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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
SI QUERIS PENINSULAM AMEENAM
1817
ARTES
SCIENTIA
VERITAS
LIBRARY
OF THE
TCEROR
CIRCUMSPICE
WOW.0.0.0.........

MARCHMONT:
A NOVEL.
Turner)
BY CHARLOTTE SMITH,

IN FOUR VOLUMES.
VOL. I.


London :
PRINTED BY AND FOR
SAMPSON LOW, BERWICK STREET, SOHO,
1796.

TROMHORM


C
C

sibr. To to Spec
webster
7.2 43
47675
SKV
For te morto sullaq ot 104
K2 9 ) dan
wiw PREFACE. SOR)
stogo danbox mois
- Journalist to dobro
125 yeqiyatlona Wolltog lolok
Few things perhaps are more diffi-
cult than to write a preface well, and
it is perhaps equally true that no part
of a book is ſo little read.
“Why then,” enquires a friend,
“ ſhould you prefix a preface to a
work of mere entertainment? Surely
it is what novel readers never expect,
and are, of all others, the leaſt likely
to attend to ; and if you intend it as
-an apology for defects, would it not
be better to give the time it will coſt
you to correct rather than to excufe
them?” read moon bavioli sil
I adhere,



A 3

vi
PREFACE.
I adhere, however, to my preface--
not to palliate the errors of a work
which I have executed as well as my
ſituation admitted, but becauſe I wiſh
for an occaſion to addreſs my readers,
or ſuch of them as will take the trou-
ble of peruſing a few prefatory pages.
The egotiſm of which I have been
accufed, though leſs excuſable in the
body of a work, may be allowed me
here, becauſe no one is compelled to
read it to the interruption of the ſtory,
and none can complain that, as in an-
other work, with fictitious forrows I
have mingled my own.
In the compoſition of what are
called novels I have been engaged
(from neceflity, and by no means from
choice) for eight years, and my thirty-
fecond volume is now before the Pub-
lic. To the pecuniary advantages I
have derived from them I owe my
family's

PREFACE.
Vi
?
S;
S.
13
e
e
family's fubfiſtence and my own,
while labouring under the heavieſt
(and now the moſt irremediable) op-
preſſion that was perhaps ever prac-
tiſed or ſuffered in a country boaſting
of its laws. But notwithſtanding that,
by unremitting labour, I have exiſted,
the conſequences of the robbery com-
mitted on me and my children have
been fatal ; and after having reſiſted,
for twelve years, difficulties and dif-
treſſes ſuch as women are ſeldom call-
ed upon to encounter, one dreadful
evil has overtaken me, and nearly
overwhelmed me that lovely Being
who was the greateſt bleſſing of my
life, who alone had the power to
footh my wearied fpirit and ſweeten
my hours of toil, has been torn from
me for ever; and this laſt and bittereſt
calamity I ſhall ever impute to the
conduct of our inhuman oppreſſors.
Yet

A 4.

viii
PREFACE.
Yet in the hour of my extreme mi-
ſery, while I dreaded, and after I
had ſuffered this ſeverity, what did
I receive from them from theſe men
who then held, who ſtill hold, the
property of my family 2.-Refufal of
the moſt neceſſary aſſiſtance, taunts,
and inſults : --and I owed it to the
friendſhip of one amiable and exalted
female character, to a nobleman emi-
nent for his good actions, and to a
phyſician of the firſt reputation in
London (to whom I was wholly a
ſtranger), that at that period of ago-
niſing diſtreſs I did not entirely fink;
while to a phyſician at Bath I was
indebted for every friendly, every ſkil-
ful exertion which I could not pur-
chaſe, but which were upremittingly
applied to ſave me from the blow
that has indeed cruſhed me to the
hologrosse ? earth,

PREFACE.
ix
earth, and rendered the reſidue of my
days “ labour and ſorrow.'
But the arrow was fled, and my
miſery without remedy; yet with a
heart torn by ſuch anguiſh as only
they who have felt it can imagine, it
was abſolutely neceſſary for me to fit
down to finiſh a novel for which I
had received money from my preſent
publiſher, who would have been in-
jured if I had not forced myſelf tº
fulfil my engagement. Could I then
have written a preface, this apology
for the defects of Montalbert would
have been in its place; but I was at
that time quite unable to aik the in-
dulgence which it was impoſſible a
book written in ſuch circumſtances
ſhould not have occafion for. olup
Still continuing (from mere invete-
rate wickedneſs on the part of theſe
unjuſt perſons under the neceflity of
earning

PREFACE.
earning by my pen the ſubſiſtence of
my remaining family, I began ſome
months afterwards the preſent work ;
but ſuffering in health from the in-
curable wounds of my mind, I was
unable to remain in any fixed habita-
tion, and ſtill more fo to return to
the country, where alone I had the
benefit of literary converfation, for
there every ſcene would remind me of
my murdered happineſs :—thefe vo-
lumes, therefore, have been written
under the diſadvantage of wanting a
friendly critic on thoſe errors of judge-
ment which occur in every long work
entirely dependent on the imagina-
tion; nor have I had any correcting
eye to detect the more trifling faults
of ſtyle which will ſometimes happen,
or of orthography, which thoſe who
write to live, and confequently write
in haſte, can ſeldom eſcape commit-
ting.
PREFACE.
xi
ting. From my few books alſo I
have been abſent, and the libraries of
bathing towns rarely contain ſuch as
I have had occaſion to refer to: the
mottoes and quotations I have uſed
have, therefore, been either copied
from memory or a common - place
book; and as neither the one nor the
other always furniſhed me with the
name of the poet or eſſayiſt whofe
words I borrowed, I have omitted the
names of all.
I have been gravely told that I have
made enemies by perſonality. In
many inſtances it has certainly been
the conſciences of the prototypes that
have helped the world to the reſem-
blances ; but I do not affect to deny
that I have occaſionally drawn from
the life ; and I have no heſitation in
ſaying, that in the preſent work the
character moſt odious (and that only)
is
xii
PREFACE.
is drawn ad vivum -- but as it repre-
ſents a reptile whoſe moſt hideous
features are too offenſive to be painted
in all their enormity, I have ſoftened
rather than overcharged the diſguſting
reſemblance. - It has been obſerved
to me, that ifuch an obſcure wretch as
an attorney, remarkable only for his
ſkill in ſaving the ears he has ſo often
deſerved to loſe, is too contemptible
for ſatire. As an individual he is ;
but as a ſpecimen of a genus ex-
tremely poiſonous and noxious he be-
comes an object to be held up to de-
teſtation ; and I have figured him
here as, in drawings to illuſtrate na-
-tural hiſtory, I would delineate the
ſcorpion, whoſe touch is mortal, or
give a figure of the upas-tree — per-
haps I ſhould rather ſay of the ſtrych-
nos (nux vomica), or ſome more fa-
miliar poiſon--for the deadly upas (if
it

PREFACE.
xiii
it be not a fable) exiſts ſingly: but
the deſtructive monſter, armed with
the power of doing miſchief, and of
robbing legally-the wretch without
feeling or principle, without honeſty
or pity—is a nuiſance widely diffuſed,
and ſpreading frequent deſolation.
That there are honeſt and good men
in the profeſſion I believe, for I know
two; but I have reaſon to ſuppoſe
that the majority are ſo much other-
wiſe, that it would be well for the
world if they were reſtrained by means
more adequate to the purpoſe than
thoſe ever practiſed in the preſent
order of things. eislioTTO
The great maſter of novel-writing,
Fielding, has attacked this legal per-
tilence long before inferior writers
ever touched upon it. If he failed of
having effect, my feeble pen can do
nothing but prove that other Mur-
phys
xiv
PREFACE.
phys and Dowlings exiſt in the pre-
ſent day; yet fome purpoſe will be
anſwered if the repreſentation ſhould
deter any individual, who has a drop
of manly or human blood in his heart,
from ſharpening the fangs of one of
theſe ſcourges of the earth againſt the
innocent and defenceleſs: then per-
haps fome group of promiſing chil-
dren, of unprotected orphans, may
eſcape the miſery, defolation, and
death, that have fallen on mine!
What will be thought of my pecu-
liar ill fortune, when I aſſert that I
have it in my power to produce a
counterpart to this demon? The Great
Man who from paltry pique directed,
or from bloated indolence ſlept over,
the injuries we have endured, put us,
by way of protection, into the truſt
of a worthy couſin of his own. The
worthy couſin, inſtead of driving away
the
PREFACE.
Xv
the evil ſpirit whom he found prey-
ing on the wreck, began to conſider
how he might appropriate a ſhare of
it to himſelf-He croaked, and, lo!
his fellows, and his partners, and his
agents, flocked around, and number-
leſs vultures fed inſtead of one: -fo
that our Great Director was like the
man in the parable, who being in-
feſted with a devil, goeth forth and
taketh unto him ſeven devils, not
worſe (for that was impoſſible), but
almoſt as bad as the firſt, and confe-
quently the laſt ſtate of the wards of
the Great Man is undoubtedly worfe
than the firſt.
A few words may be allowed me
on the ſubject of the preſent work.
It is a fault frequently imputed to
novels, that they are directed to no
purpoſe of morality, but rather ſerve
to inflame the imaginations, and en-
feeble
xvi
PREFACE.
feeble by falſe notions of refinement
the minds of young perſons. I know
not what ſhare of thoſe faults may be
found in the preſent production, but
my purpoſe has been to enforce the
virtue of fortitude: and if my readers
could form any idea of the ſtate of
my mind while I have been writing,
they would allow that I practiſe the
doctrine I preach.
tort pavab almado
0 (aldri oggi
so ons i od sledekt
Strots all
ERRATUM.
Page 74, for
1794," read " 1793."
. ราม7 นี้สาว2242 243 2 ใน
chytenie po
Sirotantes de valent to shoot
ne bis hoidmine on set
MARCH

MARCHMONT.
For ſhe was juſt, and friend to virtuous lore,
And paſs'd much time in truly virtuous deed.
CHAPTER 1.

