THE loss of Sir Charles having clouded all Sophia’s views of happiness, she earnestly intreated Mr. Herbert’s permission to settle herself in that humble station to which providence seemed to call her; and as she believed Mrs. Gibbons might be very useful to her upon this occasion, she resolved to apply to her as soon as she had his answer.
Notwithstanding all her endeavours to bear this shock of fate with patience, a fixed melancholy took possession of her mind, convinced that Sir Charles had loved her, and that by an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances he had been prevented from giving her the utmost proof of his affection; her tenderness no longer combatted by suspicions to his prejudice, gained new force every day, and all his actions now appeared to her in a favourable point of view: so true it is, that when a person is found less guilty than he is suspected, he is concluded more innocent than he really is.
Mr. Herbert, after a long silence, at length acquainted her, that he was ill, and desired her not to leave Mr Lawson’s till she heard further from him.
The shortness of this billet, the trembling hand with which it appeared to be written, filled Sophia with the most dreadful apprehensions. Sir Charles was now forgot, and all her thoughts were taken up with the danger of her worthy friend: she determined to go to him; and although Mr. Lawson and his wife endeavoured to, dissuade her from taking such a journey, and William, urged by Dolly, and his own eagerness to serve her, offered to go and bring her an exact account of the state of his health, yet her purpose remained unalterable.
‘My dear benefactor is ill, said she, and has none but strangers about him: it is fit that I should go and attend him; and if I must lose him, pursued she, bursting into tears, it will be some comfort to me to reflect that I have done my duty.’
She set out early the next, morning in the stage-coach: Dolly wept at parting, and engaged her lover to attend Sophia to her journey’s end; that if Mr. Herbert should be worse than they apprehended, he might be near to assist and comfort her.
Sophia, when she saw him riding by the side of the coach, attempted to persuade him to return; but William charmed to have an opportunity of expressing his zeal for her service, would not quit her; and her spirits being too weak to contest this point with him, she was obliged to suffer his attendance.
They reached the place where Mr. Herbert was, in the evening of the third day: he had taken lodgings at the house, of a farmer, where he was attended with great tenderness and care.
Sophia, appeared with so deep a concern upon her countenance, and enquired for him with such extreme emotion, that the good woman of the house concluding she was his daughter, thought it necessary before she answered her questions, to preach patience and submission to her, wisely observing, that we are all mortal, and that death spares nobody, from the squire to the plowman.
She ran on in this manner till she perceived Sophia grow as pale as death, and close her eyes: she had just time to prevent her from falling, and with William’s assistance, placed her in a chair, where while she applied remedies to recover her from her swoon, the youth with tears in his eyes, asked her softly how long Mr. Herbert had been dead.
‘Dead! repeated the farmer’s wife, who told you he was dead? no, no, it is not so bad as that neither.’
William rejoiced to hear this, and as soon as Sophia shewed some signs of returning life, he greeted her with the welcome, news. She cast a look full of doubt and anguish upon the countrywoman, who confirmed his report, and offered to go with her to the gentleman’s room. Sophia instantly found her strength return; she followed her with trembling haste; and, left her presence should surprise Mr. Herbert, she directed the good woman to tell him, that a friend of his was come to see him.
She heard him answer in a weak voice, but with some emotion, “It is my dear child, bring her to me.”
Sophia immediately appeared, and throwing herself upon her knees at his bed-side, burst into tears, and was unable to speak.
The good old man holding one of her hands prest in his, tenderly blamed her for the trouble she had given herself in coming so far to visit him; but acknowledged at the same time, that this instance of her affection was extremely dear to him, and that her presence gave him inexpressible comfort.
Sophia entered immediately upon the office of a nurse to her benefactor, and performed all the duties of the most affectionate child to the best of parents.
Mr. Herbert employed the little remaining strength he had in endeavours to comfort her, and in pious exhortations. ‘Weep not for me, my dear child, would he say, but rather rejoice that the innocence of my life has diverted death of his terrors, and enabled me to meet him with calm resignation, and with humble hope. At this awful hour how little would it avail me, that I had been rich, that I had been great and powerful? but what comforts do I not feel from an unreproving conscience? these comforts every one has it in his power to procure; live virtuous then, my dear Sophia, that you may die in peace: how small is the difference between the longest and the shortest life! if its pleasures be few, its miseries are so likewise; how little do they enjoy whom the world calls happy! how little do they suffer whom it pronounces wretched! one point of fleeting time past, and death reduces all to an equality. But the distinction between virtue and vice, and its future happiness and misery are eternal.’
