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The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)

by Fanny Burney · English · Gutenberg #37439 · 413,721 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Wanderer; or, Female Difficulties (Volume 3 of 5)

Author: Fanny Burney


        
Release date: September 15, 2011 [eBook #37439]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37439

Credits: Produced by Delphine Lettau, Mary Meehan and the Online
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VOLUME III




CHAPTER XLI


From the time of this arrangement, the ascendance which Mr Naird
obtained over the mind of Elinor, by alternate assurances and alarms,
relative to her chances of living to see Harleigh again, produced a
quiet that gave time to the drafts, which were administered by the
physician, to take effect, and she fell into a profound sleep. This, Mr
Naird said, might last till late the next day; Ellis, therefore,
promising to be ready upon any summons, returned to her lodging.

Miss Matson, now, endeavoured to make some enquiries relative to the
public suicide projected, if not accomplished, by Miss Joddrel, which
was the universal subject of conversation at Brighthelmstone; but when
she found it vain to hope for any details, she said, 'Such accidents,
Ma'am, make one really afraid of one's life with persons one knows
nothing of. Pray, Ma'am, if it is not impertinent, do you still hold to
your intention of giving up your pretty apartment?'

Ellis answered in the affirmative, desiring, with some surprise, to
know, whether the question were in consequence of any apprehension of a
similar event.

'By no means, Ma'am, from you,' she replied; 'you, Miss Ellis, who have
been so strongly recommended; and protected by so many of our capital
gentry; but what I mean is this. If you really intend to take a small
lodging, why should not you have my little room again up stairs?'

'Is it not engaged to the lady I saw here this morning?'

'Why that, Ma'am, is precisely the person I have upon my mind to speak
about. Why should I let her stay, when she's known to nobody, and is
very bad pay, if I can have so genteel a young lady as you, Ma'am, that
ladies in their own coaches come visiting?'

Ellis, recoiling from this preference, uttered words the most benevolent
that she could suggest, of the unknown person who had excited her
compassion: but Miss Matson gave them no attention. 'When one has
nothing better to do with one's rooms, Ma'am,' she said, 'it's sometimes
as well, perhaps, to let them to almost one does not know who, as to
keep them uninhabited; because living in them airs them; but that's no
reason for letting them to one's own disadvantage, if can do better. Now
this person here, Ma'am, besides being poor, which, poor thing, may be
she can't help; and being a foreigner, which, you know, Ma'am, is no
great recommendation;--besides all this, Miss Ellis, she has some very
suspicious ways with her, which I can't make out at all; she goes abroad
in a morning, Ma'am, by five of the clock, without giving the least
account of her haunts. And that, Ma'am, has but an odd look with it!'

'Why so, Miss Matson? If she takes time from her own sleep to enjoy a
little air and exercise, where can be the blame?'

'Air and exercise, Ma'am? People that have their living to get, and that
a'n't worth a farthing, have other things to think of than air and
exercise! She does not, I hope, give herself quite such airs as those!'

Ellis, disgusted, bid her good night; and, filled with pity for a person
who seemed still more helpless and destitute than herself, resolved to
see her the next day, and endeavour to offer her some consolation, if
not assistance.

Before, however, this pleasing project could be put into execution, she
was again, nearly at day break, awakened by a summons from Selina to
attend her sister, who, after quietly reposing many hours, had started,
and demanded Harleigh and Ellis.

Ellis obeyed the call with the utmost expedition, but met the messenger
returning to her a second time, as she was mounting the street which led
to the lodging of Mrs Maple, with intelligence that Elinor had almost
immediately fallen into a new and sound sleep; and that Mr Naird had
ordered that no one should enter the room, till she again awoke.

Glad of this reprieve, Ellis was turning back, when she perceived, at
some distance, Miss Matson's new lodger. The opportunity was inviting
for her purposed offer of aid, and she determined to make some opening
to an acquaintance.

This was not easy; for though the light feet of Ellis might soon have
overtaken the quick, but staggering steps of the apparently distressed
person whom she pursued, she observed her to be in a state of
perturbation that intimidated approach, as much as it awakened concern.
Her handkerchief was held to her face; though whether to conceal it, or
because she was weeping, could not readily be discovered: but her form
and air penetrated Ellis with a feeling and an interest far beyond
common curiosity; and she anxiously studied how she might better behold,
and how address her.

The foreigner went on her way, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, till she had ascended to the church-yard upon the hill. There
stopping, she extended her arms, seeming to hail the full view of the
wide spreading ocean; or rather, Ellis imagined, the idea of her native
land, which she knew, from that spot, to be its boundary. The beauty of
the early morning from that height, the expansive view, impressive,
though calm, of the sea, and the awful solitude of the place, would have
sufficed to occupy the mind of Ellis, had it not been completely caught
by the person whom she followed; and who now, in the persuasion of being
wholly alone, gently murmured, 'Oh ma chere patrie!--malheureuse,
coupable,--mais toujours chere patrie!--ne te reverrai-je jamais!'[1]
Her voice thrilled to the very soul of Ellis, who, trembling, suspended,
and almost breathless, stood watching her motions; fearing to startle
her by an unexpected approach, and waiting to catch her eye.

[Footnote 1: 'Oh my loved country!--unhappy, guilty--but for ever loved
country!--shall I never see thee more!']

But the mourner was evidently without suspicion that any one was in
sight. Grief is an absorber: it neither seeks nor makes observation;
except where it is joined with vanity, that always desires remark; or
with guilt, by which remark is always feared.

Ellis, neither advancing nor receding, saw her next move solemnly
forward, to bend over a small elevation of earth, encircled by short
sticks, intersected with rushes. Some of these, which were displaced,
she carefully arranged, while uttering, in a gentle murmur, which the
profound stillness of all around alone enabled Ellis to catch, 'Repose
toi bien, mon ange! mon enfant! le repos qui me fuit, le bonheur que
j'ai perdu, la tranquilite precieuse de l'ame qui m'abandonne--que tout
cela soit a toi, mon ange! mon enfant! Je ne te rappellerai plus ici! Je
ne te rappellerais plus, meme si je le pouvais. Loin de toi ma
malheureuse destinee! je priai Dieu pour ta conservation quand je te
possedois encore; quelques cruelles que fussent tes souffrances, et
toute impuissante que J'etois pour les soulager, je priai Dieu, dans
l'angoisse de mon ame, pour ta conservation! Tu n'est plus pour moi--et
je cesse de te reclamer. Je te vois une ange! Je te vois exempt a
jamais de douleur, de crainte, de pauvrete et de regrets; te
reclamerai-je, donc, pour partager encore mes malheurs? Non! ne reviens
plus a moi! Que je te retrouve la--ou ta felicite sera la mienne! Mais
toi, prie pour ta malheureuse mere! que tes innocentes prieres
s'unissent a ses humbles supplications, pour que ta mere, ta pauvre
mere, puisse se rendre digne de te rejoindre!'[2]

[Footnote 2: 'Sleep on, sleep on, my angel child! May the repose that
flies me, the happiness that I have lost, the precious tranquillity of
soul that has forsaken me--be thine! for ever thine! my child! my angel!
I cease to call thee back. Even were it in my power, I would not call
thee back. I prayed for thy preservation, while yet I had the bliss of
possessing thee; cruel as were thy sufferings, and impotent as I found
myself to relieve them, I prayed,--in the anguish of my soul,--I prayed
for thy preservation! Thou art lost to me now!--yet I call thee back no
more! I behold thee an angel! I see thee rescued for ever from sorrow,
from alarm, from poverty, and from bitter recollections;--and shall I
call thee back, to partake again my sufferings?--No! return to me no
more! There, only, let me find thee, where thy felicity will be
mine!--but thou! O pray for thy unhappy mother! Let thy innocent prayers
be united to her humble supplications, that thy mother, thy hapless
mother, may become worthy to join thee!']

How long these soft addresses, which seemed to soothe the pious
petitioner, might have lasted, had she not been disturbed, is uncertain:
but she was startled by sounds of more tumultuous sorrow; by sobs,
rather than sighs, that seemed bursting forth from more violent, at
least, more sudden affliction. She looked round, astonished; and saw
Ellis leaning over a monument, and bathed in tears.

She arose, and, advancing towards her, said, in an accent of pity,
'Helas, Madame, vous, aussi, pleurez vous votre enfant?'[3]

[Footnote 3: 'Alas, Madam! are you, also, deploring the loss of a
child?']

'Ah, mon amie! ma bien! amee amie!' cried Ellis, wiping her eyes, but
vainly attempting to repress fresh tears; 't'ai-je cherchee, t'ai-je
attendue, t'ai-je si ardemment desiree, pour te retrouver ainsi?
pleurant sur un tombeau? Et toi!--ne me rappelle tu pas? M'a tu
oubliee?--Gabrielle! ma chere Gabrielle!'[4]

[Footnote 4: 'Ah, my friend! my much loved friend! have I sought thee,
have I awaited thee, have I so fervently desired thy restoration--to
find thee thus? Weeping over a grave? And thou--dost thou not recollect
me? Hast thou forgotten me?--Gabriella! my loved Gabriella!']

'Juste ciel!' exclaimed the other, 'que vois-je? Ma Julie! ma chere, ma
tendre amie? Est il bien vrai?--O! peut il etre vrai, qu'il y ait encore
du bonheur ici bas pour moi?'[5]

[Footnote 5: 'Gracious heaven! what do I behold? My Juliet! my tender
friend? Can it be real?--O! can it, indeed, be true, that still any
happiness is left on earth for me!']

Locked in each other's arms, pressed to each other's bosoms, they now
remained many minutes in speechless agony of emotion, from nearly
overpowering surprise, from gusts of ungovernable, irrepressible sorrow,
and heart-piercing recollections; though blended with the tenderest
sympathy of joy.

This touching silent eloquence, these unutterable conflicts between
transport and pain, were succeeded by a reciprocation of enquiry, so
earnest, so eager, so ardent, that neither of them seemed to have any
sensation left of self, from excess of solicitude for the other, till
Ellis, looking towards the little grave, said, 'Ah! que ce ne soit plus
question de moi?'[6]

[Footnote 6: 'Ah!--upon me can you, yet, bestow a thought?']

'Ah, oui, mon amie,' answered Gabriella, 'ton histoire, tes malheurs, ne
peuvent jamais etre aussi terribles, aussi dechirants que les miens! tu
n'as pas encore eprouve le bonheur d'etre mere--comment aurois-tu, donc,
eprouve, le plus accablant des malheurs? Oh! ce sont des souffrances qui
n'ont point de nom; des douleurs qui rendent nulles toutes autres, que
la perte d'un Etre pur comme un ange, et tout a soi!'[7]

[Footnote 7: 'True, my dear friend, true! thy history, thy misfortunes,
can never be terrible, never be lacerating like mine! Thou hast not yet
known the bliss of being a mother;--how, then, canst thou have
experienced the most overwhelming of calamities! a suffering that admits
of no description! a woe that makes all others seem null--the loss of a
being pure, spotless as a cherub--and wholly our own!']

The fond embraces, and fast flowing tears of Ellis, evinced the keen
sensibility with which she participated in the sorrows of this afflicted
mother, whom she strove to draw away from the fatal spot; reiterating
the most urgent enquiries upon every other subject, to attract her, if
possible, to yet remaining, to living interests. But these efforts were
utterly useless. 'Restons, restons ou nous sommes!' she cried: 'c'est
ici que je te parlerai; c'est ici que je t'ecouterai; ici, ou je passe
les seuls momens que j'arrache a la misere, et au travail. Ne crois pas
que de pleurer est ce qu'il y a le plus a craindre! Oh! qu'il ne
t'arrive jamais de savoir que de pleurer, meme sur le tombeau de tout ce
qui vous est le plus cher, est un soulagement, un delice, aupres du dur
besoin de travailler, la mort dans le coeur, pour vivre, pour exister,
lorsque la vie a perdu toutes ses charmes!'[8]

[Footnote 8: 'Here, here let us stay! 'tis here I can best speak to
thee! 'tis here, I can best listen;--here, where I pass every moment
that I can snatch from penury and labour! Think not that to weep is what
is most to be dreaded; oh never mayst thou learn, that to weep--though
upon the tomb of all that has been most dear to thee upon earth, is a
solace, is a feeling of softness, nay of pleasure, compared with the
hard necessity of toiling, when death has seized upon the very heart,
merely to breathe, to exist, after life has lost all its charms!']

Seated then upon the monument which was nearest to the little grave,
Gabriella related the principal events of her life, since the period of
their separation. These, though frequently extraordinary, sometimes
perilous, and always touchingly disastrous, she recounted with a
rapidity almost inconceivable; distinctly, nevertheless, marking the
several incidents, and the courage with which she had supported them:
but when, these finished, she entered upon the history of the illness
that had preceded the death of her little son, her voice tremblingly
slackened its velocity, and unconsciously lowered its tones; and, far
from continuing with the same quickness or precision, every circumstance
was dwelt upon as momentous; every recollection brought forth long and
endearing details; every misfortune seemed light, put in the scale with
his loss; every regret seemed concentrated in his tomb!

Six o'clock, and seven, had tolled unheeded, during this afflicting, yet
soothing recital; but the eighth hour striking, when the tumult of
sorrow was subsiding into the sadness of grief, the sound caught the ear
of Gabriella, who, hastily rising, exclaimed, 'Ah, voila que je suis
encore susceptible de plaisir, puisque ta societe m'a fait oublier les
tristes et penibles devoirs, qui m'appellent a des taches qui--a
peine--m'empechent de mourir de faim!'[9]

[Footnote 9: 'See, if I am not still susceptible of pleasure! Thy
society has made me forget the sad and painful duties that call me
hence, to tasks that snatch me,--with difficulty,--from perishing by
famine!']

At these words, all the fortitude hitherto sustained by Juliet,--for the
borrowed name of Ellis will now be dropt,--utterly forsook her. Torrents
of tears gushed from her eyes, and lamentations, the bitterest, broke
from her lips. She could bear, she cried, all but this; all but
beholding the friend of her heart, the daughter of her benefactress,
torn from the heights of happiness and splendour; of merited happiness,
of hereditary splendour; to be plunged into such depths of distress, and
overpowered with anguish.

'Ah! que je te reconnois bien a ce trait!' cried Gabriella, while a
tender smile tried to force its way through her tears: 'cette ame si
noble! si inebralable pour elle-meme, si douce, si compatissante pour
tout autre! que de souvenirs chers et touchans ne se presentent, a cet
instant, a mon coeur! Ma chere Julie! il est bien vrai, donc, que je
te vois, que je te retrouve encore! et, en toi, tout ce qu'il y a de
plus aimable, de plus pur, et de plus digne! Comment ai-je pu te revoir,
sans retrouver la felicite? Je me sens presque coupable de pouvoir
t'embrasser,--et de pleurer encore!'[10]

[Footnote 10: 'Ah, how I know thee by that trait! thy soul so noble! so
firm in itself; so soft, so commiserating for every other! what tender,
what touching recollections present themselves at this instant to my
heart! Dearest Juliet! is it, then, indeed no dream, that I have
found--that I behold thee again? and, in thee, all that is most
exemplary, most amiable, and most worthy upon earth! How is it I can
recover thee, and not recover happiness? I almost feel as if I were
criminal, that I can embrace thee,--yet weep on!']

Forcing herself, then, from the fatal but cherished spot, she must
hasten, she said, to her daily labour, lest night should surprise her,
without a roof to shelter her head. But Juliet now detained her; clung
and wept round her neck, and could not even endeavour to resign herself
to the keen woes, and deplorable situation of her friend. She had come
over, she said, buoyed up with the exquisite hope of joining the darling
companion of her earliest youth; of sharing her fate, and of mitigating
her hardships: but this softening expectation was changed into
despondence, in discovering her, thus, a prey to unmixt calamity; not
alone bowed down by the general evils of revolutionary events; punished
for plans in which she had borne no part, and for crimes of which she
had not even any knowledge;--not only driven, without offence, or even
accusation, from prosperity and honours, to exile, to want, to misery,
and to labour; but suffering, at the same time, the heaviest of personal
afflictions, in the immediate loss of a darling child; the victim, in
all probability, to a melancholy change of life, and to sudden privation
of customary care and indulgence!

The task of consolation seemed now to devolve upon Gabriella: the
feelings of Juliet, long checked by prudence, by fortitude, by imperious
necessity; and kept in dignified but hard command; having once found a
vent, bounded back to nature and to truth, with a vivacity of keen
emotion that made them nearly uncontrollable. Nature and truth,--which
invariably retain an elastic power, that no struggles can wholly subdue;
and that always, however curbed, however oppressed,--lie in wait for
opportunity to spring back to their rights. Her tears, permitted,
therefore, at length, to flow, nearly deluged the sad bosom of her
friend.

'Helas, ma Julie! soeur de mon ame!' cried Gabriella, 'ne t'abandonne pas
a la douleur pour moi! mais parles moi, ma tendre amie, paries moi de
ma mere! Ou l'a tu quitte? Et comment? Et a quelle epoque?--La plus
digne, la plus cherie des meres! Helas! eloignee de nous deux, comment
saura-t-elle se resigner a tant de malheurs?'[11]

[Footnote 11: 'Alas, my Juliet! sister of my soul! abandon not myself to
sorrow for me! but speak to me, my tender friend, speak to me of my
mother! where didst thou leave her? And how? And at what time? The most
precious of mothers! Alas! separated from us both,--how will she be able
to support such accumulation of misfortunes!']

Juliet uttered the tenderest assurances, that she had left the
Marchioness well; and had left her by her own injunctions, to join her
darling daughter; to whom, by a conveyance that had been deemed secure,
she had previously written the plan of the intended journey; with a
desire that a few lines of direction, relative to their meeting, under
cover to L.S., to be left till called for, might be sent to the
post-offices both of Dover and Brighthelmstone; as it was not possible
to fix at which spot Juliet might land. The initials L.S. had been fixed
upon by accident.

Filial anxiety, now, took place of maternal sufferings, and Gabriella
could only talk of her mother; demanding how she looked, and how she
supported the long separation, the ruinous sacrifices, and the perpetual
alarms, to which she must have been condemned since they had parted;
expressing her own surprise, that she had borne to dwell upon any other
subject than this, which now was the first interest of her heart; yet
ceasing to wonder, when she contemplated the fatal spot where her
meeting with Juliet had taken place.

Each, now, deeply lamented the time and consolation that had been lost,
from their mutual ignorance of each other's abode. Juliet related her
fruitless search upon arriving in London; and Gabriella explained, that,
during three lingering, yet ever regretted months, she had watched over
her dying boy, without writing a single line; to spare her absent
friends the knowledge of her suspensive wretchedness. Since the
irreparable certainty which had followed, she had sent two letters to
her beloved mother, with her address at Brighthelmstone; but both must
have miscarried, as she had received no answer. That Juliet had not
traced her in London was little wonderful, as, to elude the curiosity
excited by a great name, she had passed, in setting out for
Brighthelmstone, by a common one. And to that change, joined to one so
similar on the part of Juliet, it must have been owing that they had
never heard of each other, though residents of the same place. Juliet,
nevertheless, was astonished, in defiance of all alteration of attire
and appearance, that she had not instantly recognized the air and form
of her elegant and high bred Gabriella. But, equally unacquainted with
her indigence, which was the effect of sundry cruel accidents, and with
the loss of her child; no expectation was awakened of finding her either
in so distressed or so solitary a condition. Now, however, Juliet
continued, that fortunately, though, alas! not happily, they had met,
they would part no more. Juliet was fully at liberty to go whithersoever
her friend would lead, the hope of obtaining tidings of that beloved
friend, having alone kept her stationary thus long at Brighthelmstone;
where she could now leave the address of Gabriella, at the post-office,
for their mutual letters: and, as insuperable obstacles impeded her
writing herself, at present, to the Marchioness, Gabriella might make
known, in a covert manner, that they were together, and were both safe.

And why, Gabriella demanded, could not Juliet write herself?

'Alas!' Juliet replied, 'I must not even be named!'

'Eh, pour quoi?--n'a-t-tu pas vu tes parens?--Peut on te voir sans
t'aimer? te connoitre sans te cherir? Non, ma Julie, non! tu n'a qu'a te
montrer.'[12]

[Footnote 12: 'And why? Hast thou not seen thy relations?--Canst thou be
seen, and not loved?--known, and not cherished? No, my Juliet, no! thou
hast only to appear!']

Juliet, changing colour, dejectedly, and not without confusion, besought
her friend, though for reasons that could neither be assigned nor
surmounted, to dispense, at present, with all personal narration. Yet,
upon perceiving the anxious surprise occasioned by a request so little
expected, she dissolved into tears, and offered every communication, in
preference to causing even transitory pain to her best friend.

'O loin de moi cette exigence!' cried Gabriella, with energy, 'Ne
sais-je pas bien que ton bon esprit, juste emule de ton excellent
coeur, te fera parler lorsqu'il le faudra? Ne me confierai-je pas a
toi, dont la seule etude est le bonheur des autres?'[13]

[Footnote 13: 'Oh far from me by any such insistence! Know I not well
that thy admirable judgment, just counterpart of thy excellent heart,
will guide thee to speak when it is right? Shall I not entirely confide
in thee?--In thee, whose sole study has been always the good and
happiness of others?']

Juliet, not more penetrated by this kindness, than affected by a facile
resignation, that shewed the taming effect of misfortune upon the
natural vivacity of her friend, could answer only by caresses and
tears.

