; yet, at times, his tender concern seemed sliding into a sentiment still softer, which obliged me to practise more reserve: he was not insensible of this, and was frequently betrayed into transient bursts of pa.s.sion and resentment, which, on my repelling with firmness, he would struggle to repress, and afterwards absent himself for a time.
Unable to devise any method of increasing my income, and experiencing the pressure of some daily wants and inconveniencies, I determined, at length, on selling the sum invested, in my name, in the funds, and purchasing a life annuity.
Recollecting the name of a banker, with whom my uncle, the friend of my infancy, had formerly kept cash, I learned his residence, and, waiting upon him, made myself known as the niece of an old and worthy friend; at the same time acquainting him with my intentions.--He offered to transact the affair for me immediately, the funds being, then, in a very favourable position; and to preserve the money in his hands till an opportunity should offer of laying it out to advantage. I gave him proper credentials for the accomplishing of this business, and returned to my apartment with a heart somewhat lightened. This scheme had never before occurred to me. The banker, who was a man of commercial reputation, had a.s.sured me, that my fortune might now be sold out with little loss; and that, by purchasing an annuity, on proper security, at seven or eight per cent, I might, with oeconomy, be enabled to support myself decently, with comfort and independence.
CHAPTER XVIII
Some weeks elapsed, and I heard no more from my banker. A slight indisposition confined me to the house. One evening, Mr Montague, coming to my apartment to enquire after my health, brought with him a newspaper (as was his frequent custom), and, finding me unwell, and dispirited, began to read some parts from it aloud, in the hope of amusing me. Among the articles of home intelligence, a paragraph stated--"The failure of a considerable mercantile house, which had created an alarm upon the Exchange, as, it was apprehended, some important consequences would follow in the commercial world. A great banking-house, it was hinted, not many miles from ----, was likely to be affected, by some rumours, in connection with this business, which had occasioned a considerable run upon it for the last two or three days."
My attention was roused--I eagerly held out my hand for the paper, and perused this alarming paragraph again and again, without observing the surprize expressed in the countenance of Montague, who was at a loss to conceive why this intelligence should be affecting to me.--I sat, for some minutes, involved in thought, till a question from my companion, several times repeated, occasioned me to start. I immediately recollected myself, and tried to reason away my fears, as vague and groundless. I was about to explain the nature of them to my friend--secretly accusing myself for not having done so sooner, and availed myself of his advice, when a servant, entering, put a letter into his hand.
Looking upon the seal and superscription, he changed colour, and opened it hastily. Strong emotion was painted in his features while he perused it. I regarded him with anxiety. He rose from his seat, walked up and down the room with a disordered pace--opened the door, as if with an intention of going out--shut it--returned back again--threw himself into a chair--covered his face with his handkerchief--appeared in great agitation--and burst into tears. I arose, went to him, and took his hand--"_My friend!_" said I--I would have added something more--but, unable to proceed, I sunk into a seat beside him, and wept in sympathy.
He pressed my hand to his lips--folded me wildly in his arms, and attempted to speak--but his voice was lost in convulsive sobs. I gently withdrew myself, and waited, in silence, till the violence of his emotions should subside. He held out to me the letter he had received. I perused it. It contained an account of the sudden death of his father, and a summons for his immediate return to the country, to settle the affairs, and to take upon him his father"s professional employment.
"You leave me, then!" said I--"I lose my only remaining friend!"
"_Never!_"--he replied, emphatically.
I blushed for having uttered so improper, so selfish, a remark; and endeavoured to atone for it by forgetting the perils of my own situation, in attention to that of this ardent, but affectionate, young man.--His sufferings were acute and violent for some days, during which he quitted me only at the hours of repose--I devoted myself to sooth and console him. I felt, that I had been greatly indebted to his friendship and kindness, and I endeavoured to repay the obligation. He appeared fully sensible of my cares, and, mingled with his acknowledgments expressions of a tenderness, so lively, and unequivocal, as obliged me, once more, to be more guarded in my behaviour.
In consideration for the situation of Mr Montague--I had forgotten the paragraph in the paper, till an accidental intelligence of the bankruptcy of the house, in which my little fortune was entrusted, confirmed to me the certainty of this terrible blow. Montague was sitting with me when I received the unwelcome news.
"Gracious G.o.d!" I exclaimed, clasping my hands, and raising my eyes to heaven--"What is to become of me now?--The measure of my sorrows is filled up!"
It was some time before I had power to explain the circ.u.mstances to my companion.
"Do not distress yourself, my lovely Emma," said he; "I will be your friend--your guardian--" (and he added, in a low, yet fervent, accent) --"_your husband_!"
"No--no--no!" answered I, shaking my head, "that must not, cannot, be!
I would perish, rather than take advantage of a generosity like yours. I will go to service--I will work for my bread--and, if I cannot procure a wretched sustenance--_I can but die_! Life, to me, has long been worthless!"
My countenance, my voice, my manner, but too forcibly expressed the keen anguish of my soul. I seemed to be marked out for the victim of a merciless destiny--_for the child of sorrow_! The susceptible temper of Montague, softened by his own affliction, was moved by my distress. He repeated, and enforced, his proposal, with all the ardour of a youthful, a warm, an uncorrupted, mind.
"You add to my distress," replied I. "I have not a heart to bestow--I lavished mine upon one, who scorned and contemned it. Its sensibility is now exhausted. Shall I reward a faithful and generous tenderness, like yours, with a cold, a worthless, an alienated, mind? No, no!--Seek an object more worthy of you, and leave me to my fate."