Sophia had need of all the consolation she derived from her reflections on the virtue and piety of her friend, to enable her to bear the apprehensions of his approaching death with any degree of fortitude; but when she least expected it, his distemper took a favourable turn, and in a few days the most dangerous symptoms were removed.
The Bath waters being judged absolutely necessary for the entire reestablishment of his health, he resolved to go thither as soon as he had recovered strength enough to bear the journey.
Sophia at his earnest desire consented to return to Mr. Lawson’s, and remain there till he came from Bath, but she would not quit him till he was able to take this journey; and by the sweetness of her conversation, her tender assiduity, and watchful care, contributed so much towards his recovery, that he was soon in a condition to travel with safety.
He accompanied her the first day’s journey to Mr. Lawson’s; and being met at the inn by this worthy friend and young William, he consigned his beloved charge to their care, and pursued his way to Bath.
Sophia was received with great joy by Mrs. Lawson and her daughters: Dolly hung a long time upon her neck in transports, and as soon as they were alone, informed her that Mrs. Gibbons and her mother were perfectly reconciled; that she had consented to her nephew’s marriage, and even shewed an impatience to conclude it: but I prevailed, said she, to have the ceremony delayed till you, my dear friend, could be present; for I could not think of being happy, while, you to whom I owe all, was afflicted.
Sophia embraced her tenderly, congratulated her upon her change of fortune, and gave many praises to her lover, to whom she acknowledged great obligations for his care and attention to her.
Dolly’s cheeks glowed with pleasure while she heard her William commended by one whom she so much loved and revered.
The young lovers were married a few days afterwards; and Sophia, who had so earnestly endeavoured to bring about this union, and had suffered so much in her own interest by her solicitude concerning it, was one of those to whom it gave the most satisfaction.
Mean time Mr. Herbert continued indisposed at Bath, and Sophia uneasy, left in this increase of his expences, her residence at Mr. Lawson’s should lay him under some difficulties, resolved to ease him as soon as possible of the charge of her maintenance: she explained her situation to Mrs. Gibbons, and requested her assistance in procuring her a place.
Mrs. Gibbons expressed great tenderness and concern for her upon this occasion, and assured her she would employ all her interest in her service. She accordingly mentioned her with great praise to a widow lady of a very affluent fortune, who had established such a character for generosity and goodness, that she hoped if she could be induced to take Sophia under her protection her fortune would be made.
Mrs. Howard, so was the lady called, no sooner heard that a young woman of merit, well born, and genteely educated was reduced to go to service for subsistence, than she exclaimed with great vehemence against the avarice and luxury of the rich and great, who either hoarded for their unthankful heirs, or lavished in expensive pleasures those superfluous sums which ought to be applied to the relief of the indigent. ‘Oh that I had a fortune, cried she, as large as my heart, there should not be one distressed person in the world! I must see this young lady Mrs. Gibbons, and I must do something for her. You have obliged me infinitely by putting it in my power to gratify the unbounded benevolence of my heart upon a deserving object.’
Mrs. Gibbons, when she related this conversation to Sophia, filled her with an extreme impatience to see the lady, not from any mean considerations of advantage to herself, but admiration of so excellent a character. She accompanied Mrs. Gibbons in a visit to her at her country-seat, which was but a few miles distant from the village where they lived; and Mrs. Howard was so pleased with her at this first interview, that she gave her an invitation to spend the remainder of the summer with her, and this in so obliging a manner, that Sophia immediately complied, not thinking it necessary to wait till she had consulted Mr. Herbert upon this offer, as she was fully persuaded he could have no objections to her accepting it, Mrs. Howard being so considerable by her family and fortune, and so estimable by her character.
This lady, who had made an early discovery of Sophia’s economical talents, set her to work immediately after her arrival; her task was to embroider a white sattin negligee, which she undertook with great readiness, pleased at having an opportunity of obliging a woman of so generous a disposition, and in some degree to requite her for her hospitality.