'Eh mon oncle?' continued Gabriella; 'mon tout-aimable et si pieux
oncle? ou est il?'[14]

[Footnote 14: 'And my uncle! My so amiable, so pious uncle? Where is
he?']

'Monseigneur l'Eveque?' cried Juliet, again changing colour; 'Oh oui!
tout-aimable! sans tache et sans reproche!--Il sera bientot, je crois,
ici;--ou j'aurois de ses nouvelles; et alors--ma destinee me sera
connue!'[15]

[Footnote 15: 'My lord the Bishop?--Oh yes! yes!--amiable
indeed!--pure!--without blemish!--He will soon, I believe, be here; or I
shall have some intelligence from him; and then--my fate will be known
to me!']

A deep sigh tried to swallow these last words. Gabriella looked at her,
for a moment, with re-awakened earnestness, as if repentant of her own
acquiescence; but the sight of encreasing disturbance in the countenance
of Juliet, checked her rising impatience; and she quietly said, 'Ah!
s'il arrive ici!--si je le revois,--j'eprouverai encore, au milieu de
tant de desolation, un mouvement de joie!--tel que toi, seule, jusqu'a
ce moment, a su m'en inspirer!'[16]

[Footnote 16: 'Ah, should he come hither!--should I be blest again by
his sight, I should feel, once more, even in the midst of my desolation,
a sensation of joy--such as thou, only, as yet, hast been able to
re-awaken!']

Juliet, with fond delight, promised to be governed wholly, in her future
plans, occupations, and residence, by her beloved friend.

'C'est a Brighthelmstone, donc,' cried Gabriella, returning to the
little grave; 'c'est ici que nous demeurions! ici, ou il me semble que
je n'ai pas encore tout a fait perdu mon fils!'

Then, tenderly embracing Juliet, 'Ah, mon amie!' she cried, with a smile
that blended pleasure with agony; 'ah, mon amie! c'est a mon enfant que
je te dois! c'est en pleurant sur ses restes que je t'ai retrouvee! Ah,
oui!' passionately bending over the grave; 'c'est a toi, mon ange! mon
enfant! que je dois mon amie! Ton tombeau, meme, me porte bonheur! tes
cendres veulent me benir! tes restes, ton ombre veulent du bien a ta
pauvre mere!'[17]

[Footnote 17: ''Tis at Brighthelmstone, then,--'tis here that we must
dwell! Here, where I seem not yet, entirely, to have lost my darling
boy! Oh my friend! my dearest, best loved friend! 'tis to him--to my
child, that I am indebted for seeing thee again! 'tis in visiting his
remains that I have met my Juliet!--Oh thou! my child! my angel! 'tis to
thee, to thee, I am indebted for my friend! Even thy grave offers me
comfort! even thy ashes desire to bless me! Thy remains, thy shadow,
would do good, would bring peace to thy unhappy mother!']

With difficulty, now, Juliet drew her away from the fond, fatal spot;
and slowly, and silently, while clinging to each other with heartfelt
affection, they returned together to their lodgings.




CHAPTER XLII


Elinor, kept in order by a continual expectation of seeing Harleigh,
ceased to require the presence of Juliet; who, but for the sorrows of
her friend, would have experienced a felicity to which she had long been
a stranger, the felicity of being loved because known; esteemed and
valued because tried and proved. The consideration that is the boon of
even the most generous benevolence, however it may soothe the heart,
cannot elevate the spirits: but here, good opinion was reciprocated,
trust was interchanged, confidence was mutual.

The affliction of Gabriella, though of a more permanent nature, because
from an irreparable cause, was yet highly susceptible of consolation
from friendship; and when once the acute emotions, arising from the tale
of woe which she had had to relate, at the meeting, were abated, the
charm which the presence of Juliet dispensed, and the renewal of early
ideas, pristine feelings, and first affections, soon reflected back
their influence upon her own mind; which gradually strengthened, and
insensibly revived.

Juliet immediately resigned her large apartment, and fixed herself in
the small room of Gabriella. There they settled that they would live
together, work together, share their little profits, and endure their
failures, in common. There they hoped to recover their peace of mind, if
not to re-animate their native spirits; and to be restored to the
harmony of social sympathy, if not to that of happiness.

Yet, it was with difficulty that they learnt to enjoy each other's
society, upon such terms as their altered condition now exacted; where
the eye must never be spared from laborious business, to search, or to
reciprocate a sentiment, in those precious moments of endearing
converse, which, unconsciously, swell into hours, ere they are missed as
minutes. Their intercourse was confined to oral language alone. The
lively intelligence, the rapid conception, the arch remark, the cordial
smile; which give grace to kindness, playfulness to counsel, gentleness
to raillery, and softness even to reproach; these, the expressive
sources of delight, and of comprehension, in social commerce, they were
fain wholly to relinquish; from the hurry of unremitting diligence, and
undivided attention to manual toil.

Nevertheless, to inhale the same air, and to feel the consoling
certitude, that they were no longer cast wholly upon pity, or charity,
for good opinion, were blessings that filled their thoughts with
gratitude to Providence, and brought back calm and comfort to their
minds.

Still, at every sun-rise, Gabriella visited the ashes of her little son;
where she poured forth, in maternal enthusiasm, thanks and benedictions
upon his departed spirit, that her earliest friend, the chosen sharer of
her happier days, was restored to her in the hour of her desolation; and
restored to her There,--on that fatal, yet adored spot, which contained
the ever loved, though lifeless remains of her darling boy.

Juliet, in this peaceful interval, learnt, from the voluble Selina, all
that had been gathered from Mrs Golding relative to the seclusion of
Elinor.

Elinor had travelled post to Portsmouth, whence she had sailed to the
Isle of Wight. There, meeting with a foreign servant out of place, she
engaged him in her service, and bid him purchase some clothes of an
indigent emigrant. She then dressed herself grotesquely yet, as far as
she could, decently, in man's attire; and, making her maid follow her
example, returned to the neighbourhood of Brighthelmstone, and took
lodgings, in the character of a foreigner, who was deaf and dumb, at
Shoreham; where, uninterruptedly, and unsuspectedly, she resided. Here,
by means of her new domestic, she obtained constant intelligence of the
proceedings of Juliet; and she was no sooner informed of the musical
benefit, in which an air, with an harp-accompaniment, was to be
performed by Miss Ellis, than she sent her new attendant to the
assembly-room, to purchase a ticket. Golding, who went thither with the
lackey, met Harleigh in the street, as he was quitting the lodgings of
Juliet.

The disguise of the maid saved her from being recognised; but her
tidings set her mistress on fire. The moment seemed now arrived for the
long-destined catastrophe; and the few days preceding the benefit, were
spent in its preparation. Careless of what was thought, Elinor, had
since, casually, though not confidentially, related, that her intention
had been to mount suddenly into the orchestra, during the performance of
Juliet; and thence to call upon Harleigh, whom she could not doubt would
be amongst the audience; and, at the instant of his joining them,
proclaim to the whole world her immortal passion, and expire between
them. But the fainting fit of Juliet, and its uncontrollable effect upon
Harleigh, had been so insupportable to her feelings, as to precipitate
her design. She acknowledged that she had studied how to die without
torture, by inflicting a wound by which she might bleed gently to death,
while indulging herself, to the last moment, in pouring forth to the
idol of her heart, the fond effusions of her ardent, but exalted
passion.

The tranquillity of Elinor, built upon false expectations, could not be
long unshaken: impatience and suspicion soon took its place, and Mr
Naird was compelled to acknowledge, that Mr Harleigh had set out upon a
distant tour, without leaving his address, even at his own house; where
he had merely given orders that his letters should be forwarded to a
friend.

The rage, grief, and shame of the wretched Elinor, now nearly destroyed,
in a moment, all the cares and the skill of Mr Naird, and of her
physician. She impetuously summoned Juliet, to be convinced that she was
not a party in the elopement; and was only rescued from sinking into
utter despair, by adroit exhortations from Mr Naird, to yield patiently
to his ordinances, lest she should yet die without a last view of
Harleigh. This plea led her, once more, though with equal disgust to
herself and to the whole world, to submit to every medical direction,
that might give her sufficient strength to devise means for her ultimate
project; and to put them into practice.

Mr Naird archly confessed, in private, to Juliet, that the real danger
or safety of Miss Joddrel, so completely hung upon giving the reins, or
the curb, to her passions, that she might, without much difficulty, from
her resolution to die no other death than that of heroic love, in the
presence of its idol, be spurred on, while awaiting, or pursuing, its
object, to the verge of a very comfortable old age.

He acknowledged himself, also, secretly entrusted with the abode of Mr
Harleigh.

Elinor, when somewhat calmed, demanded of Juliet when, and how, her
meetings with Harleigh had been renewed.

Juliet recounted what had passed; sparing such details as might be
hurtful, and solemnly protesting that all intercourse was now at an
end.

With a view to draw Elinor from this agitating subject, she then
related, at full length, her meeting, in the church-yard, with the friend
whom she had so long vainly sought.

In a short time afterwards, feeling herself considerably advanced
towards a recovery, Elinor, impetuously, again sent for Juliet, to say,
'What is your plan? Tell it me sincerely! What is it you mean to do?'

Juliet answered, that her choice was small, and that her means were
almost null: but when she lamented the severe DIFFICULTIES of a FEMALE,
who, without fortune or protection, had her way to make in the world,
Elinor, with strong derision, called out, 'Debility and folly! Put aside
your prejudices, and forget that you are a dawdling woman, to remember
that you are an active human being, and your FEMALE DIFFICULTIES will
vanish into the vapour of which they are formed. Misery has taught me to
conquer mine! and I am now as ready to defy the world, as the world can
be ready to hold me up to ridicule. To make people wise, you must make
them indifferent; to give them courage, you must make them desperate.
'Tis then, only, that we throw aside affectation and hypocrisy, and act
from impulse.'

Laughing, now, though with bitterness, rather than gaiety, 'What does
the world say,' she cried, 'to find that I still live, after the pompous
funeral orations, declaimed by myself, upon my death? Does it suspect
that I found second thoughts best, and that I delayed my execution,
thinking, like the man in the song,

    That for sure I could die whenever I would,
    But that I could live but as long as I could?

'Well, ye that laugh, laugh on! for I, when not sick of myself, laugh
too! But, to escape mockery, we must all be guided one by another; all
do, and all say, the very same thing. Yet why? Are we alike in our
thoughts? Are we alike in our faces? No. Happily, however, that
soporiferous monotony is beginning to get obsolete. The sublimity of
Revolution has given a greater shake to the minds of men, than to the
kingdoms of the earth.'

After pausing, then, a few minutes, 'Ellis,' she cried, 'if you are
really embarrassed, why should you not go upon the stage? You know how
transcendently you act.'

'That which might seem passable in a private representation,' Juliet
answered, 'might, at a public theatre--'

'Pho, pho, you know perfectly well your powers. But you blight them, I
suppose, yourself, with anathemas, from excommunicating scruples? You
are amongst the cold, the heartless, the ungifted, who, to discredit
talents, and render them dangerous, leave their exercise to vice, by
making virtue fear to exert, or even patronize them?'

'No, Madam, indeed,' cried Juliet: 'I admire, most feelingly, the noble
art of declamation:--how, then, can I condemn the profession which gives
to it life and soul? which personifies the most exalted virtues, which
brings before us the noblest characters, and makes us witnesses to the
sublimest actions? The stage, well regulated, would be the school of
juvenile emulation; would soothe sorrow in the unhappy, and afford
merited relaxation to the laborious. Reformed, indeed, I wish it, and
purified; but not destroyed.'

'Why, then, do you disdain to wear the buskins?'

'Disdain is by no means the word. Talents are a constant source to me of
delight; and those who,--rare, but in existence,--unite, to their public
exercise, private virtue and merit, I honour and esteem even more than I
admire; and every mark I could shew, to such, of consideration,--were I
so situated as to bestow, not require protection!--I should regard as
reflecting credit not on them, but on myself.'

'Pen and ink!' cried Elinor, impatiently: 'I'll write for you to the
manager this moment!--'

'Hold, Madam!' cried Juliet smiling: 'Much as I am enchanted with the
art, I am not going to profess it! On the contrary, I think it so
replete with dangers and improprieties, however happily they may
sometimes be combatted by fortitude and integrity, that, when a young
female, not forced by peculiar circumstances, or impelled by resistless
genius, exhibits herself a willing candidate for public applause;--she
must have, I own, other notions, or other nerves, than mine!'

'Ellis, Ellis! you only fear to alarm, or offend the men--who would keep
us from every office, but making puddings and pies for their own
precious palates!--Oh woman! poor, subdued woman! thou art as dependant,
mentally, upon the arbitrary customs of man, as man is, corporally, upon
the established laws of his country!'

She now grew disturbed, and went on warmly, though nearly to herself.

'By the oppressions of their own statutes and institutions, they render
us insignificant; and then speak of us as if we were so born! But what
have we tried, in which we have been foiled? They dare not trust us with
their own education, and their own opportunities for distinction:--I
except the article of fighting; against that, there may, perhaps, be
some obstacles: but to be condemned, as weaker vessels in intellect,
because, inferiour in bodily strength and stature, we cannot cope with
them as boxers and wrestlers! They appreciate not the understandings of
one another by such manual and muscular criterions. They assert not that
one man has more brains than another, because he is taller; that he is
endowed with more illustrious virtues, because he is stouter. They judge
him not to be less ably formed for haranguing in the senate; for
administering justice in the courts of law; for teaching science at the
universities, because he could ill resist a bully, or conquer a footpad!
No!--Woman is left out in the scales of human merit, only because they
dare not weigh her!'

Then, turning suddenly to Ellis, 'And you, Ellis, you!' she cried,
'endowed with every power to set prejudice at defiance, and to shew and
teach the world, that woman and man are fellow-creatures, you, too, are
coward enough to bow down, unresisting, to this thraldom?'

Juliet hazarded not any reply.

'Yet what futile inconsistency dispenses this prejudice! This Woman,
whom they estimate thus below, they elevate above themselves. They
require from her, in defiance of their examples!--in defiance of their
lures!--angelical perfection. She must be mistress of her passions; she
must never listen to her inclinations; she must not take a step of which
the purport is not visible; she must not pursue a measure of which she
cannot publish the motive; she must always be guided by reason, though
they deny her understanding!--Frankness, the noblest of our qualities,
is her disgrace;--sympathy, the most exquisite of our feelings, is her
bane!--'

She stopt here, conscious, colouring, indignant, and dropt the subject,
to say, 'Tell me, I again demand, what is it you mean to do? Return to
your concert-singing and harping?'

'Ah, Madam,' cried Juliet, reproachfully, 'can you believe me not yet
satisfied with attempting any sort of public exhibition?

'Nay, nay,' cried Elinor, resuming her careless gaiety, 'what passed
that evening will only have served to render you more popular. You may
make your own terms, now, with the managers, for the subscription will
fill, merely to get a stare at you. If I were poor myself, I would
engage to acquire a large fortune, in less than a week, by advertising,
at two-pence a head, a sight of the lady that stabbed herself.'

'What, however,' she continued, 'is your purpose? Will you go and live
with Mrs Ireton? She is just come hither to give her favourite lap-dog a
six weeks' bathing. What say you to the place of her toad-eater? It may
be a very lucrative thing; and I can procure it for you with the utmost
ease. It is commonly vacant every ten days. Besides, she has been dying
to have you in her toils, ever since she had known that you spurned the
proposition, when it was started by Mrs Howel.'

Juliet protested, that any species of fatigue would be preferable to
subservience of such a sort.

'Perhaps you are afraid of seeing too much of Ireton? Be under no
apprehension. He makes it a point not to visit her. He cannot endure
her. Besides, 'tis so rustic, he says, to have a mother!'

Juliet answered, that her sole plan, now, was to be guided by her
friend.

'And who is this friend? Is she of the family of the Incognitas, also?
What do you call her?--L.S.?'

Juliet only replied by stating their project of needle-work.

Elinor scoffed the notion; affirming that they would not obtain a morsel
of bread to a glass of water, above once in three days. She felt,
nevertheless, sufficient respect to the design of the noble fugitive, to
send her a sealed note of what she called her approbation.

This note Juliet took in charge. It contained a draft for fifty pounds.

Ah, generous Elinor! thought Juliet, tears of gratitude glistening in
her eyes: what a mixture of contrasting qualities sully, and ennoble
your character in turn! Ah, why, to intellects so strong, a heart so
liberal, a temper so gay, is there not joined a better portion of
judgment, a larger one of diffidence, a sense of feminine propriety, and
a mind rectified by religion,--not abandoned, uncontrolled, to
imagination?

Gabriella, though truly touched by a generosity so unexpected, declined
accepting its fruits; not being yet, she said, so helpless, however
poor, as to prefer pecuniary obligation to industry. She would leave,
therefore, the donation, for those who had lost the resources of
independence which she yet possessed--youth and strength.

The tender admiration of Juliet forbade all remonstrance, and excluded
any surprise. She well knew, and had long seen, that the distress which
is the offspring of public calamity, not of private misfortune, however
it may ruin prosperity, never humbles the mind.

Gabriella, in a letter of elegant acknowledgements, to obviate any
accusation of undue pride, solicited the assistance of Elinor, in
procuring orders for embroidery, amongst the ladies of her acquaintance.

Elinor, zealous to serve, and fearless to demand, instantly attacked,
by note or by message, every rich female at Brighthelmstone; urging the
generous, and shaming the niggardly, till there was scarcely a woman of
fortune in the place, who had not given, or promised, a commission for
some fine muslin-work.

The two friends, through this commanding protection, began their new
plan of life under the most favourable auspices; and had soon more
employment than time, though they limited themselves to five hours for
sleep; though their meals were rather swallowed than eaten; and though
they allowed not a moment for any kind of recreation, of rest, or of
exercise; save the sacred visit, which they unfailingly made together,
at break of day, to the little grave in the church-yard upon the hill.

Yet here first, since her arrival on the British shores, the immediate
rapturous moment of landing, and the fortnight passed with Lady Aurora
Granville excepted, here first sweet contentment, soft hopes, and gentle
happiness visited the bosom of Juliet. No privation was hard, no toil
was severe, no application was tedious, while the friend of her heart
was by her side; whose sorrows she could mitigate, whose affections she
could share, and whose tears she could sometimes chase.

But the relief was not more exquisite than it was transitory; a week
only had passed in delicious repose, when Gabriella received
intelligence that her husband was taken ill.

Whatever was her reluctance to quitting the spot, where her memory was
every moment fed with cherished recollections, she could not hesitate to
depart; but, when Juliet, in consonance with her inclination and her
promise, prepared to accompany her, that hydra-headed intruder upon
human schemes and desires, Difficulty, arose, in as many shapes as she
could form projects, to impede her wishes. Money they had none: even for
the return to town of Gabriella, her husband was fain to have recourse
for aid to certain admirable persons, whose benevolence had enabled her,
upon the illness of her son, to quit it for Brighthelmstone: and, in a
situation of indigence so obvious, could they propose carrying away with
them the work with which they were entrusted? Juliet, indeed, had still
Harleigh's bank notes in her possession; but she turned inflexibly from
the temptation of adopting a mode of conduct, which she had always
condemned as weak and degrading; that of investing circumstance with
decision, in conscientious dilemmas.

These terrible obstacles broke into all their plans, their wishes,
their happiness; involved them in new distress, deluged them in tears,
and, after every effort with which ingenious friendship could combat
them, ended in compelling a separation. Gabriella embraced, with pungent
affliction, the sorrowing Juliet; shed her last bitter tears over the
grave of her lost darling, and, by the assistance of the angelic
beings[18] already hinted at, whose delicacy, whose feeling, whose
respect for misfortune, made their beneficence as balsamic to
sensibility, as it was salutary to want, returned alone to the capital.

[Footnote 18: Residing in, and,--in 1795!--at the foot of Norbury Park.]

Juliet thus, perforce, remaining, and once again left to herself, was
nearly overwhelmed with grief at a stroke so abrupt and unexpected; so
ruinous to her lately acquired contentment, and dearly prized social
enjoyment. Yet she suffered not regret and disappointment to consume her
time, however cruelly they preyed upon her spirits, and demolished her
comfort. Solitarily she continued the employment which she had socially
begun; but without relaxing in diligence and application, without
permitting herself the smallest intermission that could be avoided:
urged not alone to maintain herself, and to replace what she had touched
of the deposit of Harleigh, but excited, yet more forcibly, by the fond
hope of rejoining her friend; to which she eagerly looked forward, as
the result and reward of her activity and labour.




CHAPTER XLIII


Left thus to herself, and devoted to incessant work, Juliet next, had
the vexation to learn, how inadequate for entering into any species of
business was a mere knowledge of its theory.

She had concluded that, in consecrating her time and her labours to so
simple an employment as needle-work, she secured herself a certain,
though an hardly earned maintenance: but, as her orders became more
extensive, she found that neither talents for what she undertook, nor
even patronage to bring them into notice, was sufficient; a capital also
was requisite, for the purchase of frames, patterns, silver and gold
threads, spangles, and various other articles; to procure which, she was
forced, in the very commencement of her new career, again to run in
debt.

Alas! she cried, where business is not necessary to subsistence, how
little do we know, believe, or even conceive, its various difficulties!
Imagination may paint enjoyments; but labours and hardships can be
judged only from experience!