At that moment, I had forgotten the report of his engagement with Miss Morton; but, on his persisting, vehemently, to urge his suit, I recollected, and immediately mentioned, it, to him. He confessed--
"That, stung by my rejection, and preference of Mr Harley, he had, at one period, entertained a thought of that nature; but that he had fallen out with the family, in adjusting the settlements. Mrs Morton had persuaded her husband to make, what he conceived to be, ungenerous requisitions. Miss Morton had discovered much artifice, but little sensibility, on the occasion. Disgusted with the apathy of the father, the insolence of the mother and the low cunning of the daughter, he had abruptly quitted them, and broken off all intercourse with the family."
It is not necessary to enlarge on this part of my narrative. Suffice it to say, that, after a long contest, my desolate situation, added to the persevering affection of this enthusiastic young man, prevailed over my objections. His happiness, he told me, entirely depended on my decision.
I would not deceive him:--I related to him, with simplicity and truth, all the circ.u.mstances of my past conduct towards Mr Harley. He listened to me with evident emotion--interrupted me, at times, with execrations; and, once or twice, vowing vengeance on Augustus, appeared on the verge of outrage. But I at length reasoned him into greater moderation, and obliged him to do justice to the merit and honour of Mr Harley. He acquiesced reluctantly, and with an ill grace, yet, with a lover-like partiality, attributed his conduct to causes, of which I had discerned no traces. He a.s.sured himself that the affections of a heart, tender as mine, would be secured by kindness and a.s.siduity--and I at last yielded to his importunity. We were united in a short time, and I accompanied my husband to the town of ----, in the county of ----, the residence of his late father.
CHAPTER XIX
Mr Montague presented me to his relations and friends, by whom I was received with a flattering distinction. My wearied spirits began now to find repose. My husband was much occupied in the duties of his profession. We had a respectable circle of acquaintance: In the intervals of social engagement, and domestic employment, ever thirsting after knowledge, I occasionally applied myself to the study of physic, anatomy, and surgery, with the various branches of science connected with them; by which means I frequently rendered myself essentially serviceable to my friend; and, by exercising my understanding and humanity, strengthened my mind, and stilled the importunate suggestions of a heart too exquisitely sensible.
The manners of Mr Montague were kind and affectionate, though subject, at times, to inequalities and starts of pa.s.sion; he confided in me, as his best and truest friend--and I deserved his confidence:--yet, I frequently observed the restlessness and impetuosity of his disposition with apprehension.
I felt for my husband a rational esteem, and a grateful affection:--but those romantic, high-wrought, frenzied, emotions, that had rent my heart during its first attachment--that enthusiasm, that fanaticism, to which opposition had given force, the bare recollection of which still shook my soul with anguish, no longer existed. Montague was but too sensible of this difference, which naturally resulted from the change of circ.u.mstances, and was unreasonable enough to complain of what secured our tranquillity. If a cloud, sometimes, hung over my brow--if I relapsed, for a short period, into a too habitual melancholy, he would grow captious, and complain.
"You esteem me, Emma: I confide in your principles, and I glory in your friendship--but, you have never _loved_ me!"
"Why will you be so unjust, both to me, and to yourself?"
"Tell me, then, sincerely--I know you will not deceive me--Have you ever felt for me those sentiments with which Augustus Harley inspired you?"
"Certainly not--I do not pretend to it--neither ought you to wish it.
My first attachment was the morbid excess of a distempered imagination.
Liberty, reason, virtue, usefulness, were the offerings I carried to its shrine. It preyed incessantly upon my heart, I drank up its vital spirit, it became a vice from its excess--it was a pernicious, though a sublime, enthusiasm--its ravages are scarcely to be remembered without shuddering--all the strength, the dignity, the powers, of my mind, melted before it! Do you wish again to see me the slave of my pa.s.sions--do you regret, that I am restored to reason? To you I owe every thing--life, and its comforts, rational enjoyments, and the opportunity of usefulness.
I feel for you all the affection that a reasonable and a virtuous mind ought to feel--that affection which is compatible with the fulfilling of other duties. We are guilty of vice and selfishness when we yield ourselves up to unbounded desires, and suffer our hearts to be wholly absorbed by one object, however meritorious that object may be."
"Ah! how calmly you reason,--while I listen to you I cannot help loving and admiring you, but I must ever hate that accursed Harley--No! _I am not satisfied_--and I sometimes regret that I ever beheld you."
Many months glided away with but little interruptions to our tranquillity.--A remembrance of the past would at times obtrude itself, like the broken recollections of a feverish vision. To banish these painful retrospections, I hastened to employ myself; every hour was devoted to active usefulness, or to social and rational recreation.
I became a mother; in performing the duties of a nurse, my affections were awakened to new and sweet emotions.--The father of my child appeared more respectable in my eyes, became more dear to me: the engaging smiles of my little Emma repayed me for every pain and every anxiety. While I beheld my husband caress his infant, I tasted a pure, a chaste, an ineffable pleasure.
CHAPTER XX
About six weeks after my recovery from childbed, some affairs of importance called Mr Montague to London. Three days after he had quitted me, as, bending over the cradle of my babe, I contemplated in silence its tranquil slumbers, I was alarmed by an uncommon confusion in the lower part of the house. Hastening down stairs, to enquire into the cause, I was informed--that a gentleman, in pa.s.sing through the town, had been thrown from his horse, that he was taken up senseless, and, as was customary in cases of accident, had been brought into our house, that he might receive a.s.sistance.
Mr Montague was from home, a young gentleman who resided with us, and a.s.sisted my husband in his profession, was also absent, visiting a patient. Having myself acquired some knowledge of surgery, I went immediately into the hall to give the necessary directions on the occasion. The gentleman was lying on the floor, without any signs of life. I desired the people to withdraw, who, crowding round with sincere, but useless sympathy, obstructed the circulation of air.
Approaching the unfortunate man, I instantly recognised the well-known features, though much altered, wan and sunk, of _Augustus Harley_.