Mrs. Howard indeed always prevented those on whom she conferred favours from incurring the guilt of ingratitude; for she took care to be fully repaid for any act of benevolence; and having a wonderful art in extracting advantage to herself from the necessities of others, she sometimes sought out the unfortunate with a solicitude that did great honour to her charity, which was sure to be its own reward. A few ostentatious benefactions had sufficiently established her character; and while her name appeared among the subscribers to some fashionable charity, who could suspect that her table was served with a parsimony which would have disgraced a much smaller fortune; that her rents from her indigent tenants were exacted with the most unrelenting rigor, and the naked and hungry sent sighing from her gate?
Nothing is more certain than what is called liberality is often no more than the vanity of giving, of which some persons are fonder than of what they give. But the vanity of giving publicly is most prevailing; and hence it happens, that those who are most celebrated for their charity, are in reality least sensible to the feelings of humanity: and the same persons from whom the most affecting representation of private distress could not force the least relief, have been among the first to send their contributions to any new foundation.
Sophia knew not how to reconcile many circumstances in Mrs. Howard’s conduct, with her general professions of benevolence and generosity; but that lady had been so used to disguise herself to others, that at last she did not know herself; and the warmth and vehemence with which she delivered her sentiments imposed almost as much upon herself as her hearers.
Sophia’s amiable qualities however soon produced their usual effects, and inspired Mrs. Howard with as much friendship for her as so interested a temper was capable of. She wished to see her fortune established, and was very desirous of serving her as far as she could, consistent with her prudent maxims, which were to make other persons the source of those benefits, the merit of which she arrogated to herself.
Chance soon furnished her with an opportunity of exerting her talents in favour of Sophia, and of engaging, as she conceived, her eternal gratitude. A country lady of her acquaintance coming one day to visit her, with her son, a clownish ignorant youth, Mrs. Howard was encouraged by the frequent glances he gave Sophia, to form a scheme for marrying her to him; and in this she foresaw so many possible advantages to herself from Sophia’s grateful disposition, that she pursued it with the most anxious solicitude.
Mr. Barton, so was the young squire called, having conceived a liking for Sophia, repeated his visits frequently, emboldened by Mrs. Howard’s civilities, who took every occasion of praising Sophia, and insinuating that he would be extremely happy in such a wife.
She sometimes left him alone with Sophia, in hopes that he would declare his passion to her: but the rustic, awed by the dignity of her person and manners, durst not even raise his eyes to look on her; so that Mrs. Howard finding the affair did not advance so fast as she wished, rallied Sophia upon her: ill-timed reserve, and hinted her views in her favour, which she considering as an effect of her friendship, listened to with respect and even gratitude, though her heart refused to concur in them.
This conversation passed in the presence of Mrs. Howard’s only son, a youth about nineteen, who had come from the university to pass a few days with his mother. As soon as she had quitted Sophia he approached her, and with a look of tenderness and concern, told her, ‘He was sorry to find his mother so zealous an advocate for Mr. Barton, who could not possibly deserve her.’
‘Nor can I possibly deserve him, replied Sophia with a smile; he is too rich.’
‘Love only and merit can deserve you, resumed the young student, sighing, and if love was merit, I know one who might—hope—’
He paused and hesitated, and Sophia, to whom the language of love in any mouth but Sir Charles’s was odious, suddenly quitted him, to avoid the continuance of a discourse which she considered as mere unmeaning gallantry.
Mean time, her rustic lover not having courage enough to declare his passion to her, had recourse to the indulgence of his mother, who till that time had never refused any of his desires.
He told her that he never liked any young woman so well in his life as Mrs. Sophia Darnley; and that he was sure she would make a good wife, because Mrs. Howard had told him so, and encouraged him to break his mind to her, but he was ashamed: he declared he would marry no body else, and begged his mother to get her for him.
Mrs. Barton, full of rage against her neighbour, for thus endeavouring to ensnare her son into a marriage, as she conceived unworthy of him, resolved to go to her and load her with reproaches. While her chariot was getting ready, she continued to question her son, and heard a great many particulars from him which convinced her that his affections were more deeply engaged than she had imagined.
After ordering the young squire to be locked up till her return, she flew to Mrs. Howard, and with the most violent transports of rage, upbraided her with the treacherous part she had acted, by seducing her son into a liking for a poor creature who was a dependent upon her charity, and whom she took this method to get rid of.