IN
a beautiful village, near one of
the moſt populous towns in the weſt of
England, lived the only unmarried fifter
of an ancient family--Mrs. Trevyllian,
(for ſhe had for ſome years ceaſed to
write herſelf Miſs) was near fifty; ſhe
had never been handſome, but there
was ſomething in her countenance more
intereſting than even the remains of
beauty-an expreſſion of goodneſs, ſenſe,
VOL.I.
and
B
MARCHMONT.
and candour, which ſeemed to mark her
as the friend of the unfortunate, and
the guide of the innocent—her perſon
was elegant, and her manners remarka-
bly conciliating and attractive.
The
ſmall houſe ſhe inhabited was fitted up
with ſo much taſte, that ſhe was become
a ſort of oracle among thoſe who wiſhed
to exhibit elegance in their apartments :
ſhe had an excellent collection of books,
in a room which opened into a ſmall,
but very pretty garden, filled with the
ſweeteſt ſhrubs and flowers. Books and
plants ſupplied to her the place of ſo-
ciety, which ſhe was rarely mixed in;
and to the gratification of theſe attach-
ments fhe applied what others in her
ſituation uſually beſtow on cards and
company. Still, however, ſhe had al-
ways a purſe in referve for the neceffi-
tous; and her active ſpirit and found
judgement often did more fervice than
mere pecuniary aſliſtance. Extremely
beloved by her friends, living in a
courſe

MARCIMONT.
3
courſe of cheerful and rational piety,
enjoying tolerable health, and a com-
petent income, Mrs. Trevyllian knew
no other uneaſineſs than that which
aroſe from her reflections on the future
fate of a lovely girl, to whom ſhe had
been more than a mother, and for whom
The felt all a mother's tenderneſs. 108
Althea was the child of her favourite
fifter, of whom, though ſhe had been
dead near thirteen years, Mrs. Trevyl-
lian retained the moſt affeâionate re-
membrance; and as Althea grew nearer
to womanhood, ſhe became doubly dear
to her aunt, becauſe her features and
manners acquired every day a ſtronger
reſemblance to that dear fiſter; and
while ſhe read or converſed, this reſem-
blance, and the tones of her voice,
brought ſo ſtrong a recollection of what
her mother was at that age, that Mrs.
Trevyllian often caught herſelf gazing
at her with tears in her eyes, while the
innocent, unconſcious Althea wondered



B 2
at


4
MARCHMONT.
at theſe painful emotions; but when the
cauſe of them was explained, ſhe would
mingle her tears with thoſe of her dear
aunt; then ſmiling as ſhe wept, ſhe tried
to win the thoughts of her benefactreſs
from the contemplation which cauſed
them.
D
But the ſadneſs which aroſe from re-
collection of the paſt was light when
compared with the fears which frequent-
ly aſſailed the heart of Mrs. Trevyllian
as ſhe looked forward to the future.
The father of Althea was a younger
brother of good family, who being a
cornet of horſe quartered in a country
town, had fallen violently in love with
the fourth daughter of Mr. Trevyllian;
and, failing in his attempt to perſuade
her to elope with him, had at length
prevailed on his family and hers to con-
ſent to their marriage, and to make up
a ſmall income till his promotion in the
army ſhould enable him better to ſup-
port the expence of an eſtabliſhment;
but

MARCH MONT.
5
but the dependance and reſtraint in
which this arrangement placed Mr.
Dacres, who was ambitious, and ad-
di&ted to expence, muft foon have be.
come ſo irkſome to him, that his wife
would probably have been made unhap-
py, had ſhe lived long; but ſhe died
before the end of the ſecond year, leav-
ing only the little Althea, then about ten
months old, whom her aunt Trevyllian
immediately took charge of.
of. Mr.
Dacres, who had now fold out of the
army, was at liberty to avail himſelf of
a handſome perſon, and great family
intereſt, to acquire a more affluent wife.
Such a one he foon found in the co-
heireſs of a man who had acquired a
conſiderable fortune in trade, which at
his death he left between two daughters,
the eldeſt of whom was married to a
newly-created Iriſh peer; and the young-
eſt divided between her paſſion for a title
and her taſte for the handſome figure of
Mr. Dacres, at length ſettled the con-
B 3
teit

6
MARCHMONT,
teſt between love and ambition, by bar-
gaining that a certain ſum of her money
ſhould be appropriated to the purchaſe
of a baronet's title; and though ſhe did
not rank fo high as her fifter, ſhe con-
foled herſelf by reflecting, that ſhe was
elevated above moſt of her former ac-
quaintance; and while " Lady Dacres"
founded extremely well, ſhe had the
gratification of having for a huſband not
only a man of faſhion, but one of the
handſomeft men of his time.
A few years brought a numerous fa-
mily; and Sir Audley, embarked in
that political career which he thought
neceffary to enable him to provide for
them, left the management of theſe chil.
dren entirely to their mother, while the
little Althea was almoſt loſt to his recol-
lection. He ſeldom ſaw her, and ſel-
dom thought of her. Her aunt, how-
ever, deeming it unreaſonable that he
fhould be wholly exempt from expence,
regularly ſent in an account for Althea's
board,


MARCH MONT.
7
board, cloathing, and education, though
with no other view than to form of the
fums fhe thus received a little fund for
her beloved ward, which fhe put into
the stocks every year, as foon as it was
paid. This annual payment, however
trifling, was frequently delayed beyond
the regular period, and by degrees ex-
cufes were made for letting it run far in
arrears.-Tenants were not punctual -
election expences had been unuſually
high-or ſome improvement at his coun-
try feat -- were occaſionally pleaded by
Sir Audley; but Mrs. Trevyllian, who
was cruelly hurt at evaſions which ſhe
thought were proofs of his want of af-
fection for Althea, failed not after they
had been twice or thrice repeated, to
ſignify that ſhe muſt inſiſt on more re-
gular payments, adding ſome hints that
ſhe ſhould otherwiſe be under the ne-
ceflity of ſending her charge home, and
a little more attention was obſerved;
for Sir Audley had not the leaſt wiſh to
enlarge
B4
8
MARCHMONT.
enlarge his family by the return of his
eldeſt daughter, and Lady Dacres had
Atill leſs inclination to receive her.
As Mrs. Trevyllian reſided at a great
diftance from London, four years had
paſſed ſince Sir Audley had ſeen Althea :
and theſe years, between the age of
twelve and fixteen, had made
very
fa-
vourable change in her perſon, which
was always delicate and intereſting.–
Mrs. Trevyllian, who had promiſed to
ſpend ſome months with an old friend
in Hertfordſhire, lately become a widow,
determined as ſhe paſſed through Lon.
don to ſtay a week or ten days, as well
to ſee ſome of her own family, to whom
ſhe had been long a ſtranger, as to give
Althea an opportunity of paying her
duty to her father and Lady Dacres,
and to renew with her brothers and
fifters the friendſhip which ſo long an
abſence had almoſt obliterated,
The viſit was announced in form, and
in forin the viſitants were to be re-

ceived
MARCHMONT.
9
ceived. Sir Audley met them at the
drawing-room door, and faluted Mrs.
Trevyllian with his uſual politeneſs
then advancing to embrace his daughter,
he ſtarted, ſeemed aſtoniſhed, and even
affected—for he beheld the very image
of his once-adored, his once-regretted
Althea. She ſeemed, after fourteen
years, to be again preſent to him. He
recovered himſelf, however, beforé any
one but the object who had cauſed his
confuſion obſerved it; and having kiſſed
Althea, whoſe eyes were ſtreaming with
tears, hé led her towards Lady Dacres,
who, coldly faluting her, remarked that
" Miſs Dacres was very much grown in-
deed.”—Then caſting a look, which the
watchful and obſervant eye of Mrs.
Trevyllian did not fail to tranſlate into
a malignant remark, ſhe refumed her
feat, and entered on indifferent topics,
carefully avoiding any ſubject which
might lead to farther recollection of the
long time that had elapfed. The daugh-

