SOPHIA was not deceived when she imagined she had seen Sir Charles, it was really he who had rode by her window, and it was her little abode he was in search of, though in his extreme eagerness he had overlooked it.
He had left England with a hope that change of scene, and a variety of new objects, would efface the idea of Sophia from his heart, and restore him to his former tranquility; but amidst all the delights of Paris he found himself opprest with languor: no amusements could entertain him, no conversation engage his attention; disgusted with every thing he saw and heard, peevish, discontented, and weary of the world, he avoided all company, and had recourse to books for relief; but Sophia was too much in his thoughts to render study either instructive or amusing. He past whole days in solitude, feeding his melancholy with the reflection of a thousand past circumstances, which served to soften his mind, and make him feel his loss more sensibly.
When he reflected on her exalted virtues, her wit, her elegance, the attractive graces of her person, and the irresistable sweetness of her manners, he lamented his hard fate that had put such a treasure out of his reach; but when his conscience told him that it had once been in his power to have become possessor of this treasure, that he had trifled with that innocent affection till he had alienated it from himself to another object; his anguish became insupportable, and he sought to relieve it by rousing his indignation against her, for her preference of so unworthy a rival.
He called to mind her interview with this happy rival in the field, and concluded he was far more favoured by her than himself had ever been, since her discourse to him had produced so tender and passionate an expression of acknowledgment as that he had beheld.
These circumstances, which his imagination dwelt upon in order to lessen his regret, added to it all the stings of jealousy; so that, almost frantic with rage and grief, he was a hundred times upon the point of committing some desperate action.
A violent fever was the consequence of these transports, which, after confining him a long time to his bed, left his body in a weak and languishing condition, and his mind sunk in an habitual melancholy.
His physicians recommended to him the air of Montpelier, and he was preparing to set out for that place when he happened to meet with a gentleman who made him alter his resolution.
This person had been his governor, and now attended Mr. Howard in the same quality.
Sir Charles, who had a slight acquaintance with Mrs. Howard, was prevailed upon, notwithstanding his aversion to company, to receive a visit from her son: he invited the young gentleman to dine with him, and he having not yet forgot the lovely Sophia, drank her health after dinner by the name of miss Darnley.
Sir Charles, who could not hear that name without a visible emotion, told him he knew two young ladies so called, and asked whether it was the eldest or the youngest sister that he meant?
Mr. Howard replied, ‘That he was ignorant till then that miss Darnley had a sister.’
‘Yes, she has a sister, said his governor, who is much handsomer than herself, and for whom a youthful passion would be far more excusable.’
The young gentleman, who knew his governor talked in that contemptuous manner of Sophia in compliance with his mother’s humour, in revenge avowed his admiration of her in the most passionate terms, and, forgetting that Sir Charles had said he was acquainted with her, described her excellencies with all the enthusiasm of a lover.
Sir Charles listened in silence; and when the other had done speaking told him, with an air of forced gravity, that it was easy to see he was very much in love.
This, indeed, was his real opinion; nevertheless he felt no emotions of jealousy or resentment against a rival whom he believed was as unhappy as himself: he asked him with a seeming carelessness if miss Sophia was not to be married to the son of a rich farmer in the village where she lived? and waited his answer with an agitation of mind which appeared so plainly in the frequent changes of his colour, that Mr. Howard must have observed it, had not the question given him almost as much concern.
After a short pause he replied, ‘That he never heard she was going to be married;’ but, added he, sighing, ‘I remember I have seen a very handsome young man at Mr. Lawson’s, who perhaps —’
‘Aye, aye, interrupted his governor, smiling, he was the favoured lover no doubt, you have nothing to do but to forget her as soon as you can.’
The youth sat pensive and silent for some time, then suddenly rising, took leave of Sir Charles and went away; his governor prepared to follow him, but the baronet, anxious to hear more of Sophia, detained him to ask several questions concerning her acquaintance with Mr. Howard.
Sir Charles found his old friend had lost no part of his former candor and sincerity: though by the trust reposed in him he was obliged to discountenance as much as possible the passion of his pupil for a young woman so much his inferior in rank and fortune; yet having seen and conversed with Sophia, he did justice to her extraordinary merit, and acknowledged that Mrs. Howard had treated her harshly.