Mrs. Howard, who held Mrs. Barton in great contempt, on account of her ignorance, and valued herself extremely upon her philosophic command over her passions, listened with an affected calmness to all Mrs. Barton’s invectives; and when she found she had railed herself out of breath, she began to declaim in a solemn accent against avarice, and that vile and fordid disposition of parents, who in the marriage of their children preferred the dross of riches to the real treasures of wisdom and virtue. She very charitably lamented Mrs. Barton’s want of discernment, and littleness of mind; and concluded that Miss Sophia’s, merit rendered her deserving of a husband even more considerable than Mr. Barton.
‘Then marry her to your own son, replied Mrs. Barton, with a sneer; no doubt but he will be more worthy of her.’
‘If my son should declare a passion for Miss Sophia, resumed Mrs. Howard, it would soon be seen how far my sentiments are exalted above yours.’
‘I am glad to hear this, returned Mrs. Barton, for I am very sure Mr. Howard is in love with this wonderful creature whom you praise so much; and since you are so willing to make her your daughter-in-law, I shall be under no fear of my son’s marrying her.’
Mrs. Howard, at this unexpected stroke, turned as pale as death, and with a faultering voice, asked her, ‘What reason she had for supposing her son was in love with Miss Sophia?’
Mrs. Barton, who enjoyed her perplexity and confusion, suffered her to repeat her questions several times, and then maliciously referred her to the young gentleman himself, ‘Who, said she, upon finding you so favourably disposed, will, I doubt not, be ready enough to own his inclinations.’
Mrs. Howard was now so far humbled, that she condescended to intreat Mrs. Barton to tell her what she knew of this affair.
‘All my information, said Mrs. Barton, comes from my son, to whom Mr. Howard, considering him as his rival, declared his better right to the lady, as having acquainted her with his passion.’
At this intelligence Mrs. Howards rage got so much the better of her prudence, that she uttered a thousand invectives against the innocent Sophia, which drew some severe sarcasms from Mrs. Barton, who being now fully revenged, rose up to be gone; but Mrs. Howard, sensible that a quarrel upon this occasion might have consequences very unfavourable to her reputation, seized her hand, and led her half reluctant, again to her chair, where, after she had soothed her into good humour, by some flattering expressions, which coming from one of her acknowledged understanding, had great weight. She told her with the most unblushing confidence, that she was now convinced she had been deceived in the character of the young woman on whom she had with her usual generosity conferred so many benefits. ‘I find to my inexpressible concern, pursued she, that this modest, sensible, and virtuous young creature, as I once believed her, is in reality an artful hypocrite, whose only aim is to make her fortune, by ensnaring some unexperienced youth into a marriage. Let us join our endeavours then, my dear Mrs. Barton, to preserve our sons from this danger: this is a common cause, all mothers are concerned in it; we will shew the young dissembler in her true colours, and prevent her imposing upon others as she has done on us.’
Mrs. Barton, who never carried her reflections very far, was so well pleased with Mrs. Howard’s present behaviour, that she forgot all the past: these two ladies became on a sudden the best friends in the world, and this union was to be cemented with the ruin of Sophia’s fame; such beginnings have certain female friendships, and such are the leagues in which the wicked join.
Mrs. Barton proposed to have her sent for into their presence, and after reproaching her severely, dismiss her with contempt; but the more politic Mrs. Howard, whose views were at once to destroy Sophia’s reputation, and to secure her own, disapproved of this harsh treatment, as she called it, and charitably resolved to ruin her with all possible gentleness.
She wrote to Mrs. Gibbons, and acquainted her, that having discovered an intrigue carrying on between Sophia and her son, she thought it necessary to dismiss her immediately out of her family; but that the poor young creature might be exposed as little as possible to censure, she begged she would come herself to fetch her away, and deliver her to her friends, with a caution to watch her conduct carefully.
She recommended secrecy to her for Sophia’s sake; and assured her that if it had not been for this discovery of her bad conduct, she had resolved to have provided for her handsomely.
Mrs. Gibbons, whom this letter threw into the utmost astonishment, immediately communicated the contents of it to Dolly and William, with whom she now lived.
Dolly burst into tears of grief and indignation, and earnestly intreated her to go immediately and take Miss Sophia out of a house where her merit was so little understood; but William, who looked farther into the consequences of this affair than either his wife or his aunt, believed it necessary for the justification of Sophia’s honour, that Mr. Lawson should wait upon Mrs. Howard, and demand an explanation of those censures which she had cast upon a young lady confided to his care; rightly judging, that if malice was the source of her accusation, she would not dare to pursue it with a man of his character; and if it arose from the information of others, he would be able to detect the falshood of it.