She was equally, also, unprepared for continual and vexatious delays of
payment. Her work was frequently, when best executed; or set apart for
some distant occasion, and forgotten; or received and worn, with no
retribution but by promise. Even the few who possessed more
consideration, seemed to estimate her time and her toil as nothing,
because she was brought forward by recommendation; and to pay debts of
common justice, with the parade of generosity.

Yet, vanity and false reasoning set apart, the ladies for whom she
worked were neither hard of heart nor illiberal; but they had never
known distress! and were too light and unreflecting to weigh the
circumstances by which it might be produced, or prevented.

To save time, and obviate innumerable mortifications, Juliet, at first,
employed a commissioner to carry home her work, and to deliver her
bills; but he returned always with empty messages, that if Miss Ellis
would call herself, she should be paid. Yet when, with whatever
reluctance, she complied, she was ordinarily condemned to wait in
passages, or anti-chambers, for whole hours, and even whole mornings;
which were commonly ended by an excuse, through a footman, or lady's
maid, that Lady or Miss such a one was too much engaged, or too much
indisposed, to see her till the next day. The next day, when, with
renewed expectation, she again presented herself, the same scene was
re-acted; though the passing to and fro of various comers and goers,
proved that it was only to herself her fair creditor was invisible.

Nevertheless, if she mentioned that she had some pattern, or some piece
of work, finished for any other lady to exhibit, she was immediately
admitted; though still, with regard to payment, she was desired to call
again in the evening, or the next morning, with a new bill; her old one
happening, unluckily, to be always lost or mislaid; and not seldom,
while stopping in an anti-room, to arrange her packages, she heard
exclamations of 'How amazingly tiresome is that Miss Ellis! pestering
one so, always, for her money!'

Is it possible, thought Juliet, that common humanity, nay, common sense,
will not tell these careless triflers, that their complaint is a lampoon
upon themselves? Will no reflexion, no feeling point out to them, that
the time which they thus unmercifully waste in humiliating attendance,
however to themselves it may be a play-thing, if not a drug, is, to
those who subsist but by their use of it, shelter, clothing, and
nourishment?

If sometimes, in the hope of exciting more attention from this
dissipated set, she ventured to drop a mournful hint, that she was a
novice to this hard kind of life; the warm compassion that seemed
rapidly kindled, raised expectations of immediate assistance; but the
emotion, though good, took a direction that made it useless; it merely
played about in exclamations of pity; then blazed into curiosity, vented
itself in questions,--and evaporated.

She soon, therefore, ceased all attempt to obtain regard through
personal representations; feeling yet more mortified to be left in
passages, or recommended to domestics, after avowing that her lowly
state was the effect of misfortune; than while she permitted it to be
presumed, that she had nothing to brook but what she had been born and
bred to bear.

Some, indeed, while leaving their own just debts unpaid and unnoticed,
would have collected, from their friends, a few straggling half-crowns;
but when Juliet, declining such aid, modestly solicited her right, they
captiously disputed a bill which had been charged by the strictest
necessity; or offered half what they would have dared propose to any
ordinary and hired day-jobber. And whatever admiration they bestowed
upon the taste and execution of work prepared for others, all that she
finished for themselves, was received with that wary precursor of
under-valuing its price, contempt; and looked over with fault-finding
eyes, and unmeaning criticism.

Yet, if the following day, or even the following hour, some sudden
invitation to a brilliant assembly, made any of these ladies require her
services, they would give their orders with caressing solicitations for
speed; rush familiarly into her room, three or four times in a day, to
see how she went on; supplicate her to touch nothing for any other human
being; load her with professions of regard; confound her with hurrying
entreaties; shake her by the hand; tap her on the shoulder; call her the
best of souls; assure her of their eternal gratitude; and torment her
out of any time for sleep or food:--yet, the occasion past, and the work
seen and worn, it was thought of no more! Her pains and exertions, their
promises and fondness, sunk into the same oblivion; and the commonest
and most inadequate pay was murmured at, if not contested.

Now and then, however, she was surprised by sudden starts of kindness,
and hasty enquiries, eagerly made, though scarcely demanding any answer,
into her situation and affairs; followed by drawing her, with an air of
confidence, into a dressing-room or closet:--but there, when prepared
for some mark of favour or esteem, she was only asked, in a mysterious
whisper, whether she could procure any cheap foreign lace, or French
gloves? or whether she could get over from France, any particularly
delicate paste for the hands.

To ladies and to behaviour of this cast, there were, however,
exceptions; especially amongst the residents of the place and its
neighbourhood, who were not there, like the visitors, for dissipation or
irregular extravagance, that, alternately, causes money to be loosely
squandered, and meanly held back. But this better sort was rare, and
sufficed not to supply employment to Juliet for her maintenance, though
the most parsimonious. Nor were there any amongst them that had the
leisure, or the discernment, to discover, that her mind both required
and merited succour as much as her circumstances.

Yet there was the seat of what she had most to endure, and found hardest
to sustain. Her short, but precious junction with her Gabriella, gave
poignancy to every latent regret, and added disgust to her solitary
toil. Thoughts uncommunicated, ideas unexchanged, fears unrevealed, and
sorrows unparticipated, infused a heaviness into her existence, that not
all her activity in business could conquer; while slackness of pay, by
rendering the result of her labours distant and precarious, robbed her
industry of cheerfulness, and her exertions of hope. With an ardent love
of elegant social intercourse, she was doomed to pass her lonely days in
a room that no sound of kindness ever cheered; with enthusiastic
admiration of the beauties of Nature, she was denied all prospect, but
of the coarse red tilings of opposite attics: with an innate taste for
the fine arts, she was forced to exist as completely out of their view
or knowledge, as if she had been an inhabitant of some uncivilized
country: and fellow-feeling, that most powerful master of philanthropy!
now taught her to pity the lamentations of seclusion from the world,
that she had hitherto often contemned as weak and frivolous; since now,
though with time always occupied, and a mind fully stored, she had the
bitter self-experience of the weight of solitude without books, and of
the gloom of retirement without a friend.

During this period, the only notice that she attracted, was that of a
gouty old gentleman, whom she frequently met upon the stairs, when
forced to mount or descend them in pursuit of her fair heedless
creditors. She soon found, by the manner in which he entered, or
quitted, at pleasure, the apartment that she had recently given up, that
he was her successor. He was evidently struck by her beauty, and, upon
their first meeting, looked earnestly after her till she was out of
sight; and then, descended into the shop, to enquire who she was of Miss
Matson. Miss Matson, always perplexed what to think of her, gave so
indefinite, yet so extraordinary an account, that he eagerly awaited an
opportunity of seeing her again. Added examination was less calculated
to diminish curiosity, than to change it into pleasure and interest; and
soon, during whole hours together, he perseveringly watched, upon the
landing-places, for the moments of her going out, or coming back to the
house; that, while smiling and bowing to her as she passed, he might
obtain yet another, and another view of so singular and so lovely an
Incognita.

As he annexed no fixed idea himself to this assiduity, he impressed none
upon Juliet; who, though she could not but observe it, had a mind too
much occupied within, for that mental listlessness that applies for
thoughts, conjectures, or adventures from without.

Soon, however, becoming anxious to behold her nearer, and, soon after,
to behold her longer, he contrived to place himself so as somewhat to
obstruct, though not positively to impede, her passage. The modest
courtesy, which she gave to his age, when, upon her approach, he made
way for her, he pleased himself by attributing to his palpable
admiration; and his bow, which had always been polite, became
obsequious; and his smile, which had always spoken pleasure, displayed
enchantment.

Still, however, there was nothing to alarm, and little to engage the
attention of Juliet; for though ostentatiously gallant, he was
scrupulously decorous. His manners and deportment were old-fashioned,
but graceful and gentleman-like; and his eyes, though they had lost
their brilliancy, were still quick, scrutinizing, and, where not
softened by female attractions, severe.

One day, upon her return from a fruitless expedition, as fearfully,
while ascending the stairs, she opened a paper that had just been
delivered to her in the shop, her deeply absorbed and perplexed air, and
the sigh with which she looked at its contents, induced him, with
heightened interest, to attempt following her, that he might make some
enquiry into her situation. He had discerned, as she passed, that what
she held was a bill; he could not doubt her poverty from her change of
apartment; and he wished to offer her some assistance: but finding that
he had no chance of overtaking her, before she reached her chamber, he
gently called, 'Young lady!' and begged that she would stop.

With that alacrity of youthful purity, which is ever disposed to
consider age and virtue as one, she not only complied, but, seeing the
difficulty with which he mounted the stairs, respected his infirmities,
and descended herself to meet him, and hear his business.

To a younger man, or to one less experienced, or less sagacious, this
action might have appeared the effect of forwardness, of ignorance, or
of levity; but to a man of the world, hackneyed in its ways, and
penetrating into the motives by which it is ordinarily influenced, it
seemed the result of innocence without suspicion; yet of an innocence to
which her air and manner gave a dignity that destroyed, in its birth,
all interpretation to her disadvantage. His purse, therefore, which
already he held in his hand, he felt must be offered with more delicacy
than he had at first supposed to be necessary; and, though he was by no
means a man apt to be embarrassed, he hesitated, for a moment, how to
address a forlorn young stranger.

That moment, however, sufficed to determine him upon making an apology,
with the most marked respect, for the liberty which he had taken in
claiming her attention. The look with which she listened rewarded his
judgment: it expressed the gratitude of feelings to which politeness was
a pleasure; but not a novelty.

'I think--I understand, Ma'am,' he then said, 'you are the lady who
inhabited the apartment to which, most unworthily, I have succeeded?'

Juliet bowed.

'I am truly concerned, Ma'am, at a mistake so preposterous in our
destinies, so diametrically in opposition to our merits, as that which
immures so much beauty and grace, which every one must wish to behold,
in the attics; while so worn-out, and good-for-nothing an old fellow as
I am, from whom every body must wish to turn their eyes, is perched,
full in front, and precisely on the very spot so every way your
superiour due. Whatever wicked Elf has done this deed, I confess myself
heartily ashamed of my share in its operation; and humbly ready, should
any better genius come amongst us, with a view to putting things into
their proper places, to agree, either that you should be lodged, in the
face of day, in the drawing-room, and I be jammed, out of sight, in the
garret; or--that you should become gouty and decrepit, and I grow
suddenly young and beautiful.'

Juliet could not but smile, yet waited some explanation without
speaking.

Charmed with the smile, which his own rigid features immediately caught,
'I have so frequently,' he continued, 'pondered and ruminated upon the
good which those little aerial beings I speak of might do; and the
wrongs which they might redress; were they permitted to visit us, now
and then, as we read of their doing in days of yore; that, sometimes, I
dream while wide awake, and fancy I see them; and feel myself at the
mercy of their antic corrections; or receive courteous presents, or
wholesome advice. Just this moment, as you were passing, methought one
of them appeared to me!'

Juliet, surprised, involuntarily looked round.

'And it said to me, "Whence happens it, my worthy antique, that you grow
as covetous as you are rich? Bear, for your pains, the punishment due to
a miser, of receiving money that you must not hoard; and of presenting,
with your own avaricious hand, this purse to the fair young creature
whose dwelling you have usurped; yet who resides nearest to those she
most resembles, the gods and goddesses."'

With these words, and a low bow, he would have put his purse into her
hand; but upon her starting back, it dropt at her feet.

Surprized, yet touched, as well as amused, by a turn so unexpected to
his pleasantry, Juliet, gracefully restoring, though firmly declining
his offer, uttered her thanks for the kindness of his intentions, with a
sweetness so unsuspicious of evil, that they separated with as strong an
impression of wonder upon his part, as, upon hers, of gratitude.

Anxious to relieve the perplexity thus excited, and to settle his
opinion, he continued to watch, but could not again address her; for
aware, now, of his purpose, she fled down, or darted up stairs, with a
swiftness that defied pursuit; yet with a passing courtesy, that marked
respectful remembrance.

Thus, in a life of solitary hardship, with no intermission but for
mortifying disappointment, passed nearly three weeks, when Juliet found,
with affright and astonishment, that all orders for work seemed at an
end. It was no longer the season for Brighthelmstone, whose visitors
were only accidental stragglers, that, here to-day, and gone to-morrow,
had neither care nor leisure but for rambling and amusement. The
residents, though by no means inconsiderable, were soon served; for
Elinor was removed to Lewes, and her influence was lost with her
presence. Some new measure, therefore, for procuring employment, became
necessary; and Juliet, once more, was reduced to make application to
Miss Matson.

In passing, therefore, one morning, through the shop, with some work
prepared for carrying home, she stopt to open upon the subject; but the
appearance of Miss Bydel at the door, induced her, with an hasty
apology, to make an abrupt retreat; that she might avoid an encounter
which, with that lady, was always irksome, if not painful, from her
unconstrained curiosity; joined to the grossness of her conceptions and
remarks.




CHAPTER XLIV


Juliet, in re-mounting the stairs, was stopt, by her new acquaintance,
before the door of his apartment.

'If you knew,' he said, 'how despitefully I have been treated, and how
miserably black and blue I have been pinched, by the little Imp whose
offer you have rejected, sleep would fly your eyes at night, from
remorse for your hardness of heart. Its Impship insists upon it, that
the fault must all be mine. What! it cries, would you persuade me, that
a young creature whose face beams with celestial sweetness, whose voice
is the voice of melody, whose eyes have the softness of the Dove's--'

Juliet, though she smiled, would have escaped; but he told her he must
be heard.

'Would you persuade me, quoth my sprite, that such an angelic personage,
would rather let my poor despised coin canker and rust in your miserly
coffers, than disperse it about in the world, in kind, generous, or
useful activity? No, my antique, continues my little elf, you have
presented it in some clumsy, hunchy, awkward mode, that has made her
deem you an unworthy bearer of fairy gifts; and she flies the downy
wings of my gentle succour, from the fear of falling into your rough and
uncooth claws.'

Juliet, who now, through the ill-closed fingers of his gouty hand,
discerned his prepared purse, seriously begged to decline this
discussion.

'What malice you must bear me!' he cried. 'You are surely in the pay of
my evil genius! and I shall be whipt with nettles, or scratched with
thorns, all night, in revenge of my failure! And that parcel,
too,--which strains the fine fibres of your fair hands,--cast it but
down, and millions of my little elves will struggle to convey it safely
to your chamber.'

'I doubt not their dexterity,' answered Juliet, 'nor the benevolence of
their fabricator; but I assure you, Sir, I want no help.'

'If you will not accept their aerial services, deign, at least, not to
refuse mine!'

He endeavoured, now, to take the gown-packet into his own hands;
laughingly saying, upon her grave resistance, 'Beware, fair nymph, of
the dormant sensations which you may awaken, if you should make me
suppose you afraid of me! Many a long day is past, alas! and gone, since
I could flatter myself with the idea of exciting fear in a young
breast!'

Ceasing, however, the attempt, after some courteous apologies, he
respectfully let her pass.

But, upon entering her room, she heard something chink as she deposited
her parcel upon a table; and, upon examination, found that he had
managed to slip into it, during the contest, a little green purse.

Vexed at this contrivance, and resolved not to lose an instant in
returning what no distress could induce her to retain, she immediately
descended; but the staircase was vacant, and the door was closed.
Fearful any delay might authorize a presumption of acceptance, she
assumed courage to tap at the door.

A scampering, at the same moment, up the stairs, made her instantly
regret this measure; and by no means the less, for finding herself
recognized, and abruptly accosted by young Gooch, the farmer's son, at
the very moment that her gouty admirer had hobbled to answer to her
summons.

'Well, see if I a'n't a good marksman!' he cried; 'for else, Ma'am, I
might have passed you; for they told me, below, you were up there, at
the very top of the house. But I'd warrant to pick you out from a
hundred, Ma'am; as neat as my father would one of his stray sheep. But
what I come for, Ma'am, is to ask the favour of your company, if it's
agreeable to you, to a little junket at our farm.'

Then, rubbing his hands with great glee, unregarding the surprised look
of Juliet, at such an invitation, or the amused watchfulness of the
observant old beau, he went glibly on.

'Father's to give it, Ma'am. You never saw old dad, I believe, Ma'am?
The old gentleman's a very good old chap; only he don't like our clubs:
for he says they make me speak quite in the new manner; so that the
farmers, he says, don't know what I'd be at. He's rather in years,
Ma'am, poor man. He don't know much how things go. However, he's a very
well meaning old gentleman.'

Juliet gravely enquired, to what unknown accident she might attribute an
invitation so unexpected?

'Why, Ma'am,' answered Gooch, delighted at the idea of having given her
an agreeable surprize, 'Why it's the 'Squire, Ma'am, that put it into my
head. You know who I mean? our rich cousin, 'Squire Tedman. He's a great
friend of yours, I can assure you, Ma'am. He wants you to take a little
pleasure sadly. And he's sadly afraid, too, he says, that you'll miss
him, now he's gone to town; for he used often, he says, to bring you one
odd thing or another. He's got a fine fortune of his own, my cousin the
'Squire. And he's a widower.--And he's taken a vast liking to you, I can
tell you, Ma'am;--so who knows....'

Juliet would have been perfectly unmoved by this ignorant forwardness,
but for the presence of a stranger, to whose good opinion, after her
experience of his benevolence, she could not be indifferent. With an
air, therefore, that marked her little satisfaction at this familiar
jocoseness, she declined the invitation; and begged the young man to
acquaint Mr Tedman, that, though obliged to his intentions, she should
feel a yet higher obligation in his forbearance to forward to her, in
future, any similar proposals.

'Why, Ma'am,' cried young Gooch, astonished, 'this i'n't a thing you can
get at every day! We shall have all the main farmers of the
neighbourhood! for it's given on account of a bargain that we've made,
of a nice little slip of land, just by our square hay-field. And I've
leave to choose six of the company myself. But they won't be farmers,
Ma'am, I can tell you! They'll be young fellows that know better how the
world goes. And we shall have your good friend 'Squire Stubbs; for it's
he that made our bargain.'

Juliet, now, turning from him to the silent, remarking stranger, said,
'I am extremely ashamed, Sir, to obtrude thus upon your time, but the
person for whom you so generously destined this donation commissions me
to return it, with many thanks, and an assurance that it is not at all
wanted.'

She held out her hand with the purse, but, drawing back from receiving
it, 'Madam,' he cried, 'I would upon no account offend any one who has
the honour of being known to you; but you will not, therefore, I hope,
insist that I should quarrel with myself, by taking what does not belong
to me?'

While Juliet, now, looked wistfully around, to discover some place where
she might drop the purse, unseen by the young man, whose
misinterpretations might be injurious, the youth volubly continued his
own discourse.

'We shall give a pretty good entertainment in the way of supper, I
assure you, Ma'am; for we shall have a goose at top, and a turkey at
bottom, and as fine a fat pig as ever you saw in your life in the
middle; with as much ale, and mead, and punch, as you can desire to
drink. And, as all my sisters are at home, and a brace or so of nice
young lasses of their acquaintance, besides ever so many farmers, and us
seven stout young fellows of my club, into the bargain, we intend to
kick up a dance. It may keep you out a little late, to be sure, Ma'am,
but you shall have our chay-cart to bring you home. You know our
chay-cart of old, Ma'am?'

'I, Sir?'

'Why, lauk! have you forgot that, Ma'am? Why it's our chay-cart that
brought you to Brighton, from Madam Maple's at Lewes, as good as half a
year ago. Don't you remember little Jack, that drove you? and that went
for you again the next day, to fetch you back?'

Juliet now found, that this was the carriage procured for her by
Harleigh, upon her first arrival at Lewes; and, though chagrined at the
air of former, or disguised intimacy, which such an incident might seem
to convey to her new friend, she immediately acknowledged recollecting
the circumstance.

'Well, I'm only sorry, Ma'am, I did not drive you myself; but I had not
the pleasure of your acquaintance then, Ma'am; for 'twas before of our
acting together.'

The surprise of the listening old gentleman now altered its expression,
from earnest curiosity to suppressed pleasantry; and he leant against
his door, to take a pinch of snuff, with an air that denoted him to be
rather waiting for some expected amusement, than watching, as
heretofore, for some interesting explanation.

Juliet, in discerning the passing change in his ideas, became more than
ever eager to return the purse; yet more than ever fearful of
misconstruction from young Gooch; whom she now, with encreased
dissatisfaction, begged to lose no time in acquainting Mr Tedman, that
business only ever took her from home.

'Why, that's but moping for you, neither, Ma'am,' he answered, in a tone
of pity. 'You'd have double the spirits if you'd go a little abroad;
for staying within doors gives one but a hippish turn. It will go nigh
to make you grow quite melancholick, Ma'am.'

Hopeless to get rid either of him or of the purse, Juliet, now, was
moving up stairs, when the voice of Miss Bydel called out from the
passage, 'Why, Mr Gooch, have you forgot I told you to send Mrs Ellis to
me?'

'That I had clean!' he answered. 'I ask your pardon, I'm sure,
Ma'am.--Why, Ma'am, Miss Bydel told me to tell you, when I said I was
coming up to ask you to our junket, that she wanted to say a word or two
to you, down in the shop, upon business.'

Juliet would have descended; but Miss Bydel, desiring her to wait,
mounted herself, saying, 'I have a mind to see your little new room:'
stopping, however, when she came to the landing-place, which was square
and large, 'Well-a-day!' she exclaimed: 'Sir Jaspar Herrington!--who'd
have thought of seeing you, standing so quietly at your door? Why I did
not know you could stand at all! Why how is your gout, my good Sir? And
how do you like your new lodgings? I heard of your being here from Miss
Matson. But pray, Mrs Ellis, what has kept you both, you and young Mr
Gooch, in such close conference with Sir Jaspar? I can't think what
you've been talking of so long. Pray how did you come to be so intimate
together? I should like to know that.'