He related to Sir Charles in what manner Mrs. Howard had invited her to her house, and the suspicions she entertained of Sophia’s encouraging her son’s passion, and design to ensnare him into a clandestine marriage. ‘Suspicions, added he, which her subsequent behaviour entirely destroyed, for the youth was rash enough to avow his passion openly, and solicited her by frequent letters and messages to grant him an interview, which she absolutely refused, and this conduct did her honour and procured her great esteem; yet it is very likely that her affections are otherwise engaged, and that she has some difficulties to encounter, for she looks thoughtful and melancholy, and affects retirement more than persons of her age generally do.’
Sir Charles was thrown into so profound a reverie by this account of Sophia, that he heard not a word of what his friend afterwards said which had no relation to this interesting subject, and scarce perceived when he went away.
After reflecting a long time with mingled grief, resentment, and compassion, upon her melancholy, which he supposed was occasioned by some disappointment in the affair of her marriage with the young farmer, and which probably her want of fortune was the cause of, he suddenly formed the generous design of removing this obstacle to her union with the person whom she preferred to him, and, by making her happy, entitle himself to her esteem, since he had unfortunately lost her heart.
The novelty of this resolution, and its extraordinary generosity, filled him with so many self-flattering ideas, as suspended for a while his jealousy and his grief.
Instead of going to Montpelier he set out immediately for England, and during his journey was continually applauding himself for the uncommon disinterestedness of his conduct.
Nothing is more certain, than that the motives even of our best actions will not always bear examination: we deceive ourselves first, and our vanity is too much interested in the deception, to make us wish to detect it. Sir Charles either did not or would not perceive the latent hope that lurked within his bosom, and which, perhaps, suggested the designs he had formed.
How must such an instance of generous passion, thought he, affect a mind so delicately sensible as Sophia’s! she who had once loved him, and what was more than probable, had not yet entirely forgot him.
He never asked himself, why his imagination dwelt upon these pleasing images? why he prosecuted his journey with such eager haste, as if the purport of it was to receive, not to resign for ever the woman he so passionately loved?
When he arrived at his own house scarce would he allow himself a few minutes rest after his fatiguing journey: he hastened to Mr. Herbert’s lodgings, to prevail upon him to justify by his concurrence the designs he had formed in favour of Sophia.
Mean time the secret and powerful impulse by which he was actuated, kept his mind in a continual tumult. He hoped, he feared, he wished: he was all anxious expectation, all trembling doubt; he heard with grief that Mr. Herbert was at Bath; for now he knew not how to get access to Sophia, who being ignorant of his intentions, and offended by his behaviour, might possibly refuse to see him.
He went to the house where Mrs. Darnley lived when he left England; he was surprised to see it shut up. This incident perplexed him more, and rendered him more impatient.
He returned to his house, ordered his horses to be saddled, and set out immediately for Mr. Lawson’s; where he arrived before he had resolved how to introduce himself, or who he should enquire for.
However, upon the appearance of a servant at the door, he asked for Mr. Herbert; which Mr. Lawson hearing, came out himself, and, though he did not know Sir Charles, politely requested him to alight, telling him, he had just received a letter from Mr. Herbert, which acquainted him that he was perfectly recovered, and that he was on the way to London.
Sir Charles accepted Mr. Lawson’s invitation, and alighting, followed him into a parlour, but in such perturbation of mind that he scarce knew what he did. The good curate, surprised at the pensiveness and silence of his guest, was at a loss what to say to him, or how to entertain him: he gave him an account of Mr. Herbert’s illness, which seemed to engage his attention very little; but happening to mention Sophia in the course of his relation, the young baronet started as from a dream, and turned his eyes upon him with a look of eagerness and anxiety, but said not a word.
Mr. Lawson paused, as expecting he was going to ask him a question, which Sir Charles perceiving, said with some confusion, ‘I beg your pardon, Sir, you mentioned miss Sophia, I have the honour to know her, pray how does me do?’
‘I hope she is well, Sir, replied Mr. Lawson, I have not seen her a long time.’
“Then she does not board with you now,” said Sir Charles, with a countenance as pale as death, dreading to hear something still more fatal.
As Mr. Lawson was going to answer him, William, not knowing his father-in-law had company, entered the room abruptly; but seeing the baronet, he bowed, apologized for his intrusion, and instantly retired.
The various emotions with which this sudden and unexpected sight of his rival filled the breast of Sir Charles, caused such a wildness in his looks, that Mr. Lawson, in great astonishment and perplexity, asked him if he was taken ill?