These reasons prevailed with Mrs. Gibbons, who had been very desirous to shew her eloquence upon this occasion, and was resolved, she said, not to have spared Mrs. Howard for her immature conclusions.
William went immediately to his father-in-law, and acquainted him with what had happened. Mr. Lawson was grieved from the consideration of what Sophia’s delicate sensibility would feel from such an attack upon her reputation; and this was the worst that he apprehended could happen from calumnies which the purity of her manners and the innocency of her life would be always a sufficient refutation of. A wise and virtuous person, he knew, was out of the reach of fortune, though not free from the malice of it. All attempts against such a one are, as the poet says, like the arrows of Xerxes; they may darken the day, but cannot stifle the sun.
His impatience to take Sophia out of the hands of a woman whom he conceived to be either very malicious, or very imprudent, made him defer his visit no longer than till the afternoon.
When he sent in his name, Mrs. Howard, who had no suspicion of the occasion of his coming, ordered him to be shewn into a parlour, where she suffered him to wait near an hour before she admitted him to her presence; a country curate being in her opinion a person too insignificant to lay claim to any degree of consideration, and besides, this sort of neglect being affected by many persons of quality, to whom it certainly gives great importance and dignity, their imitators never lose any opportunity of exercising it.
Mr. Lawson was at last summoned to the lady’s dressing-room, where he expected to have found Sophia, but was glad to see Mrs. Howard alone. She asked him with a little superciliousness, if he had any business with her; to which he replied, with a solemnity in his look and accent that surprised her, ‘That being a friend to miss Sophia Darnley, and the person to whose care she was confided by her relations, he thought it his duty to enquire what part of her conduct had given occasion for those unfavourable suspicions which were entertained of her.’
‘Mrs. Gibbons, madam, pursued he, has communicated to me a letter which she has received from you, wherein there is a heavy charge against miss Sophia; a charge which none who know her can think it possible for her to deserve. There must certainly be some mistake here, madam; you have been misinformed, or appearances have deceived you, and in justice to you, as well as to one of the most virtuous and amiable young women in the world, I am resolved to trace the source of these calumnies, that her innocence may be fully cleared. I beg of you then, madam, let me know what foundation you have for believing that Miss Sophia—’
Mrs. Howard, whom this speech had thrown into great confusion, interrupted him here, to prevent his repeating those expressions in her letter, the meaning of which, though obvious, she durst not avow.
‘I find, said she, that you and Mrs. Gibbons have seen this affair in a worse light than I intended you should; my son has been foolish enough to entertain a liking for this girl, whom I took under my protection, with a view to provide for her handsomely, and she has been wise enough pursued she, with an ironical smile, to give him encouragement, I suppose; but with all her excellencies, I am not disposed to make her my daughter-in-law.’
Mrs. Howard threw in this last softening expression, in hopes it would satisfy Mr. Lawson, and added, that to prevent any thing happening, which might be disagreeable to her, she begged he would take Sophia home with him.
‘Most willingly, madam, said he; but since it seems to be your opinion, that this young gentlewoman has encouraged the clandestine addresses of your son, I think it will be proper to examine first into the truth of these suspicions, that you may not part with worse thoughts of her than she deserves.’
Mrs. Howard being thus prest, and unwilling to enter into an explanation that would expose all her artifices, was forced to acknowledge that she had no other foundation for her fears than the passion her son had owned for her; and having made this unwilling concession, she left him with a countenance inflamed with stifled rage, saying she would send Sophia to him.
Accordingly she went into the room where she was at work, and told her, her friend the curate was waiting to carry her home. Observing her to look extremely surprised, ‘If you consider, said she, what returns you have made me for the benefits I have conferred upon you, you will not think it strange that we should part in this manner.’
‘Bless me, cried Sophia, what have I done to deserve such reproaches?’
‘I cannot stay to talk to you now, said Mrs. Howard; I have explained myself to Mr. Lawson, I am sorry to say, that I now can only wish you well.’
She hurried out of the room when she had said this; and Sophia, in the utmost perplexity and concern, flew down stairs to Mr. Lawson, who was already at the gate waiting to help her into the chaise: she gave him her hand, asking him at the same time, with great emotion, ‘What Mrs. Howard accused her of?’