Sir Jaspar courteously invited Miss Bydel to enter his apartment; but
that lady, not aware that nothing is less delicate than professions of
delicacy; which degrade a just perception, and strict practice of
propriety, into a display of conscious caution, or a suspicion of evil
interpretation; almost angrily answered, that she could not for the
world do such a thing, for it would set every body a talking: 'for, as
I'm not married, Sir Jaspar, you know, and as you're a single gentleman,
too, it might make Miss Matson and her young ladies think I don't know
what. For, when once people's tongues are set a-going, it's soon too
late to stop them. Besides, every body's always so prodigious curious to
dive into other people's affairs, that one can't well be too prudent.'

Sir Jaspar, with an arched brow, of which she was far from comprehending
the meaning, said that he acquiesced in her better judgment; but, as she
had announced that she came to speak with this young lady upon business,
he enquired, whether there would be any incongruity in putting a couple
of chairs upon the landing-place.

'Well,' she cried, 'that's a bright thought, I declare, Sir Jaspar! for
it will save me the trouble of groping up stairs;' and then, seizing the
opportunity to peep into his room, she broke forth into warm
exclamations of pleasure, at the many nice and new things with which it
had been furnished, since it had been vacated by Mrs Ellis.

A look, highly commiserating, shewed him shocked by these observations;
and the air, patiently calm, with which they were heard by Juliet,
augmented his interest, as well as wonder, in her story and situation.

He ordered his valet to fetch an arm-chair for Miss Bydel; while,
evidently meant for Juliet, he began to drag another forward himself.

'Bless me, Sir Jaspar!' cried Miss Bydel, looking, a little affronted,
towards Juliet, 'have you no common chairs?'

'Yes,' he answered, still labouring on, 'for common purposes!'

This civility was not lost upon Juliet, who declining, though thankful
for his attention, darted forward, to take, for herself, a seat of less
dignity; hastily, as she passed, dropping the purse upon a table.

A glance at Sir Jaspar sufficed to assure her, that this action had not
escaped his notice; and though his look spoke disappointment, it shewed
him sensible of the propriety of avoiding any contest.

Relieved from this burthen, she now cheerfully waited to hear the orders
of Miss Bydel: young Gooch waited to hear them also; seated,
cross-legged, upon the balustrade; though Sir Jaspar sent his valet
away, and, retired, scrupulously, himself, to the further end of his
apartment.

Miss Bydel, as little struck with the ill breeding of the young farmer,
as with the good manners of the baronet, forgot her business, from
recollecting that Mr Scope was waiting for her in the shop. 'For
happening,' said she, 'to pass by, and see me, through the glass-door,
he just stept in, on purpose to have a little chat.'

'O ho, what, is 'Squire Scope here?' cried young Gooch; and, rapidly
sliding down the banisters, seized upon the unwilling and precise Mr
Scope, whom he dragged up to the landing-place.

'Well, this is droll enough!' cried Miss Bydel, palpably enchanted,
though trying to look displeased; 'only I hope you have not told Mr
Scope 'twas I that sent you for him, Mr Gooch? for, I assure you, Mr
Scope, I would not do such a thing for the world. I should think it
quite improper. Besides, what will Miss Matson and the young milliners
say? Who knows but you may have set them a prating, Mr Gooch? It's no
joke, I can assure you, doing things of this sort.'

'I'm sure, Ma'am,' said Gooch, 'I thought you wanted to see the 'Squire;
for I did not do it in the least to make game.'

'There can be no doubt, Madam,' said Mr Scope, somewhat offended, 'that
all descriptions of sport are not, at all times, advisable. For, in
small societies, as in great states, if I may be permitted to compare
little things with great ones, danger often lurks unseen, and mischief
breaks out from trifles. In like manner, for example, if one of those
young milliners, misinterpreting my innocence, in obeying the supposed
commands of the good Miss Bydel, should take the liberty to laugh at my
expence, what, you might ask, could it signify that a young girl should
laugh? Young persons, especially of the female gender, being naturally
given to laughter, at very small provocatives; not to say sometimes
without any whatsoever. Whereupon, persons of an ordinary judgment, may
conclude such an action, by which I mean laughing, to be of no
consequence.--'

'But I think it very rude!' cried Miss Bydel, extremely nettled.

'Please to hear me, Madam!' said Mr Scope. 'Persons, I say, of deeper
knowledge in the maxims and manners of the moral world, would look
forward with watchfulness, on such an occasion, to its future effects;
for one laugh breeds another, and another breeds another; for nothing is
so catching as laughing; I mean among the vulgar; in which class I would
be understood to include the main mass of a great nation. What, I ask,
ensues?--'

'O, as to that, Mr Scope,' cried Miss Bydel, rather impatiently, 'I
assure you if I knew any body that took such a liberty as to laugh at
me, I should let them know my thoughts of such airs without much
ceremony!'

'My very good lady,' said Mr Scope, formally bowing, 'if I may request
such a favour, I beg you to be silent. The laugh, I observe, caught
thus, from one to another, soon spreads abroad; and then, the more aged,
or better informed, may be led to enquire into its origin: and the
result of such investigation must needs be, that the worthy Miss Bydel,
having sent her commands to her humble servant, Mr Scope, to follow her
up stairs--'

'But if they said that,' cried Miss Bydel, looking very red, 'it would
be as great a fib as ever was told, for I did not send my commands, nor
think of such a thing. It was Mr Gooch's own doing, only for his own
nonsense. And I am curious to know, Mr Gooch, whether any body ever put
such thoughts into your head? Pray did you ever hear any body talk, Mr
Gooch? For, if you have, I should be glad to know what they said.'

Mr Scope, waving his hand to demand attention, again begged leave to
remark, that he had not finished what he purposed to advance.

'My argument, Madam,' he resumed, 'is a short, but, I hope, a clear one,
for 'tis deduced from general principles and analogy; though, upon a
merely cursory view, it may appear somewhat abstruse. But what I mean,
in two words, is, that the laugh raised by Mr Gooch, and those young
milliners; taking it for granted that they laughed; which, indeed, I
rather think I heard them do; may, in itself, perhaps, as only
announcing incapacity, not be condemnable; but when it turns out that it
promulgates false reports, and makes two worthy persons, if I may take
the liberty to name myself with the excellent Miss Bydel, appear to be
fit subjects for ridicule; then, indeed, the laugh is no longer
innocent; and ought, in strict justice, to be punished, as seriously as
any other mode of propagating false rumours.'

Miss Bydel, after protesting that Mr Scope talked so prodigiously
sensible, that she was never tired of hearing him, for all his speeches
were so long; abruptly told Juliet, that she had called to let her know,
that she should be glad to be paid, out of hand, the money which she had
advanced for the harp.

Sir Jaspar, who, during the harangue of Mr Scope, which was uttered in
too loud and important a manner, to leave any doubt of its being
intended for general hearing; had drawn his chair to join the party,
listened to this demand with peculiar attention; and was struck with the
evident distress which it caused to Juliet; who fearfully besought a
little longer law, to collect the debts of others, that she might be
able to discharge her own.

Young Gooch, coming behind her, said, in a half whisper, 'If you'll tell
me how much it is you owe, Ma'am, I'll help you out in a trice; for I
can have what credit I will in my father's name; and he'll never know
but what 'twas for some frolic of my own; for I don't make much of a
confidant of the old gentleman.'

The most icy refusal was insufficient to get rid of this offer, or
offerer; who assured her that, if the worst came to the worst, and his
father, by ill luck, should find them out, he would not make a fuss for
above a day or two; 'because,' he continued, 'he has only me, as one may
say, for the rest are nothing but girls; so he can't well help himself.
He gave me my swing too long from the first, to bind me down at this
time of day. Besides, he likes to have me a little in the fashion, I
know, though he won't own it; for he is a very good sort of an old
gentleman, at bottom.'

Sir Jaspar sought to discover, whether the colour which heightened the
cheeks of Juliet at this proposal, which now ceased to be delivered in a
whisper, was owing to confusion at its publicity, or to disdain at the
idea of conspiring either at deceiving or braving the young man's
father; while Miss Bydel, whose plump curiosity saved her from all
species of speculative trouble, bluntly said, 'Why should you hesitate
at such an offer, my dear? I'm sure I don't see how you can do better
than accept it. Mr Gooch is a very worthy young man, and so are all his
family. I'm sure I only wish he'd take to you more solidly, and make a
match of it. That would put an end to your troubles at once; and I
should get my money out of hand.'

This was an opportunity not to be passed over by the argumentative but
unerring Mr Scope, for trite observations, self-evident truths, and
hackneyed calculations, upon the mingled dangers and advantages of
matrimony, 'which, when weighed,' said he, 'in equal scales, and
abstractedly considered, are of so puzzling a nature, that the wise and
wary, fearing to risk them, remain single; but which, when looked upon
in a more cursory way, or only lightly balanced, preponderate so much in
favour of the state, that the great mass of the nation, having but small
means of reflection, or forethought, ordinarily prefer matrimony. If,
therefore, young Mr Gooch should think proper to espouse this young
person, there would be nothing in it very surprising; nevertheless, in
summing up the expences of wedlock, and a growing family, it might seem,
that to begin the married state with debts already contracted, on the
female side, would appear but a shallow mark of prudence on the male,
where the cares of that state reasonably devolve; he being naturally
supposed to have the most sense.'

'O, as to that, Mr Scope,' cried Miss Bydel, 'if Mr Gooch should take a
liking to this young person, she has money enough to pay her debts, I
can assure you: I should not have asked her for it else; but the thing
is, she don't like to part with it.'

Juliet solemnly protested, that the severest necessity could alone have
brought her into the pecuniary difficulties under which she laboured;
the money to which Miss Bydel alluded being merely a deposit which she
held in her hands, and for which she was accountable.

'Well, that's droll enough,' said Miss Bydel, 'that a young person, not
worth a penny in the world, should have the care of other people's
money! I should like to know what sort of persons they must be, that can
think of making such a person their steward!'

Young Gooch said that it would not be his father, for one, who would do
it; and Mr Scope was preparing an elaborate dissertation upon the nature
of confidence, with regard to money-matters, in a great state; when Miss
Bydel, charmed to have pronounced a sentence which seemed to accord with
every one's opinion, ostentatiously added, 'I should like, I say, Mrs
Ellis, to know what sort of person it could be, that would trust a
person with one's cash, without enquiring into their circumstances? for
though, upon hearing that a person has got nothing, one may give 'em
something, one must be no better than a fool to make them one's banker.'

Juliet, who could not enter into any explanation, stammered, coloured,
and from the horrour of seeing that she was suspected, wore an air of
seeming apprehensive of detection.

A short pause ensued, during which every one fixed his eyes upon her
face, save Sir Jaspar; who seemed studying a portrait upon his
snuff-box.

Her immediate wish, in this disturbance, was to clear herself from so
terrible an aspersion, by paying Miss Bydel, as she had paid her other
creditors, from the store of Harleigh; but her wishes, tamed now by
misfortune and disappointment, were too submissively under the controul
of fear and discretion, to suffer her to act from their first dictates:
and a moment's reflection pointed out, that, joined to the impropriety
of such a measure with respect to Harleigh himself, it would be liable,
more than any other, to give her the air of an impostor, who possessed
money that she could either employ, or disclaim all title to, at her
pleasure. Calling, therefore, for composure from conscious integrity,
she made known her project of applying once more to Miss Matson, for
work; and earnestly supplicated for the influence of Miss Bydel, that
this second application might not, also, be vain.

The eyes of the attentive Sir Jaspar, as he raised them from his
snuff-box, now spoke respect mingled with pity.

'As to recommending you to Miss Matson, Mrs Ellis,' answered Miss Bydel,
'it's out of all reason to demand such a thing, when I can't tell who
you are myself; and only know that you have got money in your hands
nobody knows how, nor what for.'

An implication such as this, nearly overpowered the fortitude of Juliet;
and, relinquishing all further effort, she rose, and, silently, almost
gloomily, began ascending the stairs. Sir Jaspar caught the expression
of her despair by a glance; and, in a tone of remonstrance, said to Miss
Bydel, 'In your debt, good Miss Bydel? Have you forgotten, then, that
the young lady has paid you?'

'Paid me? good Me! Sir Jaspar,' cried Miss Bydel, staring; 'how can you
say such a thing? Do you think I'd cheat the young woman?'

'I think it so little,' answered he, calmly, 'that I venture to remind
you, thus publicly, of the circumstance; in full persuasion that I shall
merit your gratitude, by aiding your memory.'

'Good Me! Sir Jaspar, why I never heard such a thing in my life! Paid
me? When? Why it can't be without my knowing it?'

'Certainly not; I beg you, therefore, to recollect yourself.'

The stare of Miss Bydel was now caught by Mr Scope; and her 'Good Me!'
was echoed by young Gooch; while the surprised Juliet, turning back,
said, 'Pardon me, Sir! I have never been so happy as to be able to
discharge the debt. It remains in full force.'

'Over you, too, then,' cried Sir Jaspar, with quickness, 'have I the
advantage in memory? Have you forgotten that you delivered, to Miss
Bydel, the full sum, not twenty minutes since?'

Miss Bydel now, reddening with anger, cried, 'Sir Jaspar, I have long
enough heard of your ill nature; but I never suspected your crossness
would take such a turn against a person as this, to make people believe
I demand what is not my own!'

Juliet again solemnly acknowledged the debt; and Mr Scope opened an
harangue upon the merits of exactitude between debtor and creditor, and
the usefulness of settling no accounts, without, what were the only
legal witnesses to obviate financial controversy, receipts in full; when
Sir Jaspar, disregarding, alike, his rhetoric or Miss Bydel's choler,
quietly patting his snuff-box, said, that it was possible that Miss
Bydel had, inadvertently, put the sum into her work-bag, and forgotten
that it had been refunded.

Exulting that means, now, were open for vindication and redress, Miss
Bydel eagerly untied the strings of her work-bag; though Juliet
entreated that she would spare herself the useless trouble. But Sir
Jaspar protested, with great gravity, that his own honour was now as
deeply engaged to prove an affirmative, as that of Miss Bydel to prove a
negative: holding, however, her hand, he said that he could not be
satisfied, unless the complete contents of the work-bag were openly and
fairly emptied upon a table, in sight of the whole party.

Miss Bydel, though extremely affronted, consented to this proposal;
which would clear her, she said, of so false a slander. A table was then
brought upon the landing-place; as she still stiffly refused risking her
reputation, by entering the apartment of a single gentleman; though he
might not, as she observed, be one of the youngest.

Sir Jaspar demanded the precise amount of the sum owed. A guinea and a
half.

He then fetched a curious little japan basket from his chamber, into
which he desired that Miss Bydel would put her work-bag; though he would
not suffer her to empty it, till, with various formalities, he had
himself placed it in the middle of the table; around which he made every
one draw a chair.

Miss Bydel now triumphantly turned her work-bag inside out; but what was
her consternation, what the shock of Mr Scope, and how loud the shout of
young Gooch, to see, from a small open green purse, fall a guinea and a
half!

Miss Bydel, utterly confounded, remained speechless; but Juliet, through
whose sadness Sir Jaspar saw a smile force its way, that rendered her
beauty dazzling, recollecting the purse, blushed, and would have
relieved Miss Bydel, by confessing that she knew to whom it belonged;
had she not been withheld by the fear of the strange appearance which so
sudden a seeming intimacy with the Baronet might wear.

Sir Jaspar, again patting her snuff-box, composedly said, 'I was
persuaded Miss Bydel would find that her debt had been discharged.'

Miss Bydel remained stupified; while Mr Scope, with a look concerned,
and even abashed, condolingly began an harangue upon the frail tenure of
the faculty of human memory.

Miss Bydel, at length, recovering her speech, exclaimed, 'Well, here's
the money, that's certain! but which way it has got into my work-bag,
without my ever seeing or touching it, I can't pretend to say: but if
Mrs Ellis has done it to play me a trick--'

Juliet disavowed all share in the transaction.

'Then it's some joke of Sir Jaspar's! for I know he dearly loves to
mortify; so I suppose he has given me false coin, or something that
won't go, just to make me look like a fool.'

'The money, I have the honour to assure you, is not mine,' was all that,
very tranquilly, Sir Jaspar replied: while Mr Scope, after a careful
examination of each piece, declared each to be good gold, and full
weight.

Sundry 'Good me's!' and other expressions of surprise, though all of a
pleasurable sort, now broke forth from Miss Bydel, finishing with,
'However, if nobody will own the money, as the debt is fairly my due, I
don't see why I may not take it; though as to the purse, I won't touch
it, because as that's a thing I have not lent to any body, I've no right
to it.'

Juliet here warmly interfered. The purse, she said, and the money
belonged to the same proprietor; and, as neither of them were hers, both
ought to be regarded as equally inadmissible for the payment of a debt
which she alone had contracted. This disinterested sincerity made even
Mr Scope turn to her with an air of profound, though surprised respect;
while Sir Jaspar fixed his eyes upon her face with encreased and the
most lively wonder; young Gooch stared, not perfectly understanding her;
but Miss Bydel, rolling up the purse, which she put back into the
basket, said, 'Well, if the money is not yours, Mrs Ellis, my dear, it
can be nobody's but Sir Jaspar's; and if he has a mind to pay your debt
for you, I don't see why I should hinder him, when 'twould be so much to
my disadvantage. He's rich enough, I assure you; for what has an old
bachelor to do with his money? So I'll take my due, be it which way it
will.' And, unmoved by all that Juliet could urge, she put the guinea
and the half-guinea carefully into her pocket.

Juliet declared, that a debt which she had not herself discharged, she
should always consider as unpaid, though her creditor might be changed.

Confused then, ashamed, perplexed,--yet unavoidably pleased, she mounted
to her chamber.




CHAPTER XLV


With whatever shame, whatever chagrin, Juliet saw herself again involved
in a pecuniary obligation, with a stranger, and a gentleman, a support
so efficacious, at a moment of such alarm, was sensibly and gratefully
felt. Yet she was not less anxious to cancel a favour which still was
unfitting to be received. She watched, therefore, for the departure of
Miss Bydel, and the restoration of stillness to the staircase, to
descend, once more, in prosecution to her scheme with Miss Matson.

The anxious fear of rejection, and dread of rudeness, with which she
then renewed her solicitation, soon happily subsided, from a readiness
to listen, and a civility of manner, as welcome as they were unexpected,
in her hostess; by whom she was engaged, without difficulty, to enter
upon her new business the following morning.

Thus, and with cruel regret, concluded her fruitless effort to attain a
self-dependence which, however subject to toil, might be free, at least,
from controul. Every species of business, however narrow its cast,
however limited its wants, however mean its materials; required, she now
found, some capital to answer to its immediate calls, and some steady
credit for encountering the unforeseen accidents, and unavoidable risks,
to which all human undertakings, whether great or insignificant, are
liable.

With this conviction upon her mind, she strove to bear the
disappointment without murmuring; hoping to gain in security all that
she lost in liberty. Little reason, indeed, had she for regretting what
she gave up: she had been worn by solitary toil, and heavy rumination;
by labour without interest, and loneliness without leisure.

Nevertheless, the beginning of her new career promised little
amelioration from the change. She was summoned early to the shop to
take her work; but, when she begged leave to return with it to her
chamber, she was stared at as if she had made a demand the most
preposterous, and told that, if she meant to enter into business, she
must be at hand to receive directions, and to learn how it should be
done.

To enter into business was far from the intention of Juliet; but the
fear of dismission, should she proclaim how transitory were her views,
silenced her into acquiescence; and she seated herself behind a distant
counter.

And here, perforce, she was initiated into a new scene of life, that of
the humours of a milliner's shop. She found herself in a whirl of hurry,
bustle, loquacity, and interruptions. Customers pressed upon customers;
goods were taken down merely to be put up again; cheapened but to be
rejected; admired but to be looked at, and left; and only bought when,
to all appearance, they were undervalued and despised.

It was here that she saw, in its unmasked futility, the selfishness of
personal vanity. The good of a nation, the interest of society, the
welfare of a family, could with difficulty have appeared of higher
importance than the choice of a ribbon, or the set of a cap; and
scarcely any calamity under heaven could excite looks of deeper horrour
or despair, than any mistake committed in the arrangement of a feather
or a flower. Every feature underwent a change, from chagrin and
fretfulness, if any ornament, made by order, proved, upon trial, to be
unbecoming; while the whole complexion glowed with the exquisite joy of
triumph, if something new, devised for a superiour in the world of
fashion, could be privately seized as a model by an inferiour.

The ladies whose practice it was to frequent the shop, thought the time
and trouble of its mistress, and her assistants, amply paid by the
honour of their presence; and though they tried on hats and caps, till
they put them out of shape; examined and tossed about the choicest
goods, till they were so injured that they could be sold only at half
price; ordered sundry articles, which, when finished, they returned,
because they had changed their minds; or discovered that they did not
want them; still their consciences were at ease, their honour was
self-acquitted, and their generosity was self-applauded, if, after two
or three hours of lounging, rummaging, fault-finding and chaffering,
they purchased a yard or two of ribbon, or a few skanes of netting silk.