Sir Charles, endeavouring to compose himself, replied, “That he was very well, but in a faultering accent asked, who the young gentleman was that had just left the room.
Mr. Lawson told him he was his son-in-law.
‘Your son-in-law! cried Sir Charles, eagerly, what! married to your daughter! is it possible?’
Mr. Lawson knew enough of Sophia’s story to make him comprehend now who this young gentleman was, who discovered so extraordinary a concern upon this occasion; and, charmed to have an opportunity of doing her service by removing those suspicions which he had been told had produced so fatal a reverse in her fortune, he gave the baronet a circumstantial account of his daughter’s marriage: sensible that he was too much interested in this detail to make him think it impertinent, he introduced it no otherways than by declaring himself under the greatest obligation to miss Sophia, who, having honoured his daughter with her friendship, had been the chief instrument of her present happiness.
While the good curate related all the circumstances of an affair which had had such melancholy consequences, the baronet listened to him with an attention still as the grave; his eyes were fixed upon his with a look of the most eager anxiety, and he scarce suffered himself to breathe for fear of losing any of his words.
In proportion as his doubts were removed, his countenance expressed more and more joy; and when, upon his reflecting on all that he had heard, it appeared plainly that the fatal meeting which had caused him so much anguish, was the effect of Sophia’s solicitude to serve her friend, and that the passionate action of the youth was an acknowledgment of gratitude, not an expression of love, he was not able to conceal the excess of his joy, but, rising up in a sudden transport, he took the curate’s hand, and pressing it eagerly, ‘You know not, said he, Mr. Lawson, how happy you have made me; but where is miss Sophia, is she gone to Bath with her good friend Mr. Herbert?’
‘No, Sir, replied Mr. Lawson; she lives with her mother. You know, I suppose, that Mrs. Darnley has lost her annuity by the death of the gentleman upon whom it was charged.’
‘I never heard it till now, said the baronet, whose tenderness was alarmed for his Sophia; tell me I beg you what is her present situation.’
‘Her eldest daughter has left her, said Mr. Lawson, and she has retired with miss Sophia to a village about five miles from hence, in the road to London, where that excellent young lady supports her mother and herself by the labour of her hands.’
“Angelick creature!” exclaimed Sir Charles, with his eyes swimming in tears. Then, after a little pause, he desired a direction to the place where Mrs. Darnley lived, and took a kind leave of Mr. Lawson, telling him he hoped soon to visit him again.
Sir Charles, although he galloped as fast as it was possible, found his horse went too slow for his impatience; so eager was he to see Sophia, and gain her pardon for the unreasonable conduct which his jealousy and rage had made him guilty of.
The account Mr. Lawson had given him of the part she had taken in his daughter’s marriage with the youth whom he had considered as his rival, not only removed the torturing pangs of jealousy, which he had so long felt, but made him view several circumstances in Sophia’s behaviour in a light favourable to his own ardent wishes.
He fondly fancied that the melancholy in which he had heard she was plunged, was occasioned by a tender remembrance of him; and that the hope of still being his, might have been the chief cause of her rejecting the addresses of Mr. Howard.
How different were these ideas from the gloomy ones which had hitherto perplexed his mind! he seemed like a man waked from a frightful dream of despair and death, to a certainty of life and joy.
Amidst these transporting reveries he had passed by Sophia’s house, without perceiving it to be the same he had been directed to; and when he had reached the end of the village, he looked about for it in vain, and saw no one of whom he could enquire for it but an old woman, who was sitting under a tree near the road, making up a nosegay of some flowers, such as the late season produced.
He stopped his horse, and asked her if she knew where Mrs. Darnley lived? At the mention of that name she rose as hastily as her feebleness would permit her, and told him, she knew the house very well; and, if he pleased, would go and shew it him. ‘I am making this nosegay for the sweet young gentlewoman her daughter, said the old woman; I carry her flowers every day; heaven bless her, she is my only support. There is a great many fine folks hereabouts, from whom I could never get any relief; but since she came hither I have wanted for nothing. Pray let me shew you her house; old and weak as I am, I would walk ten miles to do her service.’
Sir Charles, alighting from his horse, ordered his servant to lead it to the nearest public house, and wait for him there; he told the old woman, he would accept of her offer, and walk along with her. Then taking two guineas out of his pocket, he gave them to her, in reward, he said, for the gratitude she expressed for her young benefactress.
