The Collected Works of Frances Burney (Illustrated Edition). Frances Burney
which no repose interrupted! — have brought me to my senses. Even lunatics, you know, have lucid moments!”
“Do you intend, Sir, to set off soon?”
“I believe so; I wait only for my father. But why is Miss Beverley so impatient? I shall not soon return; that, at least, is certain, and, for a few instants delay, may surely offer some palliation; — See! if I am not ready to again accuse you of severity! — I must run, I find, or all my boasted reformation will end but in fresh offence, fresh disgrace, and fresh contrition! Adieu, madam! — and may all prosperity attend you! That will be ever my darling wish, however long my absence, however distant the climates which may part us!” He was then hurrying away, but Cecilia, from an impulse of surprise too sudden to be restrained, exclaimed “The climates? — do you, then, mean to leave England?”
“Yes,” cried he, with quickness, “for why should I remain in it? a few weeks only could I fill up in any tour so near home, and hither in a few weeks to return would be folly and madness: in an absence so brief, what thought but that of the approaching meeting would occupy me? and what, at that meeting, should I feel, but joy the most dangerous, and delight which I dare not think of! — every conflict renewed, every struggle re-felt, again all this scene would require to be acted, again I must tear myself away, and every tumultuous passion now beating in my heart would be revived, and, if possible, be revived with added misery! — No! — neither my temper nor my constitution will endure such another shock, one parting shall suffice, and the fortitude with which I will lengthen my self-exile, shall atone to myself for the weakness which makes it requisite!”
And then, with a vehemence that seemed fearful of the smallest delay, he was again, and yet more hastily going, when Cecilia, with much emotion, called out, “Two moments, Sir!”
“Two thousand! two million!” cried he, impetuously, and returning, with a look of the most earnest surprise, he added, “What is it Miss Beverley will condescend to command?”
“Nothing,” cried she, recovering her presence of mind, “but to beg you will by no means, upon my account, quit your country and your friends, since another asylum can be found for myself, and since I would much sooner part from Mrs Delvile, greatly and sincerely as I reverence her, than be instrumental to robbing her, even for a month, of her son.”
“Generous and humane is the consideration,” cried he; “but who half so generous, so humane as Miss Beverley? so soft to all others, so noble in herself? Can my mother have a wish, when I leave her with you? No; she is sensible of your worth, she adores you, almost as I adore you myself! you are now under her protection, you seem, indeed, born for each other; let me not, then, deprive her of so honourable a charge — Oh, why must he, who sees in such colours the excellencies of both, who admires with such fervour the perfections you unite, be torn with this violence from the objects he reveres, even though half his life he would sacrifice, to spend in their society what remained!”—
“Well, then, Sir,” said Cecilia, who now felt her courage decline, and the softness of sorrow steal fast upon her spirits, “if you will not give up your scheme, let me no longer detain you.”
“Will you not wish me a good journey?”
“Yes — very sincerely.”
“And will you pardon the unguarded errors which have offended you?”
“I will think of them, Sir, no more.”
“Farewell, then, most amiable of women, and may every blessing you deserve light on your head! I leave to you my mother, certain of your sympathetic affection for a character so resembling your own. When you, madam, leave her, may the happy successor in your favour — “ He paused, his voice faultered, Cecilia, too, turned away from him, and, uttering a deep sigh, he caught her hand, and pressing it to his lips, exclaimed, “O great be your felicity, in whatever way you receive it! — pure as your virtues, and warm as your benevolence! — Oh too lovely Miss Beverley! — why, why must I quit you!”
Cecilia, though she trusted not her voice to reprove him, forced away her hand, and then, in the utmost perturbation, he rushed out of the room.
This scene for Cecilia, was the most unfortunate that could have happened; the gentleness of Delvile was alone sufficient to melt her, since her pride had no subsistence when not fed by his own; and while his mildness had blunted her displeasure, his anguish had penetrated her heart. Lost in thought and in sadness, she continued fixed to her seat; and looking at the door through which he had passed, as if, with himself, he had shut out all for which she existed.
This pensive dejection was not long uninterrupted; Lady Honoria came running back, with intelligence, in what manner she had disposed of her napkin, and Cecilia in listening, endeavoured to find some diversion; but her ladyship, though volatile not undiscerning, soon perceived that her attention was constrained, and looking at her with much archness, said, I believe, my dear, I must find another napkin for you! not, how ever, for your mouth, but for your eyes! Has Mortimer been in to take leave of you?”
“Take leave of me? — No — is he gone?”
“O no, Pappy has a world of business to settle first; he won’t be ready these two hours. But don’t look so sorrowful, for I’ll run and bring Mortimer to console you.”
Away she flew, and Cecilia, who had no power to prevent her, finding her spirits unequal either to another parting, or to the raillery of Lady Honoria, should Mortimer, for his own sake, avoid it, took refuge in flight, and seizing an umbrella, escaped into the park; where, to perplex any pursuers, instead of chusing her usual walk, she directed her steps to a thick and unfrequented wood, and never rested till she was more than two miles from the house. Fidel, however, who now always accompanied her, ran by her side, and, when she thought herself sufficiently distant and private to be safe, she sat down under a tree, and caressing her faithful favourite, soothed her own tenderness by lamenting that he had lost his master; and, having now no part to act, and no dignity to support, no observation to fear, and no inference to guard against, she gave vent to her long smothered emotions, by weeping without caution or restraint.
She had met with an object whose character answered all her wishes for him with whom she should entrust her fortune, and whose turn of mind, so similar to her own, promised her the highest domestic felicity: to this object her affections had involuntarily bent, they were seconded by esteem, and unchecked by any suspicion of impropriety in her choice: she had found too, in return, that his heart was all her own: her birth, indeed, was inferior, but it was not disgraceful; her disposition, education and temper seemed equal to his fondest wishes: yet, at the very time when their union appeared most likely, when they mixed with the same society, and dwelt under the same roof, when the father to one, was the guardian to the other, and interest seemed to invite their alliance even more than affection, the young man himself, without counsel or command, could tear himself from her presence by an effort all his own, forbear to seek her heart, and almost charge her not to grant it, and determining upon voluntary exile, quit his country and his connections with no view, and for no reason, but merely that he might avoid the sight of her he loved!
Though the motive for this conduct was now no longer unknown to her, she neither thought it satisfactory nor necessary; yet, while she censured his flight, she bewailed his loss, and though his inducement was repugnant to her opinion, his command over his passions she admired and applauded.
CHAPTER 11
A WORRY
Cecilia continued in this private spot, happy at least to be alone, till she was summoned by the dinner bell to return home.
As soon as she entered the parlour, where every body was assembled before her, she observed, by the countenance of Mrs Delvile, that she had passed the morning as sadly as herself.
“Miss Beverley,” cried Lady Honoria, before she was seated, “I insist upon your taking my place today.” “Why so, madam?”