ters
10
MARCIIMONT.
ters of Lady Dacres, who were of courſe
grown in proportion, made their en-
trance in great formality with their go-
verneſs; and the eldeft fon, a rude Weſt-
minſter boy, now turned of fourteen,
who came with a companion older than
himſelf to dine. Theſe lads voted the
old lady, Mrs. Trevyllian, a very great
quiz, and their new fifter a very pretty
girl. Young Dacres even venturing to
utter acroſs the room in an audible
whiſper to the eldeſt of his ſiſters---
“ Caroline, Caroline, this is a prettier
fifter than ever you will be-here is
Montford ſwears it."
Miſs Caroline, who had no great ſa-
tisfaction in refigning even for one day
the name of Miſs Dacres, was not put
into very good humour by this addreſs.
Dinner, however, paſſed, and the wearied
Althea, who had been comparing the
quiet and rationality of her aunt's houſe
with the irkſome parade and tedious
ceremony of her father's, ſecretly re-


joiced
MARCH MONT.
joiced that an engagement for the even.
ing ſeparated the party at an early hour.
She felt, however, as the killed her
father's hand at parting, that ſhe was his
child; and though he ſtruggled to check
ſenſations in her favour, he was ſtill fen-
ſible of the pleaſure of having ſuch a
daughter. Another dinner party, and
two or three morning viſits, pafled be-
tween Althea and her family, before her
aunt left London. Though it was now
the gayeſt ſeaſon, and though Althea
had been much amuſed with ſeeing plays,
the opera, and Ranelagh, yet did the
fincerely rejoice when the day came
which conveyed her with her aunt inte
Hertfordfhire.
The houſe they were expected at
was about four and thirty miles from
London. They arrived there early in
the afternoon; the family had one day's
notice of their arrival; and at the gate of
a ſmall paddock that ſurrounded the
houſe an old butler, who had lived
B 6
many
MARCH MONT.
many years in the family, waited to re-
ceive them. The poor man looked very
melancholy, which Mrs. Trevyllian im-
puted to the recent loſs of his maſter;
but when the chaiſe had entered the gate,
he beckoned to the poftillion to ſtop,
and, advancing to the window, ſaid in a
very depreſſed tone, “ I thought it right,
Madam, to let you know the ſtate of
our houſe before you entered it—My
poor miſtreſs.”_" Good God !” ex-
claimed Mrs. Trevyllian, what has hap-
pened ?"_" My poor miſtreſs,” con-
tinued the man, " is extremely ill. We
have reaſon to fear the fever infe&ious,
as it began with a fervant, who is dead,
and two others are ill. My good lady,
ever attentive and kind, has attended
them herſelf againſt the advice of the
phyſician, who warned her of her danger.
She is now given over.” He burſt into
tears, and could not proceed.
' And who is with her?” enquired
Mrs. Trevyllian. Only the houſe-



maid,
MARCH MONT.
13
maid, and a nurſe from the village, for
her own maid and the houſekeeper
have failed ſince yeſterday."-"Good
Heaven! what a ſituation,” ſaid Mrs.
Trevyllian, “i for my poor friend-ever
ſo ready herſelf to aſſiſt her fick friends,
yet to be thus deſerted. But what can
I do? My dear Althea, I cannot riſk
your health--I will not even ſuffer you
to enter the houſe; though, for myſelf,
I can as little think of abandoning my
friend in her diſtreſs. --- How can I
act P... She pauſed a moment or two
for conſideration; and Althea, who
feared only for her aunt, ventured, while
this filence laſted, to ſay, “Deareſt
Madam, if you determine to go, I en-
treat you not to ſpare me? Why ſhould
I fear a danger which my dear aunt de-
termines to encounter? If any ill be-
fals her, of what conſequence would be
the life of her Althea ?” vilo sod
“ You are a dear girl," cried Mrs.
Trevyllian, killing her; "and I every
day
MARCHMONT.
day fee occaſion to love you more and
more-but I cannot think of your going
with me to my poor friend. You are of
an age to take infection much more
eaſily than thoſe farther advanced in
life. But how to diſpoſe of you, my
ſweet girl, I know not. I am unac-
quainted with any perſon in the neigh-
bourhood to whom I could entruſt you.
..... However, we will return to the
inn where we changed horſes, and con-
fider what can be done."
The butler was then directed to aſſure
Mrs. Polwarth, her fick friend, that ſhe
was haſtening to her, and as fearful for
her lovely ward as unapprehenſive for
herſelf, Mrs. Trevyllian fell into a deep
reverie as they returned to the town,
which was about three miles diſtant.
This melancholy filence Althea at
length ventured to interrupt, by aſking
why none of Mrs. Polwarth's own family
were with her?—“The queſtion," re-
plied Mrs. Trevyllian, “is very natural,
Gnce
MARCHMONT.
15
fince you have heard that my friend has
a family; but her daughter is gone to the
Weſt Indies with her huſband, whoſe
property lies there; her ſon is a man of
buſineſs, who thinks of little elſe than
the political matters in which he is en-
gaged; and as to his wife, ſhe is fo fine
a lady, ſuch a compound of vanity, ex-
travagance, and affectation, that to at-
tend a fick parent would never occur to
her as a neceſſary duty. Thus my poor
friend is left totally without the foothing
offices of affection. Her three grand-
children are boys, and not of an age,
were they of a ſex, to attend her fick
chamber. If you knew her, my
dear
Althea, you would not wonder that my
heart bleeds for her--that I wiſh to ſee
her--and if it muſt be fo-to receive
her laſt figh, her dying wiſhes. We
were friends in our early childhood;
and, in the happy days of our youth, we
paſſed much of our time together. I
had once a ſevere and tedious illneſs;
it

16
MARCHMONT.
it was at a time when the faireſt proſpects
were opening before my friend, then
Henrietta Sebright. She was on the
point of being married to a man, equally
her parents' choice and her own; yet,
regardleſs of every claim but that of
friendſhip, ſhe hazarded a life, which
was likely to be thus happy, to attend
on me, through many months of lan-
guor, and greatly contributed to the re-
ſtoration of my health.” Mrs. Tre-
vyllian pauſed a moment, as if to re-
cover from ſome bitter recollections,
and then proceeding in a low voice,
faid, “ It is now more than thirty years
ago; but is there any period at which a
debt of true gratitude may be can-
celled ?
Althea had feldom ſeen her aunt fo
much affected, and forbore to queſtion
her farther. They ſoon arrived at the
inn, where Mrs. Trevyllian, enquiring
for the miſtreſs of the houſe, defired
her to prepare a room for her piece,
and


MARCHMONT.
17
and to take particular care of her ac-
commodation, as ſhe would remain
there that night. Then eagerly aſſuring
Althea that there was nothing to fear
for her own ſafety in viſiting her friend,
and that ſhe ſhould hear from, or pro-
bably fee her the next morning, ſhe
tenderly kiſſed the weeping girl, and
recommending her to the care of her
own woman, whom ſhe left at the inn,
ſhe departed for the houſe of Mrs. Pol-
warth.
Temporary as this feparation was
likely to be, Althea felt dejected and
miſerable, a thouſand fears for the health
of her beloved guardian affailed her;
fhe paſſed a ſleepleſs night, but was ren-
dered infinitely more unhappy the next
morning, by receiving the following
por ne boule of Mrs. Pol
note :
“ I found my poor friend very ill,
yet ſenſible, and rejoiced to ſee me.
My preſence ſeems to have revived her;
and while ſhe bids me leave her, left I
ſhould