The good woman received his bounty with a transport of surprise and joy, and pleasingly repaid him by talking of his beloved Sophia; of whom she related many instances of tenderness and charity towards the poor of the village, and filled him with admiration of that true benevolence, which, even in the midst of indigence, could administer to the greater wants of her fellow-creatures.
When they came within sight of Sophia’s little cottage, the old woman, pointing to it, told him, Mrs. Darnley and her daughter lived there: upon which the baronet, dismissing her, walked up to it with disordered haste. A row of wooden pales led to a small grass-plat before the door.
As he approached, he saw Sophia sitting at a window at work. He stopped to gaze upon her; she appeared to him more lovely, more engaging than ever. He wished, yet dreaded her looking up, lest her first thoughts upon seeing him being unfavourable, she should resolve to refuse his visit. He went forwards with a beating heart, and cautiously opening the little gate, reached the door of this humble habitation unheard and unseen by Sophia; the door flew open at his touch, poverty has no need of bolts and bars, and every good angel is the guard of innocence and virtue.
The noise he made in entering, and the sound of her name, pronounced in a tender accent, made Sophia hastily turn her head. At sight of Sir Charles, she started from her chair, her work fell from her trembling hands, she looked at him in silent astonishment, unable, and perhaps unwilling to avoid him.
The baronet, whose heart laboured with the strongest emotions of tenderness, anxiety, hope, and fear, had not power to utter a word; and while her surprise kept her motionless, threw himself at her feet, and taking one of her hands, pressed it respectfully to his lips, tears at the same time falling from his eyes.
Sophia, whose gentle mind was sensibly affected with this action, and the paleness and langour which appeared in his countenance, found it impossible to treat him with that severity which his capricious conduct seemed to demand of her; nevertheless she drew away her hand, which he yielded with reluctant submission.
“I hoped,” said she, in an accent that expressed more softness and grief than anger or disdain, ‘that I should be spared any farther insults of this sort from you; those I have already suffered has sufficiently punished me for my weak credulity.’
Sir Charles, when she began to speak, rose up; but continued gazing on her with the most passionate tenderness, while every word she uttered seemed to pierce his heart.
‘I will not, pursued Sophia, gathering firmness as she spoke, ask you, why you have intruded upon me thus unexpectedly? or why you assume a behaviour so little of a-piece with your past actions? I only beg you to believe, that I am not again to be deceived; and although I am persuaded my good opinion is of no consequence to you, yet I will tell you, that if it is possible to regain it, it will be by never more importuning me with visits, which my situation in life makes it very improper for me to admit of.’
Sophia, when she had said this, went out of the room, without casting a look back upon Sir Charles, who followed her in great disorder, conjuring her only to hear what he had to say.
As she was passing to her own chamber, she was met by her mother, who, seeing Sir Charles, was filled with surprize and joy; and perceiving that Sophia was avoiding him, said to her with an angry accent, ‘Where are you going? what is the meaning of this rudeness?’
Sophia, without answering her, retired to her own room, not without great perturbation of mind; for there was something in the baronet’s looks and words that seemed to merit a hearing at least; but she dreaded the weakness of her own heart, and was fully persuaded that any condescension on her side would give him too great an advantage over her.
Mrs. Darnley, finding her endeavours to retain her were fruitless, advanced towards Sir Charles with great obsequiousness, congratulated him upon his return, and thanked him for the honour he did her in visiting her in her poor little habitation.
Sir Charles saluted her respectfully, and took a seat. ‘There is a sad alteration, Sir, said she, in my poor affairs since I saw you last. I never thought to have received you in such a hovel. You have heard, I suppose, of my misfortune.’
Sir Charles, who was in great confusion of thought, and had scarce heard a word she said, replied carelessly, ‘Yes, madam, I am sorry for it.’
The coldness of this answer cast a damp upon those hopes which she had eagerly admitted upon seeing him again; and, impatient to be relieved from her tormenting anxiety on account of this unexpected visit, she asked him abruptly, whether she might wish him joy, for she heard, she said, that he was going to be married.
Sir Charles, rouzed by this question, replied hastily, ‘Who could have told you any thing so unlikely? Married! no, madam, there never was any foundation for such a report.’
