The Complete Novels of Fanny Burney (Illustrated). Frances Burney
a subject upon which I need a monitor.’ ‘Make then,’ cried I, ‘the only reparation in your power. — Your daughter is now at Clifton; send for her hither; and, in the face of the world, proclaim the legitimacy of her birth, and clear the reputation of your injured wife.’ ‘Madam,’ said he, ‘you are much mistaken, if you suppose I waited for the honour of this visit before I did what little justice now depends upon me, to the memory of that unfortunate woman: her daughter has been my care from her infancy; I have taken her into my house; she bears my name; and she will be my sole heiress.’ For some time this assertion appeared so absurd, that I only laughed at it: but, at last, he assured me, I had myself been imposed upon; for that very woman who attended Lady Belmont in her last illness, conveyed the child to him while he was in London, before she was a year old. ‘Unwilling,’ he added, ‘at that time to confirm the rumour of my being married, I sent the woman with the child to France: as soon as she was old enough, I put her into a convent, where she has been properly educated, and now I have taken her home. I have acknowledged her for my lawful child, and paid, at length, to the memory of her unhappy mother a tribute of fame, which has made me wish to hide myself hereafter from all the world.’ This whole story sounded so improbable, that I did not scruple to tell him I discredited every word. He then rung his bell; and, enquiring if his hair-dresser was come, said he was sorry to leave me; but that, if I would favour him with my company tomorrow, he would do himself the honour of introducing Miss Belmont to me, instead of troubling me to introduce her to him. I rose in great indignation; and assuring him I would make his conduct as public as it was infamous — I left the house.”
Good Heaven, how strange the recital! how incomprehensible an affair! The Miss Belmont then who is actually at Bristol, passes for the daughter of my unhappy mother! — passes, in short, for your Evelina! Who she can be, or what this tale can mean, I have not any idea.
Mrs. Selwyn soon after left me to my own reflections. Indeed they were not very pleasant. Quietly as I had borne her relation, the moment I was alone I felt most bitterly both the disgrace and sorrow of a rejection so cruelly inexplicable.
I know not how long I might have continued in this situation, had I not been awakened from my melancholy reverie by the voice of Lord Orville. “May I come in,” cried he, “or shall I interrupt you?”
I was silent, and he seated himself next me.
“I fear,” he continued, “Miss Anville will think I persecute her: yet so much as I have to say, and so much as I wish to hear, with so few opportunities for either, she cannot wonder — and I hope she will not be offended — that I seize with such avidity every moment in my power to converse with her. You are grave,” added he, taking my hand; “I hope the pleasure it gives to me, will not be a subject of pain to you? — You are silent! — Something, I am sure, has afflicted you:— would to Heaven I were able to console you! — Would to Heaven I were worthy to participate in your sorrows!”
My heart was too full to bear this kindness, and I could only answer by my tears. “Good Heaven,” cried he, “how you alarm me! — My love, my sweet Miss Anville, deny me no longer to be the sharer of your griefs! — tell me, at least, that you have not withdrawn your esteem! — that you do not repent the goodness you have shown me! — that you still think me the same grateful Orville, whose heart you have deigned to accept!”
“Oh, my Lord,” cried I, “your generosity overpowers me!” And I wept like an infant. For now, that all my hopes of being acknowledged seemed finally crushed, I felt the nobleness of his disinterested regard so forcibly, that I could scarce breathe under the weight of gratitude which oppressed me.
He seemed greatly shocked; and, in terms the most flattering, the most respectfully tender, he at once soothed my distress, and urged me to tell him its cause.
“My Lord,” said I, when I was able to speak, “you little know what an outcast you have honoured with your choice! — a child of bounty — an orphan from infancy — dependant, even for subsistence, dependent, upon the kindness of compassion! — Rejected by my natural friends — disowned for ever by my nearest relation — Oh, my Lord, so circumstanced, can I deserve the distinction with which you honour me? No, no, I feel the inequality too painfully; — you must leave me, my Lord; you must suffer me to return to obscurity; and there, in the bosom of my first, best, my only friend — I will pour forth all the grief of my heart! — while you, my Lord, must seek elsewhere —”
I could not proceed; my whole soul recoiled against the charge I would have given, and my voice refused to utter it.
“Never,” cried he, warmly, “my heart is your’s, and I swear to you an attachment eternal! — You prepare me, indeed, for a tale of horror, and I am almost breathless with expectation; — but so firm is my conviction, that, whatever are your misfortunes, to have merited them is not of the number, that I feel myself more strongly, more invincibly devoted to you than ever! — Tell me but where I may find this noble friend, whose virtues you have already taught me to reverence — and I will fly to obtain his consent and intercession, that henceforward our fates my be indissolubly united; — and then shall it be the sole study of my life to endeavor to soften your past — and guard you from future misfortunes!”
I had just raised my eyes to answer this most generous of men, when the first object they met was Mrs. Selwyn.
“So, my dear,” cried she, “what, still courting the rural shades! — I thought ere now you would have been satiated with this retired seat, and I have been seeking you all over the house. But I find the only way to meet with you — is to enquire for Lord Orville. However, don’t let me disturb your meditation; you are possibly planning some pastoral dialogue.”
And, with this provoking speech, she walked on.
In the greatest confusion I was quitting the arbour, when Lord Orville said, “Permit me to follow Mrs. Selwyn; — it is time to put an end to all impertinent conjectures; will you allow me to speak to her openly?”
I assented in silence, and he left me.
I then went to my own room, where I continued till I was summoned to dinner; after which, Mrs. Selwyn invited me to hers.
The moment she had shut the door, “Your Ladyship’” said she, “will, I hope, be seated.”
“Ma’am!” cried I, staring.
“O the sweet innocent! So you don’t know what I mean? — but, my dear, my sole view is to accustom you a little to your dignity elect, lest, when you are addressed by your title, you should look another way, from an apprehension of listening to a discourse not meant for you to hear.”
Having, in this manner, diverted herself with my confusion, till her raillery was almost exhausted, she congratulated me very seriously upon the partiality of Lord Orville, and painted to me, in the strongest terms, his disinterested desire of being married to me immediately. She had told him, she said, my whole story, and yet he was willing, nay eager, that our union should take place of any further application to my family. “Now, my dear,” continued she, “I advise you by all means to marry him directly; nothing can be more precarious than our success with Sir John; and the young men of this age are not to be trusted with too much time for deliberation, where their interests are concerned.”
“Good God, Madam,” cried I, “do you think I would hurry Lord Orville?”
“Well, do as you will,” said she, “luckily you have an excellent subject for Quixotism; — otherwise this delay might prove your ruin; but Lord Orville is almost as romantic as if he had been born and bred at Berry Hill.”
She then proposed, as no better expedient seemed likely to be suggested, that I should accompany her at once in her visit to the Hot–Wells tomorrow morning.
The very idea made me tremble; yet she represented so strongly the necessity of pursuing this unhappy affair with spirit, or giving it totally up, that, wanting her force of argument, I was almost obliged to yield to her proposal.
In the evening we all walked in the garden; and Lord Orville, who never quitted my side, told me he had been listening to a tale, which though it had