18
MARCHMONT.
ſhould ſuffer by ſtaying, I ſee that ſhe
believes my preſence neceſſary to her
reſtoration. I cannot therefore quir
her, my Althea---neither can I conſent
to your coming hither. In this diffi-
culty I have determined to ſend you
back to London under the care of
Morris, and recommend you for the
ſhort time of our unavoidable ſepara-
tion to the care of Sir Audley and
Lady Dacres. Believe me, deareſt
Althea, my heart bleeds at the neceſſity
of ſuffering you to be abſent from me
even for a day; but under the protec-
tion of your father there can be nothing
to fear for you, and I truſt that the un-
divided attention I fhall then be able to
give to my poor fick friend will, under
Providence, be the means of reſtoring
her, and that we ſhall meet again, my
very dear Althea, in a few days, to rejoice
together in her recovery. I fend orders
to Morris reſpeæing your journey, and
I write to Sir Audley and Lady Dacres..
Heaven
MARCH MONT.
Heaven preſerve my deareſt girl. This
is the inceflant prayer of her affec-
tionate
“ ANNE TREVYLLIAN."
Althea endeavoured to ſubmit to this
painful neceſſity in the way leaſt likely
to give uneaſineſs to her aunt, but with
a heavy and foreboding heart ſhe
ſtepped into the chaiſe with Morris,
and arrived in Lower Groſvenor Street
juſt as the family were fitting down to
dinner with a large party of friends.
Althea ſtopped at the door while the
letter ſhe had brought was ſent in, and
the interval was long enough to allow
her to feel much pain from doubts
ſhe could not help entertaining of a
welcome reception. When one of the
footmen, with a meſſage from Sir Audley,
deſired her to walk in, ſhe trembled fo
as to be hardly able to leave the chaiſe,
and leaning on the arm of her aunt's
woman, flowly followed him, not ima-
gining
20
MARCHMONT.
gining that Lady Dacres would have ſo
little confideration as to ſuffer her to
enter a room full of company : this,
however, ſhe found to be the caſe.
Sir Audley got up, and leading her to
à chair next himſelf, ſaid he was forry
for Mrs. Polwarth's illneſs-ſuppoſed
ſhe had not dined, and bade her fit
down to table; while Lady Dacres
ſlightly bowed to her from the top of
it, and ſaid, with cold civility, that ſhe
hoped ſhe was well. In a moment every
body ſeemed to have forgotten ſhe was
there—and the common converſation
that paſſes on ſuch occaſions was re-
newed.
Poor Althea, whoſe thoughts were
wholly with the aunt at Abbotlhanger,
and who found in this numerous circle
not one whoſe heart feemed to ſympa-
thiſe with hers, felt her ſpirits fink, and
her eyes every moment ready to over-
flow with tears. She ſometimes ſtole a
timid look at her father, in hopes of find.
ing
MARCHMONT.
ing his turned towards her with a tender
welcome ; but after her firſt entrance he
too ſeemed to conſider her only as one
of his gueſts. She withdrew when the
other ladies followed Lady Dacres to
the drawing-room, moſt earneſtly wiſh-
ing for permiſſion to retire to her own-
but Lady Dacres continued to converſe
with her friends on the uſual topics,
without once addreſſing herſelf to, or
even noticing Althea, who being in a
travelling dreſs, while the lady of the
houſe, as well as the company, were
more dreſſed than uſual, fhe felt her
fatigue and vexation every moment in-
creaſe, yet ſhe could not acquire courage
to riſe arid ſo formidable a circle and
retire; neither did fhe know whither to
go, for the young ladies, her half ſiſters,
had not appeared, they not being, to
uſe the common phraſe, “ come out
yet,” and only allowed to dine with
Sir Audley and Lady Dacres when
alane, or merely a family party,
At
22
MARCH MONT.
At length ſome of the company roſe
to go, and much was faid as they de-
parted of a future meeting in the even-
ing, by which Althea found that Lady
Dacres was going out. Seven or eight
perſons yet remained, and ſome of the
gentlemen, attended by Sir Audley, came
up to tea; he ſeemed on ſeeing Althea
to be ſurpriſed, as if he had forgotten all
that had paſſed, and approaching his
wife, whiſpered ſomething, to which ſhe
anſwered in a way that Althea thought
almoſt peeviſh, “ Well, well, Sir Aud-
ley, I muſt give orders, I muſt fee
about it.” She then rang the bell, and
directing the houſekeeper to attend in
her dreſſing-room, ſhe left the room for
a moment, and returning, ſaid to Althea,
in a very formal manner, “ Miſs Dacres,
if you chufe to retire, my women have
orders in regard to your accommoda-
tion: you will, perhaps, not find it very
convenient, but my houſe is too ſmall
for my family.” Althea, glad on any
terms
MARCHMONT.
23
terms to eſcape from her preſent com-
fortleſs ſituation, thanked her in words
as cold, but rather more civil than her
own, and aſſured her, ſhe ſhould be
perfectly ſatisfied with whatever her
Ladyfhip had directed, and adding, that
ſhe was extremely fatigued, begged
leave to retire. She was ſhewn by a
very fine lady, who was, ſhe found, Lady
Dacres's woman, to an upper room,
which was plainly, but neatly furniſhed.
Her trunk was already placed in it; and
dejectedly, by the window, fat Morris,
who no ſooner found herſelf at liberty,
than ſhe ſaid, with a deep figh, “Ah!
dear me I truſt, Miſs Dacres, we ſhall
not have to ſtay long in this houſe. I
am ſure I am weary of it already. But
I hope Sir Audley and my lady have
made you welcome ?".
Althea, whoſe heart was full, burſt
into tears, and threw herſelf on the bo-
fom of Morris, who had been as a fofter
mother to her, where fhe ſobbed aloud;
yet

24
MARCH MONT.
yet feeling from her innate ſenſe of pro-
priety that it was wrong to encourage
the murmurs of her aunt's woman in the
houſe of her father, ſhe endeavoured,
ſince ſhe could not ſtifle her concern,
to impute it merely to her fears for her
aunt, and regret at their ſudden ſepa-
ration. “I believe, nay I am ſure,”
ſaid ſhe, as ſoon as ſhe recovered her-
ſelf a little, that my father is glad to
ſee me; but the fuddenneſs of my ar-
rival, and there being ſo much com-
pany."-"Don't tell me,” cried Mor-
ris, who had been uſed to ſpeak her
mind"I've no notion on't for my
part. I'm ſure a perfect ſtranger would
have been gladder to have ſeen you
than Sir Audley was to ſee his own
child; I know that well enough by what
I heard thoſe impertinent laced monkies
below ſay; and as for my Lady, ſhe is
known to begrudge the leaſt matter in
the world for you. Then they've ſtuffed
you up into this room, which is not
much

MARCH MONT.
25
much better than a garret-and make a
mighty favour of it too.”—“Oh! my
dear Morris," cried Althea, “ the room
does very well-I hope I ſhall not long
need it; a palace would make me no
amends for being abſent from my aunt,
and uneaſy for her health as I am now.”
“ They'll take care you ſhan't trouble
them long, I believe; for Mrs. Midge-
ley forſooth took occaſion to tell me,
when ſhe ſhewed me up here, that in-
deed her Lady's eldeſt fon from Weſt-
minſter School always ſlept in this room,
and that if he was to come home to ſtay,
as he did every now and then, ſhe did
not know how her Lady would do----
Such a fuſs indeed with her Lady, and
her Lady-I took care to tell her, that
I thought my ladies of quite as much
conſequence as hers, though they had
not titles--and I hinted to her, that if
there was any ſuch great matter of in-
convenience in your ſtaying here, I
was ſure you had a good houſe at
Voi, I.
home,

с

26
MARCHMONT.
home, and that my Lady would not fuf-
fer you to be troubleſome to her Lady,
or to any body elſe, but would ſend you
home, and that I could take care of
you well enough till fuch time as my
Lady could come down herfelf.”-
The honeſt zeal and mortified pride
of Morris combined to give the greateſt
pain to Althea.–Senſible as ſhe was of
the former, ſhe knew not how to repreſs
the latter; yet fhe forefaw that her ſtay,
of whatever duration it might be, would
be rendered doubly uneaſy by theſe
heartburnings, and that Lady Dacres,
while the conſidered her as a burden,
would look upon Morris as a ſpy.-
Probably the little affection her father
had for her would be diminiſhed by the
complaints this would occaſion, and in
whatever view fhe regarded this un-
lucky viſit, it promiſed only unhappi-
neſs. Her greateſt conſolation was, that
it could not be long; for, in the con-
verſation of the evening, Lady Dacres
had

MARCHMONT.
had taken occaſion to tell her company,
that they propoſed going into the coun-
try in about a month; and had dwelt
much on this circumſtance in conver-
ſation, as if on purpoſe to let Althea
underſtand that her ſtay could not be
prolonged beyond that time.
All the poor Althea could now do
was to endeavour to appeaſe the irri-
table ſpirit of her aunt's woman; for
Morris did not eaſily conſent to give
up the indignation which ſome real or
imaginary affront had raiſed and at
laſt went murmuring away, leaving Al-
thea to indulge reflexions the moſt pain-
ful ſhe had ever felt.
CHAP.
28
MARCHMONT.
CHAP. II.
Loud, vain, preſumptuous,
Proud of his power of tongue, the braggart came.
Mrs. Trevyllian was not eaſier at
Abbotſhanger than Althea was in Lon-
don; yet more accuſtomed to the vi-
ciffitudes and vexations of life, and
being of a firm and ſteady ſpirit, ſhe
would have blamed her niece for in-
dulging anxiety, could ſhe have known
it--and ſtill more her woman for yield-
ing to querulous diſcontent while ſhe
was engaged in a ſcene where the real
evils of life were ſurrounding her. Her
unfortunate friend was ſick both in body
and mind; Mrs. Trevyllian had however
the conſolation of ſeeing that her ſociety
ſoothed