The most callous disregard to all representations of the dearness of
materials, or of the just price of labour, was accompanied by the most
facile acquiescence even in demands that were exorbitant, if they were
adroitly preceded by, 'Lady ----, or the Duchess of ----, gave that sum
for just such another cap, hat, &c., this very morning.'

Here, too, as in many other situations into which accident had led, or
distress had driven Juliet, she saw, with commiseration and shame for
her fellow-creatures, the total absence of feeling and of equity, in the
dissipated and idle, for the indigent and laborious. The goods which
demanded most work, most ingenuity, and most hands, were last paid,
because heaviest of expence; though, for that very reason, the many
employed, and the charge of materials, made their payment the first
required. Oh that the good Mr Giles Arbe, thought Juliet, could arraign,
in his simple but impressive style, the ladies who exhibit themselves
with unpaid plumes, at assemblies and operas; and enquire whether they
can flatter themselves, that to adorn them alone is sufficient to
recompense those who work for, without seeing them; who ornament without
knowing them; and who must necessarily, if unrequited, starve in
rendering them more brilliant!

Upon further observation, nevertheless, her compassion for the milliner
and the work-women somewhat diminished; for she found that their notions
of probity were as lax as those of their customers were of justice; and
saw that their own rudeness to those who had neither rank nor fortune,
kept pace with the haughtiness which they were forced to support, from
those by whom both were possessed. Every advantage was taken of
inexperience and simplicity; every article was charged, not according to
its value, but to the skill or ignorance of the purchaser; old goods
were sold as if new; cheap goods as if dear; and ancient, or vulgar
ornaments, were presented to the unpractised chafferer, as the very pink
of the mode.

The rich and grand, who were capricious, difficult, and long in their
examinations, because their time was their own; or rather, because it
hung upon their hands; and whose utmost exertion, and sole practice of
exercise consisted in strolling from a sofa to a carriage, were
instantly, and with fulsome adulation, attended; while the meaner, or
economical, whose time had its essential appropriations, and was
therefore precious, were obliged to wait patiently for being served,
till no coach was at the door, and every fine lady had sauntered away.
And even then, they were scarcely heard when they spoke; scarcely shewn
what they demanded; and scarcely thanked for what they purchased.

In viewing conflicts such as these, between selfish vanity and cringing
cunning, it soon became difficult to decide, which was least congenial
to the upright mind and pure morality of Juliet, the insolent, vain,
unfeeling buyer, or the subtle, plausible, over-reaching seller.

The companions of Juliet in this business, though devoted, of course, to
its manual operations, left all its cares to its mistress. Their own
wishes and hopes were caught by other objects. The town was filled with
officers, whose military occupations were brief, whose acquaintances
were few, and who could not, all day long, ride, or pursue the sports of
the field. These gentlemen, for their idle moments, chose to deem all
the unprotected young women whom they thought worth observance, their
natural prey. And though, from race to race, and from time immemorial,
the young female shop-keeper had been warned of the danger, the folly,
and the fate of her predecessors; in listening to the itinerant admirer,
who, here to-day and gone to-morrow, marches his adorations, from town
to town with as much facility, and as little regret, as his regiment;
still every new votary to the counter and the modes, was ready to go
over the same ground that had been trodden before; with the fond
persuasion of proving an exception to those who had ended in misery and
disgrace, by finishing, herself, with marriage and promotion. Their
minds, therefore, were engaged in airy projects; and their leisure,
where they could elude the vigilance of Miss Matson, was devoted to
clandestine coquetry, tittering whispers, and secret frolics.

'These,' said Juliet, in a letter to Gabriella, 'are now my destined
associates! Ah, heaven! can these--can such as these,--setting aside
pride, prejudice, propriety, or whatever word we use for the
distinctions of society,--can these--can such as these, suffice as
companions to her whose grateful heart has been honoured with the
friendship of Gabriella? O hours of refined felicity past and gone, how
severe is your contrast with those of heaviness and distaste now
endured!'

The inexperience of Juliet in business, impeded not her acquiring almost
immediate excellence in the millinery art, for which she was equally
fitted by native taste, and by her remembrance of what she had seen
abroad. The first time, therefore, that she was employed to arrange some
ornaments, she adjusted them with an elegance so striking, that Miss
Matson, with much parade, exhibited them to her best lady-customers, as
a specimen of the very last new fashion, just brought her over by one of
her young ladies from Paris.

In a town that subsists by the search of health for the sick, and of
amusement for the idle, the smallest new circumstance is of sufficient
weight to be related and canvassed; for there is ever most to say where
there is least to do. The phrase, therefore, that went forth from Miss
Matson, that one of her young ladies was just come from France, was soon
spread through the neighbourhood; with the addition that the same person
had brought over specimens of all the French _costume_.

Such a report could not fail to allure staring customers to the shop,
where the attraction of the youth and beauty of the new work-woman,
contrasted with her determined silence to all enquiry, gave birth to
perpetually varying conjectures in her presence, which were followed by
the most eccentric assertions where she was the subject of discourse in
her absence. All that already had been spread abroad, of her acting, her
teaching, her playing the harp, her needle-work, and, more than all, her
having excited a suicide; was now in every mouth; and curiosity, baffled
in successive attempts to penetrate into the truth, supplied, as usual,
every chasm of fact by invention.

This species of commerce, always at hand, and always fertile, proved so
highly amusing to the lassitude of the idle, and to the frivolousness of
the dissipated, that, in a very few days, the shop of Miss Matson became
the general rendezvous of the saunterers, male and female, of
Brighthelmstone. The starers were happy to present themselves where
there was something to see; the strollers, where there was any where to
go; the loungers, where there was any pretence to stay; and the curious
where there was any thing to develop in which they had no concern.

Juliet, at first, ignorant of the usual traffic of the shop, imagined
this affluence of customers to be habitual; but she was soon undeceived,
by finding herself the object of inquisitive examination; and by
overhearing unrestrained inquiries made to Miss Matson, of 'Pray, Ma'am,
which is your famous French milliner?'

In the midst of these various distastes and discomforts, some interest
was raised in the mind of Juliet, for one of her young
fellow-work-women. It was not, indeed, that warm interest which is the
precursor of friendship; its object had no qualities that could rise to
such a height; it was simply a sensation of pity, abetted by a wish of
doing good.

Flora Pierson, without either fine features or fine countenance, had
strikingly the beauty of youth in a fair complexion, round, plump, rosy
cheeks, bright, though unmeaning eyes, and an air of health, strength,
and juvenile good humour, that was diffused copiously through her whole
appearance. She was innocent and inoffensive, and, as far as she was
able to think, well meaning, and ready to be at every body's command;
though incapable to be at any body's service. Yet her simplicity was of
that happy sort that never occasions self-distress, from being wholly
unaccompanied by any consciousness of deficiency or inferiority.
Accustomed to be laughed at almost whenever she spoke, she saw the smile
that she raised without emotion; or participated in it without knowing
why; and she heard the sneer that followed her simple merriment without
displeasure; though sometimes she would a little wonder what it meant.

This young creature, who had but barely passed her sixteenth year, had
already attracted the dangerous attention of various officers, from
whose several attacks and manoeuvres she had hitherto been rescued by
the vigilance of Miss Matson. Each of these anecdotes she eagerly took,
or rather made opportunities to communicate to Juliet; waiting for no
other encouragement than the absence of Miss Matson, and using no other
prelude than 'Now I've got something else to tell you!'

Except for some slight mixture of contempt, Juliet heard these tales
with perfect indifference; till that ungenial feeling, or rather absence
of feeling, was superceded by compassion, upon finding that she was the
object, probably the dupe, of a new and unfinished adventure, with which
Miss Matson was as yet unacquainted. 'Now, Miss Ellis!' she cried, 'I'll
tell you the drollest part of all, shall I? Well, do you know I've got
another admirer that's above all the rest? And yet he i'n't a captain,
neither, nor an officer. But he's quite a gentleman of quality, for he's
a knight baronight. And he's very pretty, I assure you. As pretty as
you, only his nose is a little shorter, and his mouth is a little
bigger. And he has not got quite so much colour; for he is very pale.
But he's prettier than I am, I believe. Yet I'm not very homely, people
say. I'm sure I don't know. One can't judge one's self. But I believe
I'm very well. At least, I am not very brown; I know that, by my
looking-glass. I've a pretty good skin of my own.'

Neither the giggling derision of her fellow-work-women, nor the total
abstinence from enquiry or comment with which Juliet heard these
insignificant details, checked the pleasure of Flora in her own prattle;
which, whenever she could find some one to address,--for she waited not
till any one would listen,--went on, with sleepy good humour, and
pretty, but unintelligent smiles, from the moment that she rose, to the
moment that she went to rest. But when, in great confidence, and
declaring that nobody was in the secret, except just Miss Biddy, and
Miss Jenny, and Miss Polly, and Miss Betsey, she made known who was this
last and most striking admirer, the attention of Juliet was roused; it
was Sir Lyell Sycamore.

Copiously, and with looks of triumph, Flora related her history with the
young Baronet. First of all, she said, he had declared, in ever so many
little whispers, that he was in love with her; and next, he had made her
ever so many beautiful presents, of ear-rings, necklaces, and trinkets;
always sending them by a porter, who pretended that they were just
arrived by the Diligence; with a letter to shew to Miss Matson,
importing that an uncle of Flora's, who resided in Northumberlandshire,
begged her to accept these remembrances. 'Though I'm sure I don't know
how he found out that I've got an uncle there,' she continued, 'unless
it was by my telling it him, when he asked me what relations I had.'

Her gratitude and vanity thus at once excited, Sir Lyell told her that
he had some important intelligence to communicate, which could not be
revealed in a short whisper in the shop: he begged her, therefore, to
meet him upon the Strand, a little way out of the town, one Sunday
afternoon; while Miss Matson might suppose that she was taking her usual
recreation with the rest of the young ladies. 'So I could not refuse
him, you may think,' she said, 'after being so much obliged to him; and
so we walked together by the sea-side, and he was as agreeable as ever;
and so was I, too, I believe, if I may judge without flattery. At least,
he said I was, over and over; and he's a pretty good judge, I believe, a
man of his quality. But I sha'n't tell you what he said to me; for he
said I was as fresh as a violet, and as fair as jessamy, and as sweet as
a pink, and as rosy as a rose; but one must not over and above believe
the gentlemen, mamma says, for what they say is but half a compliment.
However, what do you think, Miss Ellis? Only guess! For all his being so
polite, do you know, he was upon the point of behaving rude? Only I told
him I'd squall out, if he did. But he spoke so pretty when he saw I was
vexed, that I could not be very angry with him about it; could I?
Besides, men will be rude, naturally, mamma says.'

'But does not your mamma tell you, also, Miss Pierson, that you must not
walk out alone with gentlemen?'

'O dear, yes! She's told me that ever so often. And I told it to Sir
Lyell; and I said to him we had better not go. But he said that would
kill him, poor gentleman! And he looked as sorrowful as ever you saw;
just as if he was going to cry. I'm sure I'm glad he did not, poor
gentleman! for if he had, it's ten to one but I should have cried too;
unless, out of ill luck, I had happened to fall a laughing; for it's
odds which I do, sometimes, when I'm put in a fidget. However, upon
seeing his sister, along with some company of his acquaintance, not far
off, he said I had better go back: but he promised me, if I would meet
him again the next Sunday, he would have a post-chaise o'purpose for me,
because of the pebbles being so hard for my feet; and he'd take me ever
so pretty a ride, he said, upon the Downs. But he came the next morning
to tell me he was forced, by ill luck, to go to London; but he'd soon be
back: and he bid me, ever so often, not to say one word of what had
passed to a living creature; for if his sister should get an inkling of
his being in love with me, there would be fine work, he said! But he'd
bring me ever so many pretty things, he said, from London.'

Juliet listened to this history with the deepest indignation against the
barbarous libertine, who, with egotism so inhuman, sought to rob, first
of innocence, and next, for it would be the inevitable consequence, of
all her fair prospects in life, a young creature whose simplicity
disabled her from seeing her danger; whose credulity induced her to
agree to whatever was proposed; and whose weakness of intellect rendered
it as much a dishonour as a cruelty to make her a dupe.

Whatever could be suggested to awaken the simple maiden to a sense of
her perilous situation, was instantly urged; but without any effect. Sir
Lyell Sycamore, she answered, had owned that he was in love with her;
and it was very hard if she must be ill natured to him in return;
especially as, if she behaved agreeably, nobody could tell but he might
mean to make her a lady. Where a vision so refulgent, which every speech
of Sir Lyell's, couched in ambiguous terms, though adroitly evasive of
promise, had been insidiously calculated to present, was sparkling full
in sight, how unequal were the efforts of sober truth and reason, to
substitute in its place cold, dull, disappointing reality! Juliet soon
relinquished the attempt as hopeless. Where ignorance is united with
vanity, advice, or reproof, combat it in vain. She addressed her
remonstrances, therefore, to their fellow-work-women; every one of
which, it was evident, was a confidant of the dangerous secret. How was
it, she demanded, that, aware of the ductility of temper of this poor
young creature, they had suffered her to form so alarming a connexion,
unknown either to her friends or to Miss Matson?

Pettishly affronted, they answered, that they were not a set of fusty
duennas: that if Miss Pierson were ever so young, that did not make them
old; that she might as well take care of herself, therefore, as they of
themselves. Besides, nobody could tell but Sir Lyell Sycamore meant to
marry her; and indeed they none of them doubted that such was his
design; because he was politeness itself to all of them round, though he
was most particular, to be sure, to Miss Pierson. They could not think,
therefore, of making such a gentleman their enemy, any more than of
standing in the way of Miss Pierson's good fortune; for, to their
certain knowledge, there were more grand matches spoilt by meddling and
making, than by any thing else upon earth.

Here again, what were the chances of truth and reason against the
semblance, at least the pretence of generosity, which thus covered folly
and imprudence? Each aspiring damsel, too, had some similar secret, or
correspondent hope of her own; and found it convenient to reject, as
treachery, an appeal against a sister work-woman, that might operate as
an example for a similar one against herself.

Juliet, therefore, could but determine to watch the weak, if not willing
victim, while yet under the same roof; and openly, before she quitted
it, to reveal the threatening danger to Miss Matson.




CHAPTER XLVI


The first Sunday that Juliet passed in this new situation, nearly robbed
her of the good will of the whole of the little community to which she
belonged. It was the only day in the week in which the young work-women
were allowed some hours for recreation; they considered it, therefore,
as rightfully dedicated, after the church-service, to amusement with one
another; and Juliet, in refusing to join in a custom which they held to
be the basis of their freedom and happiness, appeared to them an
unsocial and haughty innovator. Yet neither wearying remonstrances, nor
persecuting persuasions, could prevail upon her to parade with them upon
the Steyne; to stroll with them by the sea-side; to ramble upon the
Downs; or to form a party for Shoreham, or Devil's Dyke.

Evil is so relative, that the same chamber, the lonely sadness of which,
since her privation of Gabriella, had become nearly insupportable to
her, was now, from a new contrast, almost all that she immediately
coveted. The bustle, the fatigue, the obtrusion of new faces, the spirit
of petty intrigue, and the eternal clang of tongues, which she had to
endure in the shop, made quiet, even in its most uninteresting dulness,
desirable and consoling.

To approach herself, as nearly as might be in her power, to the loved
society which she had lost, she destined this only interval of peace and
leisure, to her pen and Gabriella; and such was her employment, when the
sound of slow steps, upon the stairs, followed by a gentle tap at her
door, at once interrupted and surprised her. Miss Matson and her maids,
as well as her work-women, were spending their Sabbath abroad; and a
shop-man was left to take care of the house. The tap, however, was
repeated, and, obeying its call, Juliet beheld Sir Jaspar Herrington,
the gouty old Baronet.

The expression of her countenance immediately demanded explanation, if
not apology, as she stepped forward upon the landing-place, to make
clear that she should not receive him in her apartment.

His keen eye read her meaning, though, affecting not to perceive it, he
pleasantly said, 'How? immured in your chamber? and of a gala day?'

The recollection of the essential, however forced obligation, which she
owed to him, for her deliverance from the persecution of Miss Bydel,
soon dissipated her first impression in his disfavour, and she quietly
answered that she went very little abroad: but when she would have
enquired into his business, 'You can refuse yourself, then,' he cried,
pretending not to hear her, 'the honour--or pleasure, which shall we
call it? of sharing in the gaieties of your fair fellow-votaries to the
needle? I suspected you of this self-denial. I had a secret presentiment
that you would be insensible to the fluttering joys of your sister
spinsters. How did I divine you so well? What is it you have about you
that sets one's imagination so to work?'

Juliet replied, that she would not presume to interfere with the
business of his penetration, but that, as she was occupied, she must beg
to know, at once, his commands.

'Not so hasty! not so hasty!' he cried: 'You must shew me some little
consideration, if only in excuse for the total want of it which you have
caused in those little imps, that beset my slumbers by night, and my
reveries by day. They have gotten so much the better of me now, that I
am equally at a loss how to sleep or how to wake for them. 'Why don't
you find out,' they cry, 'whether this syren likes her new situation?
Why don't you discover whether any thing better can be done for her?'
And then, all of one accord, they so pommel and bemaul me, that you
would pity me, I give you my word, if you could see the condition into
which they put my poor conscience; however little so fair a young
creature may be disposed to feel pity, for such a hobbling, gouty old
fellow as I am!'

Softened by this benevolent solicitude, Juliet, thankfully, spoke of
herself with all the cheerfulness that she could assume; and, encouraged
by her lessened reserve, Sir Jaspar, to her unspeakable surprise, said,
'There is one point, I own, which I have an extreme desire to know; how
long may it be that you have left the stage, and from what latent
cause?'

No explanation, however, could be attempted: the attention of Juliet was
called into another channel, by the sound of a titter, which led her to
perceive Flora Pierson; who, almost convulsed with delight at having
surprised them, said that she had heard, from the shop-man, that Miss
Ellis and Sir Jaspar were talking together upon the stairs, and she had
stolen up the back way, and crept softly through one of the garrets, on
purpose to come upon them unawares. 'So now,' added she, nodding, 'we'll
go into my room, if you please, Miss Ellis; for I have got something
else to tell you! Only you must not stay with me long.'

'And not to tell me, too?' cried Sir Jaspar, chucking her under the
chin: 'How's this, my daffodil? my pink? my lilly? how's this? surely
you have not any secrets for me?'

'O yes, I have, Sir Jaspar! because you're a gentleman, you know, Sir
Jaspar. And one must not tell every thing to gentlemen, mamma says.'

'Mamma says? but you are too much a woman to mind what mamma says, I
hope, my rose, my daisy?' cried Sir Jaspar, chucking her again under the
chin, while she smiled and courtsied in return.

Juliet would have re-entered her chamber; but Flora, catching her gown,
said, 'Why now, Miss Ellis, I bid you come to my room, if you please,
Miss Ellis; 'cause then I can show you my presents; as well as tell you
something.--Come, will you go? for it's something that's quite a secret,
I assure you; for I have not told it to any body yet; not even to our
young ladies; for it's but just happened. So you've got my first
confidence this time: and you have a right to take that very kind of me,
for it's what I've promised, upon my word and honour, and as true as
true can be, not to tell to any body; not so much as to a living soul!'

To be freed quietly from the Baronet, Juliet consented to attend her;
and Flora, with many smiles and nods at Sir Jaspar, begged that he would
not be affronted that she did not tell all her secrets to gentlemen;
and, shutting him out, began her tale.

'Now I'll tell you what it is I'm going to tell you, Miss Ellis. Do you
know who I met, just now, upon the Steyne, while I was walking with our
young ladies, not thinking of any thing? You can't guess, can you? Why
Sir Lyell himself. I gave such a squeak! But he spoke to all our young
ladies first. And I was half a mind to cry; only I happened to be in one
of my laughing fits. And when once I am upon my gig, papa says, if the
world were all to tumble down, it would not hinder me of my smiling.
Though I am sure I often don't know what it's for. If any body asked me,
I could not tell, one time in twenty. But Sir Lyell's very clever;
cleverer than I am, by half, I believe. For he got to speak to me, at
last, so as nobody could hear a word he said, but just me. Nor I could
not, either, but only he spoke quite in my ear.'

'And do you think it right, Miss Pierson, to let gentlemen whisper you?'

'O, I could not bid him not, you know. I could not be rude to a
Knight-Baronet! Besides, he said he was come down from London, on
purpose for nothing else but to see me! A Knight-Baronet, Miss Ellis!
That's very good natured, is it not? I dare say he means something by
it. Don't you? However, I shall know more by and by, most likely; for he
whispered me to make believe I'd got a head-ache, and to come home by
myself, and wait for him in my own room: for he says he has brought me
the prettiest present that ever I saw from London. So you see how
generous he is; i'n't he? And he'll bring it me himself, to make me a
little visit. So then, very likely, he'll speak out. Won't he? But he
bid me tell it to nobody. So say nothing if you see him, for it will
only be the way to make him angry. I must not put the shop-man in the
secret, he says, for he shall only ask for old Sir Jaspar; and he shall
go to him first, and make the shop-man think he is with him all the
time. So I told our young ladies I'd got a head-ache, sure enough; but
don't be uneasy, for it's only make believe; for I'm very well.'

Filled with alarm for the simple, deluded maiden, Juliet now made an
undisguised representation of her danger; earnestly charging her not to
receive the dangerous visit.

But Flora, self-willed, though good natured, would not hear a word.