“Indeed I believe so,” said Mrs. Darnley, almost breathless with joy to find him deny it so earnestly. ‘To be sure people are very envious and ill-natured, and those who told me, no doubt, designed to do you an ill office.’
‘And they have succeeded, said Sir Charles, sighing, if they have been able to persuade miss Sophia, that after having aspired to the possession of her, I could descend to love any other woman. I came to implore her pardon, madam, pursued he, for all the extravagancies of my past conduct, and for that unreasonable jealousy which was the source of them, could I have been so happy to have prevailed upon her to have heard me.’
“What!” interrupted Mrs. Darnley eagerly, ‘and was my daughter so rude as to leave you without hearing what you had to say, I protest I am ashamed of her behaviour; but I hope you will be so good to excuse it, Sir; I will insist upon her coming in again.’
‘No, madam, said Sir Charles, holding her, for she was hurrying away, miss Sophia must not be constrained: I cannot bear that.’
Mrs. Darnley unwillingly resumed her seat, and inly fretting at her daughter’s obstinacy, trembled for the event of this visit.
Sir Charles, after a silence of some minutes, suddenly rose up, and took his leave. Mrs. Darnley, in great anxiety, followed him to the door, and said, she hoped to see him again. He answered only by a low bow, and walked away full of doubt and perplexity.
Sophia’s steadiness in refusing to hear him, banished all those flattering ideas of her tenderness for him, which he had so eagerly admitted; for he concluded that if her heart had not been steeled by indifference, she would, notwithstanding her just reasons for resentment, have been rejoiced to give him an opportunity of justifying himself.
He had reached the house where his servant was attending with the horses, without having determined what to do. To return to town without seeing Sophia again, and being assured of a reconciliation, was misery which he could not support; and he dreaded making a new attempt to see her, lest he should receive more proofs of her insensibility and disdain.
In this perplexity the sight of Mr. Herbert alighting from a stage-coach, was a relief as great as it was unexpected; and in the sudden joy he felt at meeting with a man whose interposition could be so useful to him, he forgot that his former behaviour must necessarily have given rise to strong prejudices against him, and ran up to embrace the good old man with extreme cordiality.
Mr. Herbert was surprised, and repaid his civilities with great coldness: upon which the young baronet, in some confusion, desired to have a few moments conversation with him.
They walked together down a meadow; and Sir Charles, having with a candor and sincerity becoming the rectitude of his intentions, related all those circumstances which had concurred to excite his jealousy, and with that powerful eloquence which passion inspires, expatiated upon the motives of his conduct, a conduct which he acknowledged laid him open to the most unfavourable suspicions; Mr. Herbert, convinced of his sincerity, and full of compassion for the torments which his mistaken jealousy had caused him, undertook to make his peace with Sophia, and assured him he would very shortly wait upon him in town.
This would not satisfy the anxious lover; he declared he would not leave the place till he was assured of his pardon; and Mr. Herbert, who certainly was not displeased with his obstinacy, could with difficulty persuade him to wait only till the next day for an account of his success.
Sir Charles unwillingly took the road to London, and Mr. Herbert hastened to congratulate his beloved charge upon the agreeable prospect that was once more opening for her.
Mrs. Darnley had, during this interval, been employed in reproaching poor Sophia for her behaviour to Sir Charles. In the vexation of her heart she exclaimed in the severest terms against her pride and obstinacy; she told her, she might be assured Sir Charles would never attempt to see her again; that it was plain he was disgusted with her bad temper.
She burst into a passion of tears while she enumerated the glorious advantages of that rank and fortune, which, she said, Sophia had thrown from her; and among many motives which she urged ought to have determined her to act otherwise, that of being able to out-shine her sister was one.
Sophia answered only by sighs: she herself was not absolutely satisfied with the unrelenting severity with which she had treated Sir Charles. The more she reflected upon his behaviour, the more she condemned herself for not hearing what he had to offer in his own defence. She had once thought it probable that he had been deceived by the report that was spread through Mrs. Gibbons’s folly of her encouraging the addresses of her nephew, and his extravagant conduct might be occasioned by jealousy: a fault which a woman is always disposed to pardon in a lover. While she revolved these thoughts in her mind, Mrs. Darnley perceived her uneasiness, and added to it by new reproaches.