MARCHMONT.
29
foothed her ſpirits, while her care
ſeemed to have fnatched her from the
grave; for ſhe was already out of dan-
ger, but ſo extremely weak, that her
final recovery was very doubtful.-Her
fon neglected her; and her daughter,
whoſe abſence was a continual ſource of
pain, was not only far from her, but
ſubject to the greateſt inconvenience and
danger, from the ſituation of the coun-
try to which ſhe was gone—and the
afflicted mother dared hardly look after
news; yet, when ſhe forbore all inquiry,
ſhe found her conjectures even more
dreadful than the truth.
Mrs. Trevyllian was inceſſantly em-
ployed in the difficult taſk of calming
theſe apprehenſions, which fhe felt were
generally too well grounded. Several
days elapſed while ſtrength returned fo
flowly to the enfeebled frame of Mrs.
Polwarth, that ſhe exiſted, but could
hardly be ſaid to live-while Mrs.
Trevyllian, without any new cauſe, felt
C 3
her
30
MARCHMONT,
her own ſpirits gradually declining--and
at the end of about ten days it was too
evident to the medical attendants that
ſhe was ſeized with the fever from which
her unwearied care had greatly contri-
buted to recover her friend. Suſpect-
ing this herſelf, ſhe preſſed them to avow
the truth; and when ſhe had with diffi-
culty extorted it from them, ſhe inſiſted
upon their promiſing to give her notice
of the degree of danger ſhe might be
in.--"I do not fear death,” ſaid fhe;
“and for my few worldly concerns, they
have long ſince been fettled-but I have
a dear child who is almoſt entirely de-
pendant on me, and I would uſe the
laſt hours of my life in making ſuch a
proviſion as I can for her againſt the:
inconveniences that muſt follow my
loſs; and therefore it is, Gentlemen, that
I wiſh to hear the truth in every ſtage
of the diſorder which has ſeized me.”
If this fortitude of mind made the
taſk eafier to the Gentlemen with re-
fpcct

MARCH MONT.
31

ſpect to Mrs. Trevyllian, it became ex-
tremely difficult to acquit themſelves
towards Mrs. Polwarth, who could not
bear to hear the moſt remote hint that
her friend was in danger, and threw
herſelf into agonies that endangered her
own life.--Fortunately the fever was
milder than they had at firſt reaſon to
fear; and in a few days there was little
to apprehend but from the extreme de-
bility it left. As the danger had never
been imminent, the illneſs of her aunt
had been carefully concealed from Al-
thea, who could not but wonder ſhe did
not hear from her as uſual, and that
fhort and incoherent notes from Mrs.
Polwarth ſupplied the place of thoſe in-; .
ſtructive and affe&tionate letters which
fhe had received during the firſt days
of their ſeparation.--At length Mrs.
Trevylliant exerted herſelf to conceal
her trembling hand, and, under the pre-
tence of head-ach, excuſed the ſhort-
neſs of her letter, which appeaſed, the..
cruel


C4
32
MARCHMONT.
cruel alarms Althea had begun to feel --
and, by the returning poſt, ſhe wrote
the following anſwer:
« It is impoſſible to expreſs to you,
my dear, dear aunt, the delight with
which your Althea read a letter written
with your own hand. It has removed .
many apprehenfions that I was tormented
with : for, notwithſtanding Mrs. Pol-
warth's kind letters, I feared you were
very ill; and had it not been that I am
determined never to diſobey you, I
ſhould have ſurpriſed you at Abbots-
hanger.-Have you not been ill ?-Oh!
yes, I ſtill fear that is the truth--but
my dear aunt would never deceive me;
and as ſhe aſſures her Althea ſhe is well,
and that we ſhall foon meet, I will be-
lieve her, and appeaſe my apprehen-
fions. I cannot however promiſe to be
as happy as you bid me--for if it were
poſſible for me to feel pleaſure where
you are abſent, indeed it could not be
here. You bid me relate what paſſes,
and

MARCHMONT.
33
and flatter me that it amuſes you to hear
my ſimple narrative.—Alas! I am not
like Miſs Byron-my. journal will not
contain an account of the fine things
that are ſaid to me, and the approbation
I meet with, for I am a mere cypher-
or what is worſe, I ſeem to be ſelected
by that odious Mr. Mohun as an obje&t
of ridicule-it were better to remain in
.
" You have never ſeen this very diſ-
agreeable man, my dear aunt, or you
would not, I am ſure, however you may
diſlike any tendency to fatire, think I
repreſented him in colours too un-
pleaſing.--I cannot tell why he ſingles
me out as an object of attention, which
I am ſure is far from being flattering,
and I heartily wiſh my father would not
encourage him in addreſſing himſelf to
me.- Why he ſhould do it I cannot
imagine, as he ſeems at the ſame time
to conſider me as a child and a mere
country girl, and impertinently affects
€ 5

to

34
MARCH MONT.
to be mightily amuſed with my fim-
plicity. But there is no judging how
hateful he is, unlefs. I deſcribe the fort
of man.-He is a tall, awkward, raw-
bone figure—with a countenance it is
impoffible to look at without diſguſt, for
it has the moſt diſagreeable expreſſion I
ever ſaw:—when he ſpeaks, which is
always more than any body in the room,
it reminds me of the voice and manner
of the man whom I heard plead againſt
thoſe poor creatures who were priſoners
at Exeter, the only time you ever took
me into a Court of Law, ſo that I ſup-
poſe it is the uſual manner of lawyers,
and that Mr. Mohun cannot diveſt him.
ſelf of it in private company. Whatever
he fays, however, he fays as if it were
impoſſible he could be wrong; and in-
deed nobody ever ventures to diffent
from him. If any unfortunate being
has temerity enough to attempt it, Mr.
Mohun flies at him like an enraged
hornet, and will contrive to ſting before
be

MARCHMONT
35
he has done with him; for there is no
thing rude and brutal he will not ſay,
totally regardleſs of the pain he may
inflict. I have once or twice heard him
make ſuch very infolent reflections that
I have been aſtoniſhed he has not ex.
cited the reſentment of the people to
whom he addreſſed himſelf: but it ſeems
as if other men, who have probably as
much ſpirit as he has, are thunderſtruck
and amazed at his exceffive aſſurance.
Nor are his manners towards women at
all pleaſant-Lady Dacres, with whom
he appears to be a great favourite, and
who is in general remarkably nice and
correct, only laughs at him when he
tells long ſtories of pleadings about di-
vorces, and I know not what ſcandalous
ſtories, which I am ſure Lady Dacres
would not ſuffer from any other perſon.
Her partiality to this man is aſtoniſhing,
my father's ſtill more fo, for it is,
impoſſible any two people can be more
unlike each other. They are Members



but my
c6
of
36
MARCHMONT.
of Parliament, it ſeems, for the ſame bo-
rough, and Sir Audley has ſome obliga-
tions to him- fo he told me this morn-
ing—and he bade me never again behave
rudely to him. You will naturally aſk,
my dear aunt, if I did behave rudely ?-
I will tell you what paſſed, and you ſhall
judge for me yourſelf. This Mr. Mo-
hun, who lives here, I think, had dined
with my father as uſual, and there was
to be a ſmall card party in the evening.
The weather is dreadfully hot in this
diſagreeable London—and I cannot ima-
gine how any human beings can fhut
themſelves up in a room, and fit down
to thoſe everlaſting cards. I found my
own room, which has windows to the
Weſt, ſo very warm, that, though I
generally ſtay there as long as I can, 1
came down into the withdrawing rooms
earlier than uſual, and long before the
company were aſſembled, or Lady Da-
cres herſelf had appeared.-Three other
gentlemen dined with my father, and I
concluded

MARCHMONT.
37
concluded they would be long engaged
over their wine; I took my work there-
fore, and placed myſelf near a window
in the great drawing-room. A few
coaches paſſed with people going to
Kenſington Gardens-I felt my con-
finement uneaſy, without however en-
vying them.--I wiſhed not to join any
of theſe parties—it was with you I longed
to be-a thouſand uneaſy conjectures
aſſailed me, (for I had not then re-
ceived your dear letter) and I was more
diſpoſed to weep than to go on with my
work, when the door of the anti-room
fuddenly opened, and Mr. Mohun, who
feemed to be much affected with the
wine he had drank, ſtaggered into that
where I was ſitting, and, approaching
me with ſome of thoſe diſagreeable
ſpeeches which he often makes, very
confidently fat himſelf down on the fame
feat; and putting his arm round my
waiſt, he ſtared at me, and ſaid, I was
the