    No ass so meek;--no mule so obstinate.

She never contradicted, yet never listened; she never gave an opinion,
yet never followed one. She was neither endowed with timidity to suspect
her deficiencies, nor with sense to conceive how she might be better
informed. She came to Juliet merely to talk; and when her prattle was
over, or interrupted, she had no thought but to be gone.

'O yes, I must see him, Miss Ellis,' she cried; 'for you can't think how
ill he'll take it, if I don't. But now we have stayed talking together
so long, I can't shew you my presents till he is gone, for fear he
should come. But don't mind, for then I shall have the new ones to shew
you, too. But if I don't do what he bids me, he'll be as angry as can
be, for all he's my lover; (smiling.) He makes very free with me
sometimes; only I don't mind it; because I'm pretty much used to it,
from one or another. Sometimes he'll say I am the greatest simpleton
that ever he knew in his life; for all he calls me his angel! He don't
make much ceremony with me, when I don't understand his signs. But it
don't much signify, for the more he's angry, the more he's kind, when
it's over, (smiling.) And then he brings me prettier things than ever.
So I a'n't much a loser. I've no great need to cry about it. And he says
I'm quite a little goddess, often and often, if I'd believe him. Only
one must not believe the men over much, when they are gentlemen, I
believe.'

Juliet, kindly taking her hand, would have drawn her into her own
chamber; but they were no sooner in the passage, than Flora jumped back,
and, shaking with laughter at her ingenuity, shut and locked herself
into her room.

Juliet now renounced, perforce, all thought of serving her except
through the medium of Miss Matson; and she was returning, much vexed, to
her own small apartment, when she saw Sir Jaspar, who, leaning against
the banisters, seemed to have been waiting for her, step curiously
forward, as she opened her door, to take a view of her chamber. With
quick impulse, to check this liberty, she hastily pushed to the door;
not recollecting, till too late, that the key, by which alone it was
opened, was on the inside.

Chagrined, she repaired to Flora, telling the accident, and begging
admittance.

Flora, laughing with all her heart, positively refused to open the door;
saying that she would rather be without company.

The shop-man now came up stairs, to see what was going forward, and to
enquire whether Miss Pierson, who had told him that she was ill, found
herself worse. Flora, hastily checking her mirth, answered that her head
ached, and she would lie down; and then spoke no more.

The shop-man made an attempt to enter into conversation with Juliet; but
she gravely requested that he would be so good as to order a smith to
open the lock of her door.

He ought not, he said, to leave the house in the absence of Miss Matson;
but he would run the risk for the pleasure of obliging her, if she would
only step down into the shop, to answer to the bell or the knocker.

To this, in preference to being shut out of her room, she would
immediately have consented, but that she feared the arrival of Sir
Lyell Sycamore. She asked the shop-man, therefore, if there were any
objection to her waiting in the little parlour.

None in the world, he answered; for he had Miss Matson's leave to use it
when she was out of a Sunday; and he should be very glad if Miss Ellis
would oblige him with her company.

Juliet declined this proposal with an air that repressed any further
attempt at intimacy; and the shop-man returned to his post.

'I must not, I suppose,' the Baronet, then advancing, said, 'presume to
offer you shelter under my roof from the inclemencies of the staircase?
And yet I think I may venture, without being indecorous, to mention,
that I am going out for my usual airing; and that you may take
possession of your old apartment, upon your own misanthropical terms. At
all events, I shall leave you the door open, place some books upon the
table, take out my servants, and order that no one shall molest you.'

Extremely pleased by a kindness so much to her taste, Juliet would
gratefully have accepted this offer, but for the visit that she knew to
be designed for the same apartment; which the absence of its master was
not likely to prevent, as the pretence of writing a note, or his name,
would suffice with Sir Lyell for mounting the stairs. Who then could
protect Flora? Could Juliet herself come forward, when no one else
remained in the house, conscious, as she could not but be, of the
dishonourable views of which she, also, had been the object? The
departure of Sir Jaspar appeared, therefore, to be big with mischief;
and, when he was making a leave-taking bow, she almost involuntarily
said, 'You are forced, then, Sir, to go out this morning?'

Surprized and pleased, he answered, 'What! have my little fairy elves
given you a lesson of humanity? Nay, if so, though they should pommel
and maul me for a month to come, I shall yet be their obedient humble
servant.'

He then gave orders aloud that his carriage should be put up; saying,
that he had letters to write, and that his servants might go and amuse
themselves for an hour or two where they pleased.

Juliet, now, was crimsoned with shame and embarrassment. How account for
thus palpably wishing him to remain in the house? or how suffer him, by
silence, to suppose it was from a desire of his society? Her blushes
astonished, yet, by heightening her beauty, charmed still more than they
perplexed him. To settle what to think of her might be difficult and
teazing; but to admire her was easy and pleasant. He approached her,
therefore, with the most flattering looks and smiles; but, to avoid any
mistake in his manner of addressing her, he kept his speech back, with
his judgment, till he could learn her purpose.

This prudential circumspection redoubled her confusion, and she
hesitatingly stammered her concern that she had prevented his airing.

More amazed still, but still more enchanted, to see her thus at a loss
what to say, though evidently pleased that he had relinquished his
little excursion, he was making a motion to take her hand, which she had
scarcely perceived, when a violent ringing at the door-bell, checked
him; and concentrated all her solicitude in the impending danger of
Flora; and, in her eagerness to rescue the simple girl from ruin, she
hastily said: 'Can you, Sir Jaspar, forgive a liberty in the cause of
humanity? May I appeal to your generosity? You will receive a visitor in
a few minutes, whom I have earnest reasons for wishing you to detain in
your apartment to the last moment that is possible. May I make so
extraordinary a request?'

'Request?' repeated Sir Jaspar, charmed by what he considered as an
opening to intimacy; 'can you utter any thing but commands? The most
benignant sprite of all Fairyland, has inspired you with this gracious
disposition to dub me your knight.'

Yet his eyes, still bright with intelligence, and now full of fanciful
wonder, suddenly emitted an expression less rapturous, when he
distinguished the voice of Sir Lyell Sycamore, in parley with the
shop-man. Disappointment and chagrin soon took place of sportive
playfulness in his countenance; and, muttering between his teeth, 'O ho!
Sir Lyell Sycamore!'--he fixed his keen eyes sharply upon Juliet; with a
look in which she could not but read the ill construction to which her
seeming knowledge of that young man's motions, and her apparent interest
in them, made her liable; and how much his light opinion of Sir Lyell's
character, affected his partial, though still fluctuating one of her
own.

Sir Lyell, however, was upon the stairs, and she did not dare enter into
any justification; Sir Jaspar, too, was silent; but the young baronet
mounted, singing, in a loud voice,

    O my love, lov'st thou me?
    Then quickly come and see one who dies for thee!

'Yes here I come, Sir Lyell!'--in a low, husky, laughing voice, cried
Flora, peeping through her chamber-door; which was immediately at the
head of the stairs, upon the second floor; and to which Sir Lyell looked
up, softly whispering, 'Be still, my little angel! and, in ten
minutes--' He stopt abruptly, for Sir Jaspar now caught his astonished
sight, upon the landing-place of the attic story, with Juliet retreating
behind him.

'O ho! you are there, are you?' he cried, in a tone of ludicrous
accusation.

'And you, you are there, are you?' answered Sir Jaspar, in a voice more
seriously taunting.

Juliet, hurt and confounded, would have escaped through the garret to
the back stairs, but that her hat and cloak, without which she could not
leave the house, were shut into her room. She tried, therefore, to look
unmoved; well aware that the best chance to escape impertinence, is by
not appearing to suspect that any is intended.

Three strides now brought Sir Lyell before her. His amazement, vented by
rattling exclamations, again perplexed Sir Jaspar; for how could Juliet
have been apprized of his intended visit, but by himself?

Sir Lyell, mingling the most florid compliments upon her radiant beauty,
and bright bloom, with his pleasure at her sight, said that, from the
reports which had reached him, that she had given up her singing, and
her teaching, and that Sir Jaspar had taken the room which she had
inhabited, he had concluded that she had quitted Brighthelmstone. He was
going rapidly on in the same strain, the observant Sir Jaspar intently
watching her looks, while curiously listening to his every word; when
Juliet, without seeming to have attended to a syllable, related, with
grave brevity, that she had unfortunately shut in the key of her room,
and must therefore seek Miss Matson, to demand another; and then, with
steady steps, that studiously kept in order innumerable timid fears, she
descended to the shop; leaving the two Baronets mutually struck by her
superiour air and manner; and each, though equally desirous to follow
her, involuntarily standing still, to wait the motions of the other; and
thence to judge of his pretensions to her favour.

Juliet found the shop empty, but the street-door open, and the shop-man
sauntering before it, to look at the passers by. Glad to be, for a
while, at least, spared the distaste of his company, she shut herself
into the little parlour, carefully drawing the curtain of the
glass-door.

The two Baronets, as she expected, soon descended; the younger one eager
to take leave of the elder, and privately re-mount the stairs; and Sir
Jaspar, fixed to obey the injunctions, however unaccountable, of Juliet,
in detaining and keeping sight of him to the last moment.

'Decamped, I swear, the little vixen!' exclaimed Sir Lyell, striding in
first; 'but why the d--l do you come down, Sir Jaspar?'

'For exercise, not ceremony,' he answered; though, little wanting
further exertion, and heartily tired, he dropt down upon the first
chair.

Sir Lyell vainly offered his arm, and pressed to aid him back to his
apartment; he would not move.

After some time thus wasted, Sir Lyell, mortified and provoked, cast
himself upon the counter, and whistled, to disguise his ill humour.

A pause now ensued, which Sir Jaspar broke, by hesitatingly, yet with
earnestness, saying, 'Sir Lyell Sycamore, I am not, you will do me the
justice to believe, a sour old fellow, to delight in mischief; a surly
old dog, to mar the pleasures of which I cannot partake; if, therefore,
to answer what I mean to ask will thwart any of your projects, leave me
and my curiosity in the lurch; if not, you will sensibly gratify me, by
a little frank communication. I don't meddle with your affair with
Flora; 'tis a blooming little wild rose-bud, but of too common a species
to be worth analysing. This other young creature, however, whose wings
your bird-lime seems also to have entangled--'

'How so?' interrupted Sir Lyell, jumping eagerly from the counter, 'what
the d--l do you mean by that?'

'Not to be indiscreet, I promise you,' answered Sir Jaspar; 'but as I
see the interest she takes in you,--'

'The d--l you do?' exclaimed Sir Lyell, in an accent of surprize, yet of
transport.

Sir Jaspar now, ironically smiling, said, 'You don't know it, then, Sir
Lyell? You are modest?--diffident? unconscious?--'

'My dear boy!' cried Sir Lyell, riotously, and approaching familiarly to
embrace him, 'what a devilish kind office I shall owe you, if you can
put any good notions into my head of that delicious girl!'

New doubts now destroying his recent suspicions, Sir Jaspar held back,
positively refusing to clear up what had dropt from him, and laughingly
saying, 'Far be it from me to put any such notions into your head! I
believe it amply stored! All my desire is to get some out of it. If,
therefore, you can tell me, or, rather, will tell me, who or what this
young creature is, you will do a kind office to my imagination, for
which I shall be really thankful. Who is she, then? And what is she?'

'D--l take me if I either know or care!' cried Sir Lyell, 'further than
that she is a beauty of the first water; and that I should have adored
her, exclusively, three months ago, if I had not believed her a thing of
alabaster. But if you think her--'

'Not I! not I!--I know nothing of her!' interrupted Sir Jaspar: 'she is
a rose planted in the snow, for aught I can tell! The more I see, the
less I understand; the more I surmize, the further I seem from the mark.
Honestly, then, whence does she come? How did you first see her? What
does she do at Brighthelmstone?'

'May I go to old Nick if I am better informed than yourself! except that
she sings and plays like twenty angels, and that all the women are
jealous of her, and won't suffer a word to be said to her. However, I
made up to her, at first, and should certainly have found her out, but
for Melbury, who annoyed me with a long history of her virtue, and
character, and Lady Aurora's friendship, and the d--l knows what; that
made me so cursed sheepish, I was afraid of embarking in any measures of
spirit. My sister, also, took lessons of her; and other game came into
chase; and I should never have thought of her again, but that, when I
went to town, a week or two ago, I learnt, from that Queen of the Crabs,
Mrs Howel, that Melbury, in fact, knows no more of her than we do. He
had nobody's world but her own for all her fine sentiments; so that he
and his platonics would have kept me at bay no longer, if I had not
believed her decamped from Brighthelmstone, upon hearing that you had
got her lodging. How came you to turn her into the garret, my dear boy?
Is that _a la mode_ of your _vieille cour_?'

Sir Jaspar protested that, when he took the apartment, he knew not of
her existence; and then enquired, whether Sir Lyell could tell in what
name she had been upon the stage; and why she had quitted it.

'The stage? O the d--l!' he exclaimed, 'has she been upon the stage?'

'Yes; I heard the fact mentioned to her, the other day, by a
fellow-performer! some low player, who challenged her as a sister of the
buskins.'

'What a glorious Statira she must make!' cried Sir Lyell. 'I am ready to
be her Alexander when she will. That hint you have dropt, my dear old
boy, sha'n't be thrown away upon me. But how the d--l did you find the
dear charmer out?'

Sir Jaspar again sought to draw back his information; but Sir Lyell
swore that he would not so lightly be put aside from a view of success,
now once it was fairly opened; and was vowing that he should begin a
siege in form, and persevere to a surrender; when the conversation was
interrupted, by the entrance of the shop-man, accompanied by a
mantua-maker, who called upon some business.

Juliet, who, from the beginning, had heard this discourse with the
utmost uneasiness, and whom its conclusion had filled with indignant
disgust; had no resource to avoid the yet greater evil of being joined
by the interlocutors, but that of sitting motionless and unsuspected,
till they should depart; or till Miss Matson should return. But her care
and precaution proved vain: the shop-man invited Mrs Hart, the
mantua-maker, into the little parlour; and, upon opening the door,
Juliet met their astonished view.

Sir Jaspar, not without evident anxiety, endeavoured to recollect what
had dropt from him, that might hurt her; or how he might palliate what
might have given her offence. But Sir Lyell, not at all disconcerted,
and privately persuaded that half his difficulties were vanquished, by
the accident that acquainted her with his design; was advancing,
eagerly, with a volley of rapid compliments, upon his good fortune in
again meeting with her; when Juliet, not deigning to seem conscious even
of his presence, passed him without notice; and, addressing Mrs Hart,
entreated that she would go up stairs to the room of Miss Pierson, to
examine whether it were necessary to send for any advice; as she had
returned home alone, and complained of being ill. Mrs Hart complied; and
Juliet followed her to Flora's chamber-door.




CHAPTER XLVII


The gentle tap that Mrs Hart, fearing to disturb her, gave at the door
of Flora, deceived the expecting girl into a belief that Sir Lyell was
at length arrived; and crying, in a low voice, as she opened it, 'O Sir!
how long you have been coming!' she stared at sight of Mrs Hart, with an
amazement equal to her disappointment.

Presently, however, with a dejected look and tone, 'Well, now!' she
cried, 'is it only you, Mrs Hart?--I thought it had been somebody quite
different!'

Mrs Hart, entering, enquired, with surprize, why Miss Ellis had said
that Miss Pierson was ill, when, on the contrary, she had never seen her
look better.

'Well, now, Miss Ellis,' cried Flora, whispering Juliet, 'did not I tell
you, as plain as could be, 'twas nothing but make believe?'

Juliet, without offering any apology, answered, that she had invited Mrs
Hart to make her a visit.

'Why, now, what can you be thinking of?' cried Flora, angrily: 'Why, you
know, as well as can be, that I want to see nobody! Why, have you forgot
all I told you, already, about you know who? Why I never knew the like!
Why he'll be fit to kill himself! I'll never tell you any thing again,
if you beg me on your knees! so there's the end to your knowing any more
of my secrets! and you've nobody but yourself to thank, if it vexes you
never so!'

Mrs Hart interrupted this murmuring, by enquiring who was the Sir that
Miss Pierson expected; adding that, if it were the shop-man, it would be
more proper Miss Pierson should go down stairs, than that she should let
him come up to her room.

'The shop-man?' repeated Flora, simpering, and winking at Juliet; 'no,
indeed, Mrs Hart; you have not made a very good guess there! Has she,
Miss Ellis? I don't think a man of quality, and a baronet, is very like
a shop-man! Do you, Miss Ellis?'

This blundering simplicity of vanity was not lost upon Mrs Hart. 'O ho!'
she cried, 'you expect a baronet, do you, then, Miss Pierson? Why there
were no less than two Baronets in the shop as I came through, just now;
and there's one of them this minute crossing the way, and turning the
corner.'

'O Me! is he gone, then?' cried Flora, looking out of the window. 'O Me!
what shall I do? O Miss Ellis! this is all your fault! And now, perhaps,
he'll be so angry he'll never speak to me again! And if he don't, ten to
one but it may break my heart! for that often happens when one's crossed
in love. And if it does, I sha'n't thank you for it, I assure you! And
it's just as likely as not!'

Juliet, though she sought to appease both her grief and her wrath, could
not but rejoice that their unguarded redundance informed Mrs Hart of the
whole history: and Mrs Hart, who, though a plain, appeared to be a very
worthy woman, immediately endeavoured to save the poor young creature,
from the snares into which she was rather wilfully jumping, than
deludedly falling, by giving her a pressing invitation to her own house
for the rest of the day. But to this, neither entreaty nor reproof could
obtain consent. Flora, like many who seem gentle, was only simple; and
had neither docility nor comprehension for being turned aside from the
prosecution of her wishes. To be thwarted in any desire, she considered
as cruelty, and resented as ill treatment. She refused, therefore, to
leave the house, while hoping for the return of Sir Lyell; and continued
her childish wailing and fretting, till accident led her eyes to a
favourite little box; when, her tears suddenly stopping, and her face
brightening, she started up, seized, opened it, and, displaying a very
pretty pair of ear-rings, exclaimed, 'Oh, I have never shewn you my
presents, Miss Ellis! And now Mrs Hart may have a peep at them, too. So
she's in pretty good luck, I think!'

And then, with exulting pleasure, she produced all the costly trinkets
that she had received from Sir Lyell; with some few, less valuable,
which had been presented to her by Sir Jaspar; and all the baubles,
however insignificant or babyish, that had been bestowed upon her by her
friends and relatives, from her earliest youth. And these, with the
important and separate history of each, occupied, unawares, her time,
till the return of Miss Matson.

Mrs Hart then descended, and, urged by Juliet, briefly and plainly
communicated the situation and the danger of the young apprentice.

Miss Matson, affrighted for the credit of her shop, determined to send
for the mother of Flora, who resided at Lewes, the next day.

Relieved now from her troublesome and untoward charge, Juliet had her
door opened, and re-took possession of her room.

And there, a new view of her own helpless and distressed condition,
filled and dejected her with new alarm. The licentiously declared
purpose of Sir Lyell had been shocking to her ears; and the
consciousness that he knew that she was informed of his intention added
to its horrour, from her inability to shew her resentment, in the only
way that suited her character or her disposition, that of positively
seeing him no more. But how avoid him while she had no other means of
subsistence than working in an open shop?

The following morning but too clearly justified her apprehensive
prognostics, of the improprieties to which her defenceless state made
her liable. At an early hour, Sir Lyell, gay, courteous, gallant,
entered the shop, under pretence of enquiring for Sir Jaspar; whom he
knew to be invisible, from his infirmities, to all but his own nurses
and servants, till noon. Miss Matson was taciturn and watchful, though
still, from the fear of making an enemy, respectful; while Flora,
simpering and blushing, was ready to jump into his arms, in her
eagerness to apologize for not having waited alone for him, according to
his directions: but he did not look at Miss Matson, though he addressed
her; nor address Flora, though, by a side glance, he saw her
expectations; his attention, from the moment that he had asked, without
listening to any answer, whether he could see Sir Jaspar, was all, and
even publicly devoted to Juliet; whom he approached with an air of
homage, and accosted with the most flattering compliments upon her good
looks and her beauty.

Juliet turned aside from him, with an indignant disgust, in which she
hoped he would read her resentment of his scheme, and her abhorrence of
his principles. But those who are deep in vice are commonly incredulous
of virtue. Sir Lyell took her apparent displeasure, either for a
timidity which flattery would banish, or an hypocrisy which boldness
would conquer. He continued, therefore, his florid adulation to her
charms; regarding the heightened colour of offended purity, but as an
augmented attraction.

Juliet perceived her failure to repress his assurance, with a
disturbance that was soon encreased, by the visible jealousy manifested
in the pouting lips and frowning brow of Flora; who, the moment that
Sir Lyell, saying that he would call upon Sir Jaspar again, thought it
prudent to retire, began a convulsive sobbing; averring that she saw why
she had been betrayed; for that it was only to inveigle away her
sweetheart.

Pity for the ignorant accuser, might have subdued the disdain due to the
accusation, and have induced Juliet to comfort her by a self-defence;
but for a look, strongly expressing a suspicion to the same effect, from
Miss Matson; which was succeeded by a general tossing up of the chins of
the young work-women, and a murmur of, 'I wonder how she would like to
be served so herself!'

This was too offensive to be supported, and she retired to her chamber.