Mr. Herbert’s arrival put an end to this tormenting scene. Sophia first heard his voice, and flew to receive him; Mrs. Darnley followed, and seeing her bathed in tears, while the good old man saluted her with the tenderness of a parent, she told him, with an air half serious, half gay, that her daughter loved him so well, she had no tenderness for any one else. She then entered abrubtly upon the affair of Sir Charles, though she hardly expected Mr. Herbert would join with her in condemning Sophia.
He pleasingly surprised her by saying, that Sophia was to blame; and that he came prepared to chide her for her petulance and obstinacy.
Mr. Herbert, who saw a sweet impatience in Sophia’s looks, explained himself immediately, and told her he had met Sir Charles; who had fully removed all the suspicions his strange conduct had occasioned, and convinced him, that he deserved more pity than censure.
‘No doubt, pursued he, looking on Sophia with a smile, you will be surprised to hear, young lady, that Sir Charles was witness to the interview you had in the meadow behind Mr. Lawson’s house, with a certain handsome youth, whom he had heard was his rival, and a favoured rival too. What were his thoughts, do you imagine, when he saw this handsome youth throw himself at your feet, and kiss your hand?’
Mrs. Darnley now looked at her daughter in great astonishment; and Sophia, who yet did not recollect the circumstance of her meeting William, was so perplexed, she knew not what to say.
Mr. Herbert enjoyed her innocent confusion for a few moments, and then repeated all that Sir Charles had told him, of his jealousy and rage; his vain attempts to banish her from his remembrance; the resolution he had formed after his conversation with Mr. Howard concerning her; and how happily he had been undeceived at Mr. Lawson’s, where he found his supposed rival was the husband of her friend.
“Well,” interrupted Mrs. Darnley, with great vehemence, ‘I hope you are satisfied now, Sophia: I hope you will treat Sir Charles with more civility if he comes again.—Mr. Herbert, I beg you will exert your power over her upon this occasion —I think there is no doubt of Sir Charles’s honourable intentions.’
Thus she ran on, while Sophia, who had listened to Mr. Herbert’s relation with the softest emotions of pity, tenderness, and joy, continued silent with her eyes fixed upon the ground.
Mr. Herbert, willing to spare her delicacy, told Mrs. Darnley, that relying upon—Sophia’s good sense and prudence, he had ventured to assure Sir Charles of a more favourable reception, when her prejudices were removed.
‘He will come to-morrow, my child, pursued he, to implore your pardon for all the errors of his past conduct, and to offer you his hand. I am persuaded you will act properly upon this occasion; and in a marriage so far beyond your hopes and expectations, acknowledge the hand of Providence, which thinks fit to reward you, even in this world, for your steady adherence to virtue.’
Sophia bowed and blushed; her mother, in a rapture, embraced and wished her joy.
Mr. Herbert now endeavoured to change the conversation to subjects more indifferent; but Mrs. Darnley, ever thoughtless and unseasonable, could talk of nothing but Sir Charles, and the grandeur which awaited her daughter. All night her fancy ran upon gilt equipages, rich jewels, magnificent houses, and a train of servants; and she was by much too happy to taste any repose: but Sophia enjoyed the change of her fortune with much more rational delight, and among all the sentiments that arose in her mind upon this occasion, that of gratitude to heaven was the most frequent and most lively.
Mr. Herbert, who had accepted a lodging in Sophia’s cottage, went to Sir Charles the next day, according to his promise. He found him waiting for him full of anxious impatience; and hearing from the good old man, that Sophia was disposed to receive him favourably, he embraced him in a transport of joy; and his chariot being already ordered, they drove immediately to the village.
Mrs. Darnley welcomed the baronet with a profusion of civilities. Sophia’s behaviour was full of dignity and soft reserve.
Sir Charles, after a long conversation with her, obtained her leave to demand her of her mother, to whom he shewed the writings, which were already all drawn; and by which Sophia had a jointure and pin-money, equal to the settlements that had been made upon lady Stanley.
He now ventured to intreat that a short day might be fixed for their marriage. It was with great difficulty, that Sophia was prevailed upon to consent; but her mother’s impetuosity carried all before it, and Mr. Herbert himself supported the young baronet’s request.
The ceremony was performed by Mr. Lawson in his own parish-church: after which he and his amiable family accompanied the new wedded pair to their country-seat, where they passed several days with them.