38
MARCHMONT.
the moſt divine little dear he had ever
feen.
“I ſprang from him in an inſtant, more
terrified than I ever was in my life, for
never had I been ſubject to ſuch im-
pertinence before.--He beſought me to
ſtop; but I flew up to my own room,
determined not to leave it till Lady
Dacres's company were aſſembled-nor
then unleſs I was ſent for.--Alas! my
dear aunt, how every incident concurs.
to increaſe my regret at our ſeparation,
and with what ardent wiſhes I look for-
ward to our return into Devonſhire! -
I was in ſome hopes that, inconſequen-
tial as I am, I might have been for-
gotten, and have been allowed to re-
main alone for the reſt of the evening,
as I never take a place at a card table,
and of courſe could not be wanted.
Ah! no I was not ſo fortunate. I
received an order from my father to
attend Lady Dacres, and reluctantly I
obeyed.
« When
MARCHMONT.
39
" When I entered the room every
body was at cards but my father and Mr.
Mohun, who were in deep conference
at one end of it. I went up to the
table where Lady Dacres was at play,
and faid one of the nothings which one
is in a habit of ſaying to Mifs Corn-
wallis, who was of her party : by a ſide
glance I ſaw that my father and his
friend were talking of me, and that
Mohun held his opera glaſs to his eye-
an impertinence he is frequently guilty
of, as if to furvey me the better.—A
moment afterwards Sir Audley called
me to him; and, what is very unuſual
with him, began to talk to me with ſome
degree of intereſt and affection. So
little has your poor Althea been accuf.
tomed to liſten to the voice of tender-
neſs from a parent, that the ſlendereſt
mark of my father's regard always af-
fects me.—He ſaw that I was affected,
and ſeemed pleafed; then, as if ſome
one had beckoned to him from the other


fide
40
MARCHMONT.
my
ſide of the room, he ſuddenly left me;
ſtanding near Mohun, who, throwing
ſomething into his manner which I ſup-
pofe he thought was ſoftneſs, took my.
hand, and, I believe, was beginning an
apology: but I flung from him, and, on
his following me to a card-table, whi-
ther I had fled for refuge, hurried out
of the room, determined rather to incur
father's diſpleaſure than ſuffer for
a moment the renewal of ſuch infolent
familiarity.
"I found he ſtaid fupper, and there-
fore excuſed myſelf from going down.
I hoped indeed that I ſhould have heard
no more about him—but this mornings
when the poſt came in, I could not for-
bear going down; and anxiouſly in-
quiring of the porter if there was not a
letter for me, I ſaw that hand-writing
which gives me the greateſt pleaſure of
any in the world; and, unable to reſtrain
my impatience, had eagerly torn open
my letter as. I returned up ſtairs, when
my


MARCHMONT.
my father came out of his ſtudy, and
ordered me to come to him there. I
obeyed-not without trembling, becauſe
he ſpoke ſo ſternly. He ſhut the door,
and ſaid in a tone of voice which did
not ſerve to quiet my beating heart-
• Althea, I am much diſpleaſed with
you; and I muſt tell you, that, if you
ſtay with me, I expect very different
behaviour.'-Unconſcious of what I
had done, I aſked, in a faltering voice,
how I had been ſo unfortunate as to
offend him ? —He anſwered-You be-
have with rudeneſs, and in a manner
very unbecoming a young woman, cir-
cumſtanced as you are, to my beſt
friends.-Come, come—you muſt not
affect to miſunderſtand me, Althea.--
You know perfectly well that I mean
Mr. Mohun. He condeſcends to take
notice of you—which, I aſſure you, is
an honour half the women of the higheſt
conſequence in town would be flattered
by, and you give yourſelf airs of flip-
pancy




42
MARCHMONT
pancy and contempt. If it were pofa
fible that ſuch a man as my friend Mo-
hun, who will undoubtedly be Chan-
cellor, could think ſeriouſly of ſuch a
girl, be aſſured, Althea, it would be the
moſt fortunate circumſtance of your
life.—That, unhappily, is not at all
likely. In the mean time I muſt inſiſt
upon your behaving to him, whenever
he addreſſes himſelf to you, with the
reſpect that is due to his condition,
his fortune, and, above all, to your
father's friend. You now know my
ſentiments; I expect to have no oc-
caſion to repeat them. Go, Althea,
I will hear no reply.? --Indeed, my
dear aunt, I had no inclination to an-
fwer. I was too much amazed at the
purport of what my father ſpoke, and
his peremptory manner, which was ſo
much more than the occaſion ſeemed
to demand, that I ſhould not have had
voice or courage to have replied, had I
not been thus forbidden. I hurried to
my
MARCHMONT.
43
my own room; and, to tell you the truth,
my deareſt and beſt friend, though I
began my letter with tolerable compo-
ſure, I have hardly yet recovered from
my uneaſy aſtoniſhment. Yet my fa-
ther certainly could not mean more than
he ſaid-Oh! my dear, dear aunt, let
your poor Althea return to you, where-
ever you are.
Ten thouſand fevers are
not half ſo dreadful, in my opinion, as
this one. Mr. Mohun. If he ſhould
have taken it into his head ....... but,
no-I will not torment myſelf with ſuch
uſeleſs conjectures, but repeat, moſt
earneſtly repeat let your Althea return
to you directly-Oh! ſend me permiſſion
by the return of the poſt.-Believe me,
though her Ladyſhip is juſt civil to me,
it is with evident effort, and Lady Da-
cres will be much relieved by my ab-
fence—while to embrace my deareſt
aunt, never again to quit her, is the
firſt wiſh of her Althea Dacres."
The
44
MARCHMONT.
The recovery of Mrs. Trevyllian was
not at all promoted by this letter, which
gave occaſion to many uneaſy conjec-
tures.--She knew that Sir Audley, with
high notions of the power of parents
over their children, had long ſince con-
quered thoſe ſentiments which had, in
the early part of life, induced him to
facrifice every other conſideration to
love. He was now quite a convert to
the neceſſity of prudence and diſcretion,
and thought money and power two
things which every man of ſenſe ſhould
make it the buſineſs of his life to ob-
tain. Mrs. Trevyllian foreſaw there-
fore that, if the facrifice of Althea could
be made fubfervient to theſe purpoſes,
Sir Audley would not fcruple to infift
upon it; and that as to herſelf, though
ſhe might aſſiſt the refiftance of her
niece, the rejection of her father's friend
would inevitably diſoblige him; and
render her future life uncomfortable.---
Theſe thoughts preſſed more painfully

MARCHMONT,
45
on her mind, becauſe ſhe felt her health
ſo much impaired that ſhe thought the
time was probably near when ſhe muſt
leave this beloved girl to the proteâion
of her father, or leave her totally un-
protected.-- What might, in either caſe,
be her deſtiny, Mrs. Trevyllian could
not think of without loſing much of
that fortitude which no other contem-
plation on the future had power to
ſhake.
To a young woman, ſituated as Al-
thea was likely to be in caſe of her
death, nothing could be ſo deſirable as
an honourable and affluent marriage--
but Mrs. Trevyllian knew her too well
to believe that any advantage could en-
gage her to accept ſuch a man as Mr.
Mohun; and that her young and in-
genuous heart, though without any pre-
poſſeſſion in favour of another, would
ſhrink from his arrogant pretenſions,
and ſuffer every degree of inconveni-
ence rather than hazard the miſery of
pafling

46
MARCHMONT.
paſſing her life with a man ſhe could
not love.
Of the wretchedneſs of ſuch an union
Mrs. Trevyllian was too well aware to
think for a moment of promoting it; but
ſhe foreſaw ſo much pain and uneaſineſs
likely to ariſe from the inſtances of Sir
Audley, that to remove Althea from the
ſight of this unwelcome admirer ſeemed
to be immediately neceſſary—and this
ſhe determined to do, though at the riſk
of her health, which was by no means
in a ſtate that enabled her to travel with
fafety; but to bring Althea to Abbots-
hanger would have been ſo imprudent,
that ſhe wrote merely to bid her fend
Morris to accompany her to London,
as fhe purpoſed being there on the fol-
lowing Friday. She wrote alſo to Sir
Audley, informing him of her intentions,
and requeſted that her niece might be
ready to receive her at her lodgings.
Althea received this news with un-
allayed tranſport: it confirmed what ſhe
had