If, already, the mingled frivolity and publicity of the business into
which she had entered, had proved fatiguing to her spirits, and ungenial
to her disposition; surmises, such as she now saw raised, of a petty and
base rivality, urged by a pursuit the most licentious, rendered all
attempt at its continuance intolerable. Without, therefore, a moment's
hesitation, she determined to relinquish her present enterprise.

The only, as well as immediate notion that occurred to her, in this new
difficulty, was to apply to Mrs Hart, who seemed kind as well as civil,
for employment.

When she was summoned, therefore, by Miss Matson, with surprize and
authority, back to the shop, she returned equipped for going abroad;
and, after thanking her for the essay which she had permitted to be made
in the millinery-business, declared that she found herself utterly unfit
for so active and so public a line of life.

Leaving then Miss Matson, Flora, and the young journey-women to their
astonishment, she bent her course to the house of Mrs Hart; where her
application was happily successful. Mrs Hart had work of importance just
ordered for a great wedding in the neighbourhood, and was glad to engage
so expert a hand for the occasion; agreeing to allow, in return, bed,
board, and a small stipend per day.

With infinite relief, Juliet went back to make her little preparations,
and take leave of Miss Matson; by whom she was now followed to her room,
with many earnest instances that she would relinquish her design. Miss
Matson, in unison with the very common character to which she belonged,
had appreciated Juliet not by her worth, her talents, or her labours,
but by her avowed distress, and acknowledged poverty. Notwithstanding,
therefore, her abilities and her industry, she had been uniformly
considered as a dead weight to the business, and to the house. But now,
when it appeared that the pennyless young woman had some other resource,
the eyes of Miss Matson were suddenly opened to merits to which she had
hitherto been blind. She felt all the advantages which the shop would
lose by the departure of such an assistant; and recollected the many
useful hints, in fashion and in elegance, which had been derived from
her taste and fancy: her exemplary diligence in work; her gentle
quietness of behaviour; and the numberless customers, which the various
reports that were spread of her history, had drawn to the shop. All,
now, however, was unavailing; the remembrance of what was over occurred
too late to change the plan of Juliet; though a kinder appreciation of
her character and services, while she was employed, might have engaged
her to try some other method of getting rid of the libertine Baronet.

Miss Matson then admonished her not to lose, at least, the benefit of
her premium.

'What premium?' cried Juliet.

'Why that Sir Jaspar paid down for you.'

Juliet, astonished, now learnt, that her admission as an inmate of the
shop, which she had imagined due to the gossipping verbal influence of
Miss Bydel, was the result of the far more substantial money-mediation
of Sir Jaspar.

She felt warmly grateful for his benevolence; yet wounded, in reflecting
upon his doubts whether she deserved it; and confounded to owe another,
and so heavy an obligation, to an utter stranger.

She was finishing her little package, when the loud sobbings of Flora,
while mounting the stairs for a similar, though by no means as voluntary
a purpose, induced her to go forth, with a view to offer some
consolation; but Flora, not less resentful than disconsolate, said that
her mother was arrived to take her from all her fine prospects; and
loaded Juliet with the unqualified accusation, of having betrayed her
secrets, and ruined her fortune.

Juliet had too strong a mind to suffer weak and unjust censure to breed
any repentance that she had acted right. She could take one view only of
the affair; and that brought only self-approvance of what she had done:
if Sir Lyell meant honourably, Flora was easily followed; if not, she
was happily rescued from earthly perdition.

Nevertheless, she had too much sweetness of disposition, and too much
benevolence of character, to be indifferent to reproach; though her
vain efforts, either to clear her own conduct, or to appease the angry
sorrows of Flora, all ended by the indignantly blubbering damsel's
turning from her in sulky silence.

Juliet then took a quick leave of Miss Matson, and of the young
journey-women; and repaired to her new habitation.




CHAPTER XLVIII


Experience, the mother of caution, now taught Juliet explicitly to make
known to her new chief, that she had no view to learn the art of
mantua-making as a future trade, or employment; but simply desired to
work at it in such details, as a general knowledge of the use of the
needle might make serviceable and expeditious: no premium, therefore,
could be expected by the mistress; and the work-woman would be at
liberty to continue, or to renounce her engagement, from day to day.

This agreement offered to her ideas something which seemed like an
approach to the self-dependence, that she had so earnestly coveted: she
entered, therefore, upon her new occupation with cheerfulness and
alacrity, and with a diligence to which the hope, by being useful, to
become necessary, gave no relaxation.

The business, by this scrupulous devotion to its interests, was
forwarded with such industry and success, that she soon became the open
and decided favourite of the mistress whom she served; and who repaid
her exertions by the warmest praise, and proposed her as a pattern to
the rest of the sewing sisterhood.

This approbation could not but cheer the toil of one whose mind, like
that of Juliet, sought happiness, at this moment, only from upright and
blameless conduct. She was mentally, also, relieved, by the local change
of situation. She was now employed in a private apartment; and, though
surrounded by still more fellow-work-women than at Miss Matson's, she
was no longer constrained to remain in an open shop, in opposition alike
to her inclinations and her wishes of concealment; no longer startled by
the continual entrance and exit of strangers; nor exposed to curious
enquirers, or hardy starers; and no longer fatigued by the perpetual
revision of goods. She worked in perfect quietness, undisturbed and
uninterrupted; her mistress was civil, and gave her encouragement; her
fellow-semptresses were unobservant, and left her to her own reflexions.

It is not, however, in courts alone that favour is perilous; in all
circles, and all classes, from the most eminent to the most obscure, the
'Favourite has no friend[19]!' The praises and the comparisons, by which
Mrs Hart hoped to stimulate her little community to emulation, excited
only jealousy, envy, and ill will; and a week had not elapsed, in this
new and short tranquillity, before Juliet found that her superiour
diligence was regarded, by her needle-sisterhood, as a mean artifice 'to
set herself off to advantage at their cost.' Sneers and hints to this
effect followed every panegyric of Mrs Hart; and robbed approbation of
its pleasure, though they could not of its value.

[Footnote 19: Gray.]

Chagrined by a consequence so unpleasant, to an industry that demanded
fortitude, not discouragement; Juliet now felt the excess of her
activity relax; and soon experienced a desire, if not a necessity, to
steal some moments from application, for retirement and for herself.

Here, again, she found the mischief to which ignorance of life had laid
her open. The unremitting diligence with which she had begun her new
office, had advanced her work with a rapidity, that made the smallest
relaxation cause a sensible difference in its progress: and Mrs Hart,
from first looking disappointed, asked next, whether nothing more were
done? and then observed, how much quicker business had gone on the first
week. In vain Juliet still executed more than all around her; the
comparison was never made there, where it might have been to her
advantage; all reference was to her own setting out; and she was soon
taught to forgive the displeasure which, so inadvertently, she had
excited, when she saw the claims to which she had made herself liable,
by an incautious eagerness of zeal to reward, as well as earn, the
maintenance which she owed to Mrs Hart.

Alas, she thought, with what upright intentions may we be injudicious! I
have thrown away the power of obliging, by too precipitate an eagerness
to oblige! I retain merely that of avoiding to displease, by my most
indefatigable application! All I can perform seems but a duty, and of
course; all I leave undone, seems idleness and neglect. Yet what is the
labour that never requires respite? What the mind, that never demands a
few poor unshackled instants to itself?

From this time, the little pleasure which she had been able to create
for herself, from the virtue of her exertions, was at an end: to toil
beyond her fellow-labourers, was but to provoke ill will; to allow
herself any repose, was but to excite disapprobation. Hopeless,
therefore, either way, she gave, with diligence, her allotted time to
her occupation, but no more: all that remained, she solaced, by devoting
to her pen and Gabriella, with whom her correspondence,--her sole
consolation,--was unremitting.

This unaffected conduct had its customary effect; it destroyed at once
the too hardly earned favour of Mrs Hart, and the illiberal, yet too
natural enmity of her apprentices; and, in the course of a very few
days, Juliet was neither more esteemed, nor more censured, than any of
her sisters of the sewing tribe.

With the energy, however, of her original wishes and efforts, died all
that could reconcile her to this sort of life. The hope of pleasing,
which alone could soften its hardships, thus forcibly set aside, left
nothing in its place, but calmness without contentment; dulness without
serenity.

Experience is not more exclusively the guide of our judgment, than
comparison is the mistress of our feelings. Juliet now also found that,
local publicity excepted, there was nothing to prefer in her new to her
former situation; and something to like less. The employment itself was
by no means equally agreeable for its disciples. The taste and fancy,
requisite for the elegance and variety of the light work which she had
quitted; however ineffectual to afford pleasure when called forth by
necessity, rendered it, at least, less irksome, than the wearying
sameness of perpetual basting, running, and hemming. Her
fellow-labourers, though less pert and less obtrusive than those which
she had left, had the same spirit for secret cabal, and the same passion
for frolic and disguise; and also, like those, were all prattle and
confidential sociability, in the absence of the mistress; all sullenness
and taciturnity, in her presence. What little difference, therefore, she
found in her position, was, that there she had been disgusted by
under-bred flippancy; here, she was deadened by uninteresting monotony;
and that there, perpetual motion, and incessant change of orders, and of
objects, affected her nerves; while here, the unvarying repetition of
stitch after stitch, nearly closed in sleep her faculties, as well as
her eyes.

The little stipend which, by agreement, she was paid every evening,
though it occasioned her the most satisfactory, by no means gave her the
most pleasant feeling, of the day. However respectable reason and
justice render pecuniary emolument, where honourably earned; there is a
something indefinable, which stands between spirit and delicacy, that
makes the first reception of money in detail, by those not brought up to
gain it, embarrassing and painful.

During this tedious and unvaried period, if some minutes were snatched
from fatiguing uniformity, it was only by alarm and displeasure, through
the intrusion of Sir Lyell Sycamore; who, though always denied admission
to herself, made frequent, bold, and frivolous pretences for bursting
into the workroom. At one time, he came to enquire about a gown for his
sister, of which Mrs Hart had never heard; at another, to look at a
trimming for which she had had no commission; and at a third, to hurry
the finishing of a dress, which had already been sent home. The motive
to these various mock messages, was too palpable to escape even the most
ordinary observation; yet though the perfect conduct, and icy coldness
of Juliet, rescued her from all evil imputation amongst her companions,
she saw, with pique and even horrour, that they were insufficient to
repress the daring and determined hopes and expectations of the
licentious Baronet; with whom the unexplained hint of Sir Jaspar had
left a firm persuasion, that the fair object of his views more than
returned his admiration; and waited merely for a decent attack, or
proper offers, to acknowledge her secret inclinations.

Juliet, however shocked, could only commit to time her cause, her
consistency, her vindication.

Three weeks had, in this manner, elapsed, when the particular business
for which Mrs Hart had wanted an odd hand was finished; and Juliet, who
had believed that her useful services would keep her employed at her own
pleasure, abruptly found that her occupation was at an end.

Here again, the wisdom of experience was acquired only by distress. The
pleasure with which she had considered herself free, because engaged but
by the day, was changed into the alarm of finding herself, from that
very circumstance, without employment or home; and she now acknowledged
the providence of those ties, which, from only feeling their
inconvenience, she had thought oppressive and unnecessary. The
established combinations of society are not to be judged by the personal
opinions, and varying feelings, of individuals; but by general proofs of
reciprocated advantages. If the needy helper require regular protection,
the recompensing employer must claim regular service; and Juliet now
saw, that though in being contracted but by the day, she escaped all
continued constraint, and was set freshly at liberty every evening; she
was, a stranger to security, subject to dismission, at the mercy of
accident, and at the will of caprice.

Thus perplexed and thus helpless, she applied to Mrs Hart, for counsel
how to obtain immediate support. Gratified by the application, Mrs Hart
again recommended her as a pattern to the young sisterhood; and then
gave her advice, that she should bind herself, either to some milliner
or some mantua-maker, as a journey-woman for three years.

Painfully, again, Juliet attained further knowledge of the world, in
learning the danger of asking counsel; except of the candid and wise,
who know how to modify it by circumstances, and who will listen to
opposing representations.

Mrs Hart, from the moment that Juliet declined to be guided wholly by
her judgment, lost all interest in her young work-woman's distresses.
'If people won't follow advice,' she said, ''tis a sign they are not
much to be pitied.' Vainly Juliet affirmed, that reasons which she could
not explain, put it out of her power to take any measure so decisive;
that, far from fixing her own destiny for three years, she had no means
to ascertain, or scarcely even to conjecture, what it might be in three
days; or perhaps in three hours; although in the interval of suspense,
she was not less an object for present humanity, from the incertitude of
what either her wants or her abundance might be in future; vainly she
reasoned, vainly she pleaded. Mrs Hart always made the same reply: 'If
people won't follow advice, 'tis a sign they are not much to be pitied.'

In consequence of this maxim, Juliet next heard, that the small room and
bed which she occupied, were wanted for another person.

Alas! she thought, how long must we mingle with the world, ere we learn
how to live in it! Must we demand no help from the understandings of
others, unless we submit to renounce all use of our own?

These reflections soon led her to hit upon the only true medium, for
useful and safe general intercourse with the mass of mankind: that of
avowing embarrassments, without demanding counsel; and of discussing
difficulties, and gathering opinions, as matters of conversation; but
always to keep in mind, that to ask advice, without a predetermination
to follow it, is to call for censure, and to risk resentment.

Thus died away in Juliet the short joy of freedom from the controul of
positive engagements.

Such freedom, she found, was but a source of perpetual difficulty and
instability. She had the world to begin again; a new pursuit to fix
upon; new recommendations to solicit; and a new dwelling to seek.




CHAPTER XLIX


Juliet was making enquiries of the young work-women, for a
recommendation to some small lodging, when she was surprised by the
receipt of a letter from Mrs Pierson, soliciting her company immediately
at Lewes; where poor Flora, she said, was taken dangerously ill of a
high fever, and was raving, continually, for Miss Ellis. A return
post-chaise to the postilion of which Mrs Pierson had given directions
to call at Mrs Hart's, at three o'clock in the afternoon, would bring
her, for nearly nothing; if she would have so much charity as to come
and comfort the poor girl; and Mrs Pierson would find a safe conveyance
back at night, if Miss Ellis could not oblige them by sleeping at the
house: but she hoped that Mrs Hart would not refuse to spare her from
her work, for a few hours, as it might produce a favourable turn in the
disorder.

Juliet read this letter with real concern. Had she rescued the poor,
weak, and wilful Flora from immediate moral, only to devote her to
immediate physical, destruction? And what now could be devised for her
relief? Her intellects were too feeble for reason, her temper was too
petulant for entreaty. Nevertheless, the benevolent are easily urged to
exertion; and Juliet would not refuse the summons of the distressed
mother, while she could flatter herself that any possible means might be
suggested for serving the self-willed, and half-witted, but innocent
daughter.

She set out, therefore, upon this plan, far from sanguine of success,
but persuaded that the effort was a duty.

By her own calculations from memory, she was arrived within about a mile
of Lewes, when the horses suddenly turned down a narrow lane.

She demanded of the postilion why he did not proceed straight forward.
He answered, that he knew a short cut to the house of Mrs Pierson.
Uneasy, nevertheless, at quitting thus alone the high road, she begged
him to go the common way, promising to reward him for the additional
time which it might require. But he drove on without replying; though,
growing now alarmed, she called, supplicated, and menaced in turn.

She looked from window to window to seek some object to whom she might
apply for aid; none appeared, save a man on horseback, whom she had
already noticed from time to time, near the side of the chaise; and to
whom she was beginning to appeal, when she surprised him making signs to
hurry on the postilion.

She now believed the postilion himself to be leagued with some
highwayman; and was filled with affright and dismay.

The horses galloped on with encreased swiftness, the horseman always
keeping closely behind the chaise; till they were stopt by a small cart,
from which Juliet had the joy to see two men alight, forced, by the
narrowness of the road, to take off their horse, and drag back their
vehicle.

She eagerly solicited their assistance, and made an effort to open the
chaise door. This, however, was prevented by the pursuing horseman, who,
dismounting, opened it himself; and, to her inexpressible terrour,
sprung into the carriage.

What, then, was her mingled consternation and astonishment, when,
instead of demanding her purse, he gaily exclaimed, 'Why are you
frightened, you beautiful little creature?' And she saw Sir Lyell
Sycamore.

A change, but not a diminution of alarm, now took place; yet, assuming a
firmness that sought to conceal her fears, 'Quit the chaise, Sir Lyell,'
she cried, 'instantly, or you will compel me to claim protection from
those two men!'

'Protection? you pretty little vixen!' cried he, yet more familiarly,
'who should protect you like your own adorer?'

Juliet, leaning out, as far as was in her power, from the chaise-window,
called with energy for help.

'What do you mean?' cried he, striving to draw her back. 'What are you
afraid of? You don't imagine me such a blundering cavalier, as to intend
to carry you off by force?'

The postilion was assisting the two men to fix their horse, for dragging
back their cart; but her cries reached their ears, and one of them,
advancing to the chaise, exclaimed, 'Good now! if it is not Miss Ellis!'
And, to her infinite relief and comfort, she beheld young Gooch.

She entreated him to open the door; but, lolling his arms over it,
without attending to her, he said, 'Well! to see but how things turn
out! Here have I been twice this very morning, at your new lodgings, to
let you know it's now or never, for our junket's to night; and the old
gentlewoman that keeps the house, who's none of the good-naturedest, as
I take it, would never let me get a sight of you, say what I would; and
here, all of the sudden, when I was thinking of you no more than if you
had never been born, I come pop upon you, as one may say, within
cock-crow of our very door; all alone, with only the young Baronight!'

Nearly as much shocked, now, as, the moment before, she had been
relieved, Juliet eagerly declared, that she was not with any body; she
was simply going to Lewes upon business.

'Why then,' cried he, 'the Baronight must be out his head, begging his
pardon, to let you come this way; and the postilion as stupid as a post;
for it's quite the contrary. It will lead you to you don't know where.
We only turned down it ourselves, just to borrow a few glasses, of
farmer Barnes, because we've more mouths than we have got of our own:
for I've invited all our club; which poor dad don't much like. He says I
am but a bungler at saving money, any more than at getting it; but I am
as rare a hand as any you know, far or near, says the old gentleman, for
spending it. The old gentleman likes to say his say. However, I must not
leave my horse to his gambols.'

Then nodding, still without listening to Juliet, he returned to his
_chay-cart_.

Juliet now unhasped the chaise-door herself, and was springing from the
carriage; when Sir Lyell, forcibly holding her, exclaimed, 'What would
you do, you lovely termagant? Would you make me pass for a devil of a
ravisher? No, no, no! you handsome little firebrand! name your terms,
and command me! I know you love me,--and I adore you. Why then this idle
cruelty to us both? to nature itself; and to beauty?'

More and more indignant, Juliet uttered a cry for help, that immediately
brought back young Gooch, who was followed by an elderly companion.

Provoked and resentful, yet amazed and ashamed, the Baronet jumped out
of the chaise, saying, with affected contempt, yet stronger pique,
'Yes! help, gentlemen, help! come quick! quick! Miss Ellis is taken
suddenly ill!'

The insolent boldness of this appeal, was felt only by Juliet; whose
scorn, however potent, was less prevalent than her satisfaction, upon
beholding her old friend Mr Tedman. She descended to meet him, with an
energetic 'Thank Heaven!' and an excess of gladness, not more tormenting
to the Baronet, than unexpected by himself. 'Well, this is very kind of
you, indeed, my dear,' cried he, heartily shaking hands with her; 'to be
so glad to see me; especially after the ungenteel way I was served in by
your lodging-gentlewoman, making no more ceremony than refusing to let
me up, under cover that you saw no gentlemen; though I told her what a
good friend I had been to you; and how you learnt my darter the musics;
and how I used to bring you things; and lend you money; and that; and
how I was willing enough to do the like again, put in case you was in
need: but I might just as well have talked to the post; which huffed me
a little, I own.'

'O, those old gentlewomen,' interrupted Gooch, 'are always like that.
One can never make any thing of 'em. I don't over like them myself, to
tell you the truth.'

Juliet assured them that, having no time but for business, her
injunctions of non-admission had been uniform and universal; and ought
not, therefore, to offend any one. She then requested Mr Tedman to order
that the postilion would return to the high road; which he had quitted
against her positive direction; and to have the goodness to insist upon
his driving her by the side of his own vehicle, till they reached Lewes.

Tedman, looking equally important and elated, again heartily shook hands
with her, and said, 'My dear, I'll do it with pleasure; or, I'll engage
Tim to send off your chay, and I'll take you in his'n; put in case it
will be more to your liking; for I am as little agreeable as you are, to
letting them rascals of drivers get the better of me.'

Juliet acceded to this proposal, in which she saw immediate safety, with
the most lively readiness; entreating Mr Tedman to complete his
kindness, in extricating her from so suspicious a person, by paying him
the half-crown, which she had promised him, for carrying her to Lewes.

'Half-a-crown?' repeated Mr Tedman, angrily refusing to take it. 'It's
too much by half, for coming such a mere step; put in case he did not
put to o'purpose. You're just like the quality; and they're none of
your sharpest; to throw away your money, and know neither the why nor
the wherefore.'

The Baronet, with a loud oath, said that the postilion was a scoundrel,
for having offended the young lady; and menaced to inform against him,
if he received a sixpence.

The postilion made no resistance; the horses were taken off, and the
chaise was drawn back to the high road. The little carriage belonging to
young Gooch followed, into which Juliet, refusing all aid but from Mr
Tedman, eagerly sprang; and her old friend placed himself at her side;
while Gooch took the reins.