As soon as they drove away, Mr. Lawson related all that had past between that lady and him, which filled Sophia with new astonishment: she could not comprehend Mrs. Howard’s motives for acting in the manner she had done with regard to her; all her conduct appeared to her highly extravagant and inconsistent; she asked Mr. Lawson a thousand questions, full of that simplicity which ever accompanies real goodness of heart.
He gave her some notion of the dangerous character of Mrs Howard, and greatly blamed her for having so suddenly accepted her invitation, without first consulting Mr. Herbert. ‘It is a maxim, pursued he, of one of the wisest of the antients, that in forming new connections of every sort, it is of great importance in what manner the first approaches are made, and by whose hands the avenues of friendship are laid open.’
Mr. Lawson, by this hint, gave Sophia to understand, that he did not think Mrs. Gibbons, a proper person to introduce her into the world. She was now sensible that she had been too precipitate; but her motives were so generous, that Mr. Herbert, whom in a letter she acquainted with the whole affair, easily justified her in his own opinion, though he earnestly, recommended it to her not to let her apprehensions of being burthensome to him draw her into new inconveniencies.
Mr. Lawson having, as he imagined, prevented Mrs. Howard from making any future attack upon Sophia’s reputation, by obliging her to acknowledge her innocence, was surprised to hear whereever he went, of the calumnies she invented against her.
Nothing is more common than for persons to hate with extreme inveteracy those whom they have injured; and although Mrs. Howard was convinced, that Sophia would not admit a visit from her son, (who now openly avowed his passion for her;) that she refused to receive his letters, and shunned every place where she thought it possible to meet him; yet pretending to be apprehensive that the youth would be drawn into a clandestine marriage, she sent him away precipitately upon his travels, and this gave a colour to new invectives against Sophia, who trusting only to her innocence for her justification, had the satisfaction to find that innocence fully acknowledged in the esteem and respect with which she was treated by all the persons of fashion in the neighbourhood.
Mr. Herbert, who in every new trial to which she was exposed, found greater cause for admiration of her character, praised the gentleness and forgiving spirit which she discovered upon this occasion; but Mrs. Gibbons was not wholly satisfied with her conduct, ‘You ought to discriminate upon Mrs. Howard, said she, and tell the world how desirous she was to have you married to her friend’s son, though she makes such a clutter about her own: indeed you want spirit, miss Sophia,’ added the old lady, with a little contempt.
‘I am not of your opinion, madam, replied Sophia; for in taking revenge upon our enemies, we are only even with them; in passing over their malice we are superior.’
‘Well, well, interrupted Mrs. Gibbons, I have no notion of such superiousness: I always resent injuries, and Mrs. Howard shall feel my resentment for her malice to you. I have not returned her last visit yet, and perhaps I may not this month; this is pretty severe I think.’
Sophia, composing her countenance as well as she could, thanked Mrs. Gibbons for this instance of her friendship to her; but she had no opportunity to observe whether she kept her word, for she was summoned to town by a letter from her mother, which gave her a melancholy account of her affairs.
Mrs. Darnley acquainted her that the gentleman was dead who paid her the annuity which Sir Charles had stipulated for her when he procured him her late husband’s place. She desired her to come immediately to town to assist her under her misfortunes; and added in a postscript, as if reluctantly, that Harriot had left her, and was not so dutiful as she could wish.
Sophia read this letter with tears; and, impatient to comfort her afflicted mother, she instantly prepared for her little journey.
All Mr. Lawson’s family parted from her with great regret; but Dolly’s affliction was extreme, and Sophia amidst so many greater causes of sorrow, felt a new pang when she took leave of her tender and innocent friend.
To spare Mr. Lawson the trouble of conducting her to town, she accepted a place in the coach of a lady with whom she had lately become acquainted, and who professed a particular esteem for her.
On her arrival at her mother’s house, she found only a servant there, who informed her that her mistress had taken lodgings at Kensington for the air, having been indisposed for some weeks past.
Sophia ordered her to get a hackney coach to the door, and was hurrying away without daring to enquire for her sister, when the maid told her Miss Darnley desired to see her before she went to Kensington.
“Where is my sister,” said Sophia, with a faultering accent.
The answer she received was a stroke of fortune more cruel than any she had yet experienced: her sister, she found, lived in the house which Sir Charles had once offered to her.
Trembling and pale she ordered the coachman to drive thither, and drawing up the windows, relieved her labouring heart with a shower of tears.
[To be continued.]
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