MARCHMONT.
had before ſome doubts about, that her
aunt was well; and it removed her from
a ſcene where, amidſt an - unceaſing
round of company and apparent gaiety,
ſhe had never taſted a moment's content
or pleaſure. Lady Dacres heard of the
immediate departure of her viſitor with
fatisfa&ion, which ſhe gave herſelf very
little trouble to conceal, and Sir Audley
with indifference; for whatever projeêts
were floating in his mind in regard to
Mr. Mohun, he thought they would
rather be forwarded than retarded by
the influence of a woman who knew fo
much of the world as Mrs. Trevyllian.
Althea having diſpatched Morris, who
had never received ſo welcome a com-
miſfion, began to count the hours till
that fixed for her aunt's arrival. Her
clothes were packed up and ſent away,
and ſhe fat down to anticipate the de-
light ſhe ſhould have in again embracing,
after this painful abſence, her firft and
beſt friend. As it was now the end of
June,


MARCHMONT.
June, ſhe ſuppoſed Mrs. Trevyllian
would ſoon return into Devonſhire; Al-
thea therefore, who loved and languiſhed
for the country, figured to herſelf the
agreeable exchange ſhe ſhould make of
the uncomfortable magnificence of Grof-
venor Street for the quiet elegance of
her aunt's village-houſe, with its plea-
ſant garden, and the romantic ſcenery
around it.
At length the time fixed for Mrs.
Trevyllian's arrival came--Althea went
two hours before to the lodgings in
Welbeck Street-ſaw that every thing
was in order; that the beds were aired,
and the dinner fuch as her aunt would
like. She then fat at the dining-room
window, watching every carriage which
came by, and in every poſt-chaiſe ſhe
eagerly hoped to ſee that which con-
veyed her friend. At length it ſtopped
at the houſe-Althea flew down, and
was in at the door of the poſt-chaiſe
before the ſervant could open it. But,
at
MARCH MONT.
49
at the firſt view of her benefactreſs, all
the hopes of happineſs ſhe had been
cheriſhing vaniſhed. So changed, ſo
emaciated appeared that face on which
Althea had been uſed to gaze with hope
and delight, and ſo great and ſudden
was the ſhock, that Althea, unable to
command her emotion, could not aſſiſt
in carrying her aunt into the parlour,
but followed, pale, trembling, and ama-
zed; and, when ſhe ſaw her ſeated there,
inſtead of approaching to embrace her,
ſhe ſat down, and burit into tears.
Mrs. Trevyllian could not at firſt
collect ſtrength enough to ſpeak; but as
ſoon as ſhe became a little reſtored the
held out her hand, with a faint ſmile,
and, in a voice hardly audible, faid-
** How is this, my dear Althea ?-At
what are you alarmed ?--Come to me,
my beſt love !"-5--Althea obeyed; but,
afraid of farther giving way to the emo-
tion ſhe felt, ſhe only kiſſed the hand
her aunt gave her, while her tears fell
Vol. I.
in

D

50
MARCH MONT.
in ſhowers upon it. -" You did not
know I had not been quite well,” con-
tinued that admirable woman, ſummon-
ing all her ſtrength; "and you are
therefore ſurpriſed to ſee me ſo pale
and thin. But, my precious Althea, con-
ſider that I am now a little fatigued with
my journey: a few days of reſt, the fight
of my beloved girl, and ſome good
advice, which I intend to ſend for, will
w
foon reſtore me,”
" Ah!” cried Althea, who now firſt
found her voice, “you came ſooner
than you ought to have done on my
account; it was I that made you uneaſy
with my fooliſh letter--but whither ſhall
I ſend for this advice? Oh! do not let
a moment be loſt; ſuffer me to write di-
re@tly to a phyſician.”
“ Do you know,” ſaid Mrs. Trevyl-
lian, “ that all this ſolicitude, my love,
would be very wrong if I were apt to
have depreſſed ſpirits ? Compoſe your-
ſelf; and be aſſured, my Althea, that I
ſhall
MARCHMONT.
50
ſhall take care of my health, if it be
only to ſpare you pain.”—She gave her
directions to write to Dr. R-, re-
queſting him to ſee her in the morning,
and then deſired to be taken up ſtairs
and put to bed, where ſhe wiſhed to be
left quiet for the remainder of the day.
Morris was no ſooner diſmiſſed than
ſhe gave an unreſtrained courſe to thoſe
ſad apprehenſions which had diſtreſſed
her ever ſince ſhe ſaw her miſtreſs, and
which even her conſideration for the
terrified Althea could no longer reſtrain.
“ Ah! Miſs Dacres,” ſaid ſhe," do not
let us flatter ourſelves. My Lady, my
dear Lady! it is impoſſible, I am ſure
it is, that ſhe ſhould ever recover. I
fee too well what the end of all this will
be. Oh, my poor miſtreſs! would to
God we had never made that accurſed
journey to Hertfordſhire. Oh! would
ſhe were well, and we were all happy
again at home !"-To theſe expreſſions
of apprehenſion which Althea felt to be
too

52
MARCHMONT.
too juſtly founded, ſhe could only an-
fwer with her tears. Alas! the next day
confirmed all their fears. Dr. R.
acknowledged to Althea that he thought
his patient in a very precarious ſtate;
and ſhe fancied that, to ſpare her, he
ſpoke even more favourably than he
thought. He told her that he had re-
commended it to Mrs. Trevyllian to go,
by Now journies, to Briſtol Hot Wells,
and to ſet out as foon as poſſible, for
that he ſtill had hopes from that air,
from perfe&t quiet, and, added he, ſmi-
ling as cheerfully as he could, « from
the good nurſing and ſweet attentions
which I know my excellent friend will
receive from her lovely niece.”—Al-
thea, from all that this worthy man in-
tended as comfort, extracted only for-
row, and, unable to anſwer, haftened to
her own room, that ſhe might recover
herſelf ſufficiently to appear with cheer-
fulneſs before her aunt, who herſelf con-
tinued to make light of an illneſs of
which
MARCHMONT.
53
which Althea faw the almoſt hourly per-
ceptible ravages with terror.
She now no longer thought of Mr.
Mohun, but to blame herſelf for having
ever mentioned his name to her aunt.
Lady Dacres and Sir Audley made their
ſeparate viſits-Mrs. Trevyllian thanked
che former for her attention to Althea,
as if fhe had been a ſtranger without
claim upon her kindneſs. Sir Audley
was alone with her for near half an hour:
when he left her ſhe appeared to be
much affected, and ordered Morris to
leave her till ſhe rang her bell. In
about a quarter of an hour ſhe gave this
ſummons; and Althea, on entering her
room, found her as compoſed as uſual:
but nothing was ſaid of what had paſſed
with Sir Audley.bacon
Preparations were now made for the
journey, and it was at length under-
taken. By very ſhort ſtages they ar-
rived-Mrs. Trevyllian not viſibly
worſe ; yet Althea, who moſt anxioufly
watched





D 3
54
MARCIMONT.
a su mor arata ca
watched every turn of her countenance,
and liſtened with an aching heart to
every expreſſion, thought ſhe could per-
ceive from both, that this dear woman
felt an internal conviction that her re-
covery was impoſible--yet fubmitted
to try every remedy ordered for her,
and really wiſhed to live on account of
Althea, though not afraid to die on her
own.
This was but too true an eſtimate of
what really paſſed in the mind of Mrs.
Trevyllian. Nor could ſhe always com-
mand ſuch a ſhare of the admirable for-
titude fhe poſſeſſed as to avoid fome-
times expreſiing in her countenance the
pain ſhe felt in reflecting on the loſs ſhe
muſt be to this child of her heart..
Althea was not indeed an orphan; and
when Mrs. Trevyllian ſaw Sir Audley
in town, ſhe had recommended his
daughter to him in the ſtrongeſt terms,
and had endeavoured to awaken his
tenderneſs in her favour, by recalling to
5) 32. น่าน
his


MARCHMONT.
55
his memory the fond attachment he once
had for the mother of this beloved girl.
Time and other connections bad not ſo
far obliterated the remembrance of that
mother, but that Sir Audley felt the
force of what Mrs. Trevyllian faid to
him, and aſſured her, with more marks
of being really affected than ſhe thought
he could have ſhewn, that, in caſe of the
unhappy circumſtance of her death,
Althea ſhould be received into his houſe,
and that no difference ſhould be made
between her and the daughters of the
preſent Lady Dacres.—“ Allow me,
however, to obſerve, my dear Madam,"
ſaid Sir Audley in this conference-
" that the moſt fortunate thing which
could happen to our dear Althea, whoſe
portion muſt be very ſmall, would be
to find the protection, and ſhare the
affluence of ſome man of family and
fortune. There are ſuch, I dare be-
lieve, who might be attracted by her
perſonal merit, and wave the conſidera-
D4
tion