Sir Lyell looked on, visibly provoked; and when they were driving away,
called out, in a tone between derision and indignation, 'Bravo, Mr
Tedman! You are still, I see, the happy man!'

Young Gooch, laughing without scruple, smacked his horse; while Mr
Tedman angrily muttered, 'The quality always allows themselves to say
any thing! They think nothing of that! All's one to them whether one
likes it or not.'

The design of Juliet was, when safely arrived at the farm, which was
within a very short walk of the town of Lewes, to beg a safe guide to
accompany her to the house of Mrs Pierson; where she resolved to pass
the night; and whence she determined to write to Elinor, and solicit an
interview; in which she meant to lay open her new difficulties, in the
hope of re-awakening some interest that might operate in her favour.

To save herself from the vulgar forwardness of ignorant importunity, she
forbore to mention her plan, till she alighted from the little vehicle,
at the gate of the farm-yard.

'Goodness! Ma'am,' then cried young Gooch, 'you won't think of such a
thing as going away, I hope, before you've well come? Why our sport's
all ready! why, if you'll step a little this way, you may see the three
sacks, that three of our men are to run a race in! There'll be fine
scrambling and tumbling, one o' top o' t'other. You'll laugh till you
split your sides. And if you'll only come here, to the right, I'll shew
you the stye where our pig is, that's to be caught by the tail. But it
will be well soaped, I can tell you; so it will be no such easy thing.'

Slightly thanking him, Juliet applied for aid, in procuring her a
conductor, to Mr Tedman; who, though at first he pressed her to stay, as
she might get a little amusement so pure cheap, since it would cost
nothing but looking on; no sooner heard her pronounce that she was
called away by business, than he ceased all opposition; and promised to
take care of her to Lewes himself, when he'd just spoken a word or two
to his cousin Gooch: 'For I can't go with you, my dear, only I and you,
you know, without that,' he said, 'just upon coming; for fear it should
put them upon joking; which I don't like; for all the quality's so fond
of it. Besides which, I must give in my presents; for this little
hamper's full of little odd things for the junket; and if I leave 'em
out here, to the mercy of nobody knows who, somebody or other'll be a
pilfering, as sure as a gun; put in case they smoke what I've got in my
hamper. And they're pretty quick at mischief.'

Juliet supplicated him to be speedy. Pleased to have his services
accepted, he put his hamper under his arm, and walked on to the house;
mindless of the impatient remonstrances of young Gooch, who exclaimed,
'Why now, who'd have thought this of the 'Squire? it's doing just
contrary; for he's the very person I thought would make you stay! for
he's come, as one may say, half o' purpose for your sake; for he never
plump accepted of our invitation till I told him, in my letter, of my
having invited of you. And then he said he would come.'

Then, lowering his voice into a whisper, he added, 'Between ourselves,
Ma'am, the poor 'Squire, my good cousin, don't get much for his money at
home, I believe. His daughter's got quite the top end; and she's none of
your obligingests; she won't do one mortal thing he desires. She's been
brought up at them fine boarding-schools, with misses that hold up their
heads so high, that nothing's good enough for 'em. So she's always
ashamed of her papa, because, she says, he's so mean; as he tells us.
The poor 'Squire, my cousin, don't much like it; but he can't help
himself. She's as exact like a fine lady as ever you see; and she won't
speak a word to any of her poor relations, because they are so low, she
says.' He then added, 'If you won't go while I'm gone, I'll give you as
agreeable a surprize as ever you had in your life!'

He ran on to the house.

In a few minutes, Juliet felt something tickle the nape of her neck,
and, imagining it to be an insect, she would have brushed it away with
her hand, but received, between her fingers, a pink; and, looking round,
saw Flora Pierson, nearly breathless from her efforts to smother a
laugh.

'Is it possible?' cried Juliet, in great amazement. 'Miss Pierson! I
thought you were ill in bed?'

No further efforts were necessary to repress the laugh; resentment,
rather than gravity, took its place, and, with pouting lips, and a
frowning brow, she answered, 'Ill? Yes! I have had enough to make me
ill, that's sure! It's more a wonder, by half, that I a'n't dead; for I
cried so that my eyes grew quite little; and I looked quite a fright;
and I grew so hoarse that nobody could tell a word I said; though I
talked enough, I'm sure; for nothing can hinder me of my talking, if it
was never so, papa says.'

Juliet now, upon closer enquiry, learnt that Flora had neither had a
fever, nor desired a meeting; and that Mrs Pierson had neither written
the letter, nor given any orders about a return post-chaise.

The passing suspicions which already had occurred to Juliet in disfavour
of Sir Lyell Sycamore, returned, now, with redoubled force. That he had
made signs to the driver to quit the high road, however dismaying, she
had attributed to sudden impulse, upon meeting her alone in a
post-chaise; and had not doubted that, upon seeing the sincerity of her
resentment, he would have retired with shame and repentance: but a plan
thus concerted to get her into his power, changed apprehension into
certainty, and indignation into abhorrence.

The happy accident to which she owed her escape, even from the
knowledge, till it was past, of her danger, she now blessed with
rapture; and the junket, so disdained and rejected, she now felt that
she could never recollect without grateful delight.

But how return to Brighthelmstone? What vehicle find? How trust herself
to any even when procured?

She enquired of Flora whether it were possible that Mrs Pierson could
grant her one night's lodging?

The smiles, the dimples, and the good humour of the simple girl, all
revived, and played about her pretty face, at this request. 'O yes!' she
cried. 'Miss Ellis, I shall be so glad to have you come! for mamma and I
are so dull together that I'm quite moped. I don't like it by half as
well as I did the shop. So many smart gentlemen and ladies coming in and
out every moment! dressed so nice, and speaking so polite! I'm obliged
to wear all my worst things, now, to save my others, mamma says, for
fear of the expence. And it makes me not look as well by half, as I did
at Miss Matson's. I looked well enough there, I believe; as people told
me; at least the gentlemen. But I go such a dowd, here, that it's enough
to frighten you. I'm sure when I go to the glass, and that's a hundred
times a-day, for aught I know, if it were counted, to see what sort of a
figure I make, I could break it with pleasure, for seeing me such a
disguise; for I look quite ugly, unless I happen to be in my smilings.'

This prattle was interrupted by a signal from Mr Tedman, that made
Juliet hope that he was now ready to depart; but, upon approaching him,
he only said, 'Come hither, my dear, and sit down a bit, upon this
bench, for we can't go yet. I have not given all my presents. And I
don't care to leave 'em!' winking significantly: 'not that I mean to
doubt any body; only it's as well have a sharp eye. We are all honestest
with good looking after.'

Juliet now was surrounded by young farmers, who offered her cakes or
ale, and asked her hand for the ensuing dance; while young Gooch
collected around him an admiring audience, to listen to his account, how
he and the young gentlewoman, who was so pretty, had acted together in a
play.

Mr Tedman then bid her divine how his cousin Gooch was employed, and why
the presents were not yet delivered? and upon her declared inability to
conjecture, 'Would you believe it, my dear?' he cried, 'For all Tim
drove us such a good round trot, the quality got the start of us! And
now he's in the kitchen, with cousin Gooch, taking a cup of ale!'

The disturbance of Juliet at this intelligence, he thought simply
surprize, and continued, 'Nay, it was not easy to guess, sure enough. He
must have rid over every thing, hedge, ditch, and the like. But your
quality's not over mindful of other people's property. He's come to buy
some hay. He come o'purpose, he says. And he's a mortal good customer,
for he says nothing but, "Mighty well! That's very reasonable, indeed! I
thought it had been twice the price!" Old coz chuckles, I warrant him!
Your quality's but a poor hand at a bargain. I would not employ 'em,
between you and I. They never know what they are about.'

They were now joined by Mr Gooch, a hale, hearty, cherry-cheeked dapper
farmer, fair in all his dealings, and upright in all his principles,
except when they had immediate reference to his professional profits.
'Well!' he cried, ''Squire!' rubbing his hands in great glee. 'I've had
a good chapman enough here! I've often seen un at our races, but I
little thought of having to chaffer with un. Howsever, one may have
worse luck with one's money. A don't much understand business. But who's
that pretty lass with ye, 'Squire? Some play-mate, I warrant, of cousin
Molly? And why did no' cousin Molly come, too? A'd a have been heartily
welcome. And perhaps a'd a picked up a sweetheart.'

'Stop, father, stop!' cried young Gooch: 'I've something to say to you.
You know how you've always stood to it, that you would not believe a
word about all those battles, and guillotines, and the like, of Mounseer
Robert Speer, in foreign parts; though I told you, over and over, that I
had it from our club? Well! here's a person now here, in your own
grounds, that's seen it all with her own eyes! So if you don't believe
it, never believe it as long as you live.'

'Like enough not, Tim,' answered the father: 'I do no' much give my mind
to believing all them outlandish fibs, told by travellers. I can hear
staring stories eno' by my own fire-side. And I a'n't over friendly to
believing 'em there. But, bless my heart! for a man for to come for to
go for to pretend telling me, because it be a great ways off, and I
can't find un out, that there be a place where there comes a man, who
says, every morning of his life, to as many of his fellow-creatures as a
can set eyes on, whether they be man, woman, or baby; here, mount me two
or three dozen of you into that cart, and go and have your heads chopt
off! And that they'll make no more ado, than go, only because they're
bid! Why if one will believe such staring stuff as that be, one may as
well believe that the moon be made of cream-cheese, and the like.
There's no sense in such a set of lies; for life's life every where,
even in France; though it be but a poor starving place, at best, without
pasture, or cattle; or corn, either, fit for a man for to eat.'

'Ay, father, ay; but Bob Spear, as we call him at our club--'

'Y're young, y're young, Tim,' interrupted Mr Gooch; 'and your
youngsters do believe every thing. When you've sowed your wild oats,
you'll know better. But we mustn't all be calves at the same time. If
there were none for to give milk, there'd be none for to suck. So it be
all for the best. And that makes me for to take it the less to heart,
when I do see you be such a gudgeon, Tim, with no more sense than to
swallow neat down every thing that do come in your way. But you'll never
thrive, Tim, till you be like to what I be; people do tell such a peck
of staring lies, that I do no' believe, nor I wo'no' believe one mortal
word by hear-say.'

'For my part,' said Mr Tedman, 'I never enquire into all that, whether
it be true, or whether it be false; because it's nothing to me either
way; and one wastes a deal of time in idle curiosity, about things that
don't concern one; put in case one can't turn them to one's profit.'

'That's true, coz,' said Mr Gooch; 'for as to profit, there be none to
come from foreign parts: for they be all main poor thereabout; for, they
do tell me, that there be not a man among un, as sets his eyes, above
once in his life, or thereabout, upon a golden guinea! And as to roast
beef and plum-pudding, I do hear that they do no' know the taste of such
a thing. So that they be but a poor stinted race at best, for they can
never come to their natural growth.'

'What, then, you do believe what folks tell you sometimes, father?'
cried the son, grinning.

'To be sure I do, Tim; when they do tell me somewhat that be worth a
man's hearing.'

They were now joined by Mr Stubbs, who, seeing Juliet, was happy in the
opportunity of renewing her favourite enquiries, relative to the
agricultural state of the continent.

Mr Gooch, extremely surprized, exclaimed, 'Odds heart! Why sure such a
young lass as that be, ha'n't been across seas already? Why a couldn't
make out their gibberish, I warrant me! for't be such queer stuff that
they do talk, all o'un, that there's no getting at what they'd be at;
unless one larns to speak after the same guise, like to our
boarding-school misses. I've seen one or two o'un myself, that passed
here about; but their manner o' talk was so out of the way, I could no'
make out a word they did say. T'might all be Dutch for me. And I found
'em vast ignorant. They knew no more than my horse when land ought to be
manured, from when it ought for to lie fallow. I did ask un a many
questions; but a could no' answer me, for to be understood.'

'But, for all that, Master Gooch,' said Mr Stubbs, 'my late Lord has
told me that France is sincerely a fine country, if they knew how to
make the most of it; but the waste lands are quite out of reason; for
they are such a boggling set of farmers, that they grow nothing but what
comes, as one may say, of itself.'

'France a fine country, Maister Stubbs? Well, that be a word I did no'
count to hear from a man of your sense. Why't be as poor a place as ye
might wish to set eyes on, all over-run with weeds, and frogs, and the
like. Why ye be as frenchified as Tim, making out them mounseers to be a
parcel of Jack the Giant-killers, lopping off heads for mere play, as a
body may say. However, here be one that's come to our hop, that be a
finer spark than there be in all France, I warrant me: for a makes a bow
as like to a mounseer, as if a was twin-brother to un; and a was so
ready to pay down his money handsomely, I could no' but say a'd be
welcome to our junket; for a says a does like such a thing more than all
them new fangled balls and concerts.'

'Oh, and you believe that upon hear-say do you, father?' cried Tim,
sneeringly.

'Yes, to be sure, I do, Tim. When a man do say a thing that ha' got some
sense in it, why should no' I believe un, Tim?'

Juliet, who from what had preceded, had concluded the Baronet to be
gone, earnestly now pressed Mr Tedman to fulfil his kind engagement; but
in vain: Mr Gooch brought his best silver tankard, to insist upon his
cousin's drinking success to the new purchase, that occasioned the
junket; and Tim was outrageous at the proposal of retiring, just as the
feats were going to commence. 'Before five minutes are over,' said he,
'the pig will begin!'

'Well,' answered Mr Tedman, 'it is but a silly thing, to be sure, things
of that sort; and I never give my mind to them; but still, as it's a
thing I never saw, put in case you've no objections, we'll just stay for
the pig, my dear.'

Flora, having now gathered that _the quality_ meant Sir Lyell Sycamore,
began dancing and singing, in a childish extacy of delight, that shewed
her already, in idea, Lady Sycamore, when, turning to Juliet with sudden
and angry recollection, her smiles, gaiety, and capering gave way to a
bitter fit of crying, and she exclaimed, 'But if he is here, it will be
nothing to me, I dare say, if Miss Ellis is here the while; for he won't
look at me, almost, when she is by: will he? For some people play one so
false, that one might as well be as ugly as the cat, almost, when they
are in the way.'

'Don't be fretted, Miss Flora,' cried young Gooch, soothingly; 'for I
shall ask Miss Ellis to dance myself; for as I shall begin the hop,
because of its being our own, I think I've a good right to chuse my
partner; so don't be fretted, so, Miss Flora, for you'll have the
Baronight left to you whether he will or no! But come; don't let's lose
time; if you'll follow me, you won't want sport, I can tell you; for the
beginning's to be a syllabub under the cow.'

Flora was not too proud to accept this consolation; but Juliet
positively declared that she should not dance; and earnestly entreated
that some one might be found to conduct her to Mrs Pierson's.

Flora, recovering her spirits, with the hopes of getting rid of her
rival, whispered, 'If you're in real right earnest, Miss Ellis, and
don't say you want to go, only to make a fool of me, which I shall take
pretty unkind, I assure you; why I can shew you the way so as you can't
miss it, if you'd never so. And I'm sure I shall be glad enough to have
you go, if I must needs speak without a compliment. Only don't tell
mamma who's here, for she don't like persons of quality, she says,
because of their bad designs; but I'm sure if she was to hear 'em talk
as I do, she'd think quite another opinion: wouldn't she?'

Fortunately for the intentions of Juliet, which were instantly to make
known to Mrs Pierson the new danger of her daughter, Flora waited not
for any answer to this injunction; but set out, prattling incessantly as
they went on, to put the willing Juliet on her way to Lewes.

The cry, however, from young Gooch, of 'Come! Where are the young
ladies? The pig's ready!' caught the ears of Flora, with charm not to be
resisted; and, hastily pointing out a style, to pass into the meadow,
and another, to pass thence to the high road, she capered briskly back;
fearing to miss some of the sport, if not a seat next to the Baronet.




CHAPTER L


Juliet, as earnest to avoid, as Flora felt eager to pursue, the opening
feats, hurried from the destined spot, after charging the simple damsel
not to make known her departure. Unavailing, however, was the caution;
and immaterial alike the prudence or the indiscretion of Flora: Juliet
had no sooner crossed the first style, than she perceived Sir Lyell
Sycamore sauntering in the meadow.

She would promptly have returned to the farm, but a shout of noisy
merriment reached her ears from the company that she was quitting, and
pointed out the danger of passing the evening in the midst of such
turbulent and vulgar revelry. She hastened, therefore, on; but neither
the lightness of her step, nor the swiftness of her speed, could save
her from the quick approach of the Baronet. 'My angel!' he cried,
'whither are you going? and why this prodigious haste? What is it my
angel fears? Can she suppose me rascal enough, or fool enough, to make
use of any violence? No, my angel, no! I only ask to be regaled, from
your own sweet lips, with the delicious tale of divine partiality, that
the quaint old knight began revealing. I sigh, I pant to hear
confirmed--'

'Hold, Sir Lyell!' interrupted Juliet. 'If Sir Jaspar is the author of
this astonishing mistake, I trust he will have the honour to rectify it.
When I named you to him, it was but with a view to rescue a credulous
young creature from your pursuit, whom I feared it might injure; not to
expose to it one whom it never can endanger; however deeply it may
offend.'

Struck and disappointed at the courage and coolness of this explanation,
Sir Lyell looked mortified and amazed; but, upon seeing her reach the
style, he sprang over it, and, recovering his usual effrontery, offered
her his hand.

Juliet knew not whether her risk were greater to proceed or to return;
but while she hesitated, a phaeton, which was driving by, stopt, and an
elderly lady, addressing the Baronet, in a tone of fawning courtesy,
enquired after his health, and added, 'So you are come to this famous
junket, Sir Lyell?'

Sir Lyell forced a laugh, and bowed low; though he muttered, loud enough
for Juliet to hear, 'What cursed spies!'

Juliet now perceived Mrs and Miss Brinville; and neither innocence, nor
contempt of calumny, could suppress a rising blush, at being surprised,
by persons already unfavourably disposed towards her, in a situation
apparently so suspicious.

The countenance of the mother exhibited strong chagrin at sight of
Juliet; while the daughter, in a tone of pique, said, 'No doubt but you
are well amused, Sir Lyell?'

They drove on; not, however, very fast, and with so little self-command,
as frequently to allow themselves to look back. This indelicacy, however
ill adapted to raise them in the esteem of the Baronet, at least rescued
Juliet from his persecution. Disconcerted himself, he felt the necessity
of decency; and, quitting her, with affected carelessness, he hummed an
air, while grumbling curses, and, swinging his switch to and fro, walked
off; not more careful that the ladies in the phaeton should see him
depart, than assiduous to avoid with them any sort of junction.

The relief caused to Juliet by his retreat, was cruelly clouded by her
terrour of the false suggestions to which this meeting made her liable.
Neither mother nor daughter would believe it accidental; nor credit it
to have been contrived without equal guilt in both parties. Is there no
end, then, she cried, to the evils of defenceless female youth? And,
even where actual danger is escaped, must slander lie in wait, to
misconstrue the most simple actions, by surmising the most culpable
designs?

Neither to follow the footsteps of Sir Lyell, nor to remain where he
might return, she was going back to the farm; when she was met by Flora,
who, with a species of hysterical laughter, nearly of kin to crying,
called out, 'So Ma'am! so Miss Ellis! I've caught you at last! I've
surprised you at last! a-courting with my sweetheart!'

Pitying her credulous ignorance, Juliet would have cleared up this
mistake; but the petulant Flora would not listen. 'I'll speak to the
gentleman myself!' she cried, running forward to the style; 'for I have
found out your design; so it's of no use to deny it! I saw you together
all the way I came; so you may as well not try to make a ninny of me,
Miss Ellis, for it i'n't so easy!'

Catching a glimpse of the Baronet as he descended the road, she jumped
over the style to run after him; but seeing him look round, and, though
he perceived her, quietly walk on, she stopt, crying bitterly: 'Very
well, Miss Ellis! very well! you've got your ends! I see that! and, I
don't thank you for it, I assure you, for I liked him very well; and it
i'n't so easy to find a man of quality every day; so it i'n't doing as
you'd be done by; for nobody likes much to be forsaken, no more than I,
I believe, for it i'n't so agreeable. And I had rather you had not
served me so by half! In particular for a man of quality!'

Juliet, though vainly, was endeavouring to appease and console her, when
a young lady, bending eagerly from the window of a post chaise which was
passing by, ejaculated, 'Ellis!' and Juliet, with extreme satisfaction,
perceived Elinor.

The chaise stopt, and Juliet advanced to it with alacrity; but before
she could speak, the impatient Elinor, still looking pale, meagre, and
wretched, burst forth, with rapid and trembling energy, into a string of
disordered, incoherent, scarcely intelligible interrogatories. 'Ellis!
what brings you to this spot?--Whither is it you go?--What project are
you forming?--What purpose are you fulfilling?--Whom are you
flying--Whom are you following?--What is it you design?--What is it you
wish?--Why are you here alone?--Where--Where--'

Leaning, then, still further out of the window, she fixed her nearly
haggard, yet piercing eyes upon those of Juliet, and, in a hollow voice,
dictatorially added: 'Where--tell me, I charge you! where--is Harleigh?'

Consternation at sight of her altered countenance, and affright at the
impetuosity of her questions, produced a hesitation in the answer of
Juliet, that, to the agitated Elinor, seemed the effect of surprised
guilt. Her pallid cheeks then burnt with the mixed feelings of triumph
and indig

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