Mr. Herbert having previously acquainted Sir Charles with Harriot’s situation, the baronet, tho’ he detested her character, and declared he never could pardon her for the miseries she had caused him; yet was desirous to have her decently settled, and promised to give a thousand pounds with her in marriage, if a reputable match could be found for her: he even put notes for that sum into Mr. Herbert’s hands, and earnestly recommended it to him, to take the affair under his management.
Harriot, during the time she lived with her mother, had been courted by a young tradesman in tolerable circumstances; and although she thought it great insolence for a person in business to pretend to her, yet, actuated by a true spirit of coquetry, while she despised the lover, she took pleasure in his addresses.
This young man still retained some tenderness for her, and, allured by the prospect of a fortune, was willing, notwithstanding any faults in her conduct, to make her his wife.
Mrs. Darnley proposed him to her, and Mr. Herbert enforced her advice with all the good sense he was matter of. But Harriot received the proposal with the utmost disdain; insisted that she was married as well as her sister; that her rank in life was superior to hers; and added, by way of threat, that her appearance should be so likewise.
The extraordinary efforts she made to support this boast, engaged lord L. in expences that entirely alienated his affections from her, disgusted as he long had been, with her insolence and folly.
His relations concluded a match for him with a young lady of suitable rank and fortune; and, after making a small settlement on Harriot, he took leave of her for ever.
The vexation she felt from this incident, threw her into a distemper very fatal to beauty. The yellow jaundice made such ravage in her face, that scarce any of those charms on which she had valued herself so much, remained. All her anxious hours were now employed in repairing her complexion, and in vain endeavours to restore lustre to those eyes, sunk in hollowness, and tinctured with the hue of her distemper.
Although thus altered, the report of the fortune she was likely to have made her be thought a prize worthy the ambition of a young officer, who had quitted the business of a peruke maker, in which he was bred, for an ensign’s commission, which made him a gentleman at once.
He offered himself to Harriot with that assurance of success, which the gaiety of his appearance, and his title of captain, gave him reason to expect, with a lady of her turn of mind.
Harriot, charmed with so important a conquest, soon consented to give him her hand; and Sir Charles Stanley, finding his character not exceptionable, gave her the fortune he had promised, to which Sophia generously added a thousand pounds more. The baronet procured her husband a better commission; but designedly in one of the colonies, whither he insisted upon his wife’s accompanying him.
Harriot, in despair at being obliged to quit the delights of London, soon began to hate her husband heartily; and he, entering into her disposition and character, lost all esteem and tenderness for her. Her behaviour justified the rigid confinement he kept her in; and while she suffered all the restraint of jealousy, she was at the same time mortified with the knowledge that pride and not love was the source of it.
Mrs. Darnley lived not long after the departure of her favourite daughter; for so Harriot always continued to be.
Sophia attended her mother during her long illness with the most duteous care, and had the satisfaction to be assured by Mr. Lawson, who assisted her in her preparations for death, that her attachment to the world, which the affluent circumstances to which she was raised but too much increased, had at length given way to more pious sentiments; and she died with the resignation of a christian.
The ill conduct of her sister, and the death of her mother, proved at first some interruption to Sophia’s happiness; but these domestic storms blown over, she began to taste the good fortune which heaven had bestowed on her: her chief enjoyment of it was to share it with others; and Sir Charles, who adored her, put it amply in her power to indulge the benevolence of her disposition.
He took upon himself the care of rewarding her friends; he presented Mr. Lawson to a very considerable living: he procured Dolly’s husband a genteel and lucrative employment; and married her younger sister to a relation of his own.
Mr. Herbert, who was above receiving any other gratification from Sir Charles than the entire friendship which he ever preserved for him, had the satisfaction to spend most of his time with his beloved daughter, as he used tenderly to call Sophia, and to behold her as happy as the condition of mortality admits of.
Sir Charles’s tenderness for her seemed to increase every day; and when Mr. Herbert once took occasion to compliment him upon the delicacy, the ardor, and the constancy of his affection, he replied with a smile, ‘You attribute to me a virtue, which, in this case, I cannot be said to possess; had my passion for my Sophia been founded only on the charms of her person, I might probably e’er now have become a mere fashionable husband; but her virtue and wit supply her with graces ever varied, and ever new. Thus the steadiness of my affection for her is but a constant inconstancy, which attaches me successively to one or other of those shining qualities, of which her charming mind is an inexhaustible source.’