56
,
MARCHMONT.
tion of fortune in favour of that merit,
and of her highly reſpectable connec-
tions. Should you have any conver-
fation with her on this ſubject, it might
have great weight, were you to preſs
this; and, I am ſure, to your prudence
and fagacity a hint is enough."be
Mrs. Trevyllian thought this an op-
portunity to inquire, without naming
him, what were the pretenſions of Mr.
Mohun. She therefore aſked Sir Aud-
ley, if what he ſaid alluded to any par-
ticular perſon?—Either from his doubts
of her approbation, or from his really
being uncertain of the intentions of his
friend, he evaded the queſtion; and
having recourſe to general terms to
eſcape from ſpeaking plainer, he merely
repeated what he had before faid, and
foon after took his leave. Mrs. Tre-
vyllian therefore did not think herſelf
authoriſed merely on the information
ſhe had received from what Althea had
faid, to name Mr. Mohun to him; and



2s
MARCHMONT.
57
as he had never made any attempt to
fee her niece ſince her return, it ſeemed
probable that whatever impreſſion fhe
might have made was flight, and that
when he no longer ſaw her, he would
think of her no more.
Althea, wholly occupied by her
anxiety, was almoſt unconſcious of the
objects around her: ſhe fometimes tried
to believe that the cruel blow ſhe fo
dreaded would be ſpared her; but dif-
couraging fymptoms continually aroſe
to deſtroy her hopes. Change of air
by no means mitigated theſe ſymptoms ;
and as the impoſſibility of her recovery
was confirmed to Mrs. Trevyllian her-
felf, ſhe thought it time to fortify the
mind of Althea againſt an inevitable
evil, and determined to employ her
fmall remains of ſtrength in returning
to her own home, that ſhe might not
only ſettle every thing there in the beſt
manner, but ſave Althea the additional
uneafineſs of being left among ftrangers,
D 5
and



58
MARCHMONT.
and the fatigue of a long journey in the
firſt moments of poignant grief. Having
once taken this reſolution, ſhe ſuffered
no remonftrances to divert her from it.
The weak hope of lingering a little
longer had no power to detach her from
the conſideration of that duty which ſhe
owed to the only object who was very
dear to her on earth; and this generous
fortitude did not ſeem materially to in-
creaſe her weakneſs. She not only bore
the journey, though above ninety miles,
without ſuffering much fatigue, but after
her arrival at her own houſe continued
nearly in the fame ſtate for ſome weeks.
As too fanguine hopes would ſerve
only to embitter the inevitable moment
of ſeparation, Mrs. Trevyllian gradually
accuſtomed Althea to hear her talk of
what ſhould be done after her death,
with as much calmneſs as if ſhe was
only ſetting out on a long journey.
"Do not, my dear child,” ſaid this ad-
mirable woman,“ do not now give me


pain,
MARCHMONT.
59
pain, for the firſt time in your life, by
indulging this immoderate forrow. Let
me leave the world in the perſuaſion
that your ſenſe and firmneſs of mind
will enable you to conduct yourſelf well
through it. Why ſhould you thus give
yourſelf up to extravagant grief?-Did
you imagine I was immortal, my Al-
thea ? or did you never conſider that,
according to the courſe of nature, I
muſt go before you ?--Ah! carry your
mind to a more improbable, but not
impoſſible circumſtance. Imagine what
might have been my ſituation, had I, by
ſurviving you, found myſelf at an ad-
vanced period of life alone, and a
ſtranger in the world--for what have I
to attach me to it, unleſs it be my Al-
thea ? The reſt of my family are my
relations indeed, but they are ſo far
from being my friends, that the greater
part of them are hardly my acquaint-
How fad would have been my
cloſe of life, had I found myſelf a bur-
D 6
den


ance.
60
MARCHMONT.
den among them, when the powers of
amuſing myſelf might have been loft in
the cheerleſs hours of folitude and fick-
neſs, when none would take the trouble
to ſupply them! for you know, my love,
that I have nothing with which to repay
the aſſiduity of relations whoſe kindneſs
is to be purchaſed by the hopes of le-
gacies, and that this houſe and
my
little
income revert, at my death, to the pof-
ſeſſor of the family eſtate.”
Althea, far from conſidering all this
in the philoſophical light in which Mrs.
Trevyllian wiſhed to repreſent it, could
anſwer only by her tears.
" Ah, my dear love!” re-aſſumed this
admirable woman, after a ſhort pauſe,
which her weakneſs made neceſſary-
“Ah, my Althea! what is there in a
continuation of the moſt fortunate life
that a reaſonable being ſhould very
ardently covet it? After the gay and
fanguine hours of youth are paſſed, and
hope no longer gilds the ſcene-after re-
peated

MARCHMONT.
61
peated convictions of their fallacy have
taught us to eſtimate truly the value of
every worldly object—how gloomy and
how fad do the remaining proſpects ap-
pear, when we either live on with in-
difference, or are forced to call in to
our aid artificial helps to animate our
exiſtence! for I am convinced that
the fick heart would ſtill refuſe, but
dares not.'
“I lived ſome years ago in the circles
of the high-born and affluent; and I
have ſeen that half their lives are paſſed
in contrivances to get rid of the other
half, and that it was not amid ſuch fo-
cieties that content (for to talk of hap-
pineſs is a mere abuſe of terms) is ever
found. This conviction, my deareſt
girl, has reconciled me to that humble
ſtate, with reſpect to fortune, in which
I muſt leave you. It is not indeed
adequate to your birth; but if your fa-
ther intends you ſhould move in the
ſphere in which that has placed you, he

will

62
MARCHMONT.
will provide for you better than by
your mother's little fortune, and what
I have been able to lay by for you:
theſe ſums together do not exceed fe-
venteen hundred pounds. This how-
ever, my love, with ſome addition which
Sir Audley will make for you, and with
your habits and temper, will, I truſt, be
enough for the comforts of life: and
all beyond is unneceſſary, if not bur-
denſome. Many are thoſe within my
own obſervation, whom, though deemed
objects of envy and admiration, I have
known to be the moſt unhappy beings
under their ſplendid roofs. Often I
have known the fineries gazed after with
murmuring compariſons by the mul-
titude as too glaring proofs of the in-
equality of fortune, cover aching hearts,
and ſpirits fickening in the dull round
of unvaried proſperity. If happineſs,
Althea, and why ſhould I diſcourage.
you from the purſuit ? is any where
found, it is in that condition of life that


*gives
MARCHMONT.
63
gives neither poverty nor riches;'-
that encourages a firm reliance on the
goodneſs of God—a ſteady performance
of moral duties—a regulation of our
wiſhes and a conſtant employment of
our time. All this, my precious Al-
thea, will always be in your power, how-
ever limited your fortune, or however
unpleaſant the ſurrounding circumſtan-
ces of your life.”
Althea, overwhelmed with forrow,
which choaked her utterance, tried to ex-
preſs her fears that in her father's family
even her time would not be her own.--
“Ah! how different,” ſaid ſhe, "is that fa-
mily from yours, my deareſt, beſt friend!
and how much, if ever that ſad hour
comes, that tears you from me, muſt
your poor Althea be ſenſible of the dif-
ference!"_" To local circumſtances we
muſt ſubmit, my child,” anſwered her
aunt.
“ But I hope and believe you
will find them leſs unpleaſant in the
houſe of Lady Dacres, if you ſhould be
ſettled
64
MARCHMONT.
ſettled in it as an inmate, than from the
fhort experience you had-you have
accuſtomed yourſelf to imagine. You
were then only a viſitor; you will here-
after be a part of the family.”—(The
tears and fobs of Althea redoubled) “ Do
not thus diſtreſs me, Althea,” continued
her aunt—"you, who never in your
life gave me pain before, will you em-
bitter theſe my laſt moments? I am
perſuaded you will find in your father,
in your natural protector, a tender and
affectionate friend. I aſſure myſelf he
will remember his promiſes, that he will
reſtore you to his affection, if abſence
has weakened it. Yes, Althea, from all
he ſaid to me I have no doubt but that
you will be as dear to him as the chil-
dren of Lady Dacres. The fight of
you muſt continually recall to his re-
collection your mother, whom he once
ſo paſſionately loved, and whoſe image,
lovely as it was when conſigned to an
early grave, you too much reſemble,

not
MARCHMONT.
65
not to have, even from that likeneſs
alone, a ſtrong claim on his heart.---
This claim will daily acquire ſtrength-
I know it will, from the ſweetneſs, the
gentleneſs, the innumerable merits of
my Althea.
to stimol
Tom ett
СНАР.
66
MARCHMONT.
Logo
CHAP. III.
How many fand
Around the death-bed of their deareſt friend,
And point the parting anguiſh.
IN theſe melancholy conferences, which
happened very frequently during the
laſt fortnight of Mrs. Trevyllian's life,
Althea had only once the courage to
mention Mohun—" I reproach myſelf,”
ſaid ſhe, “ continually do I reproach
myſelf for having ever named that man.
It haſtened your journey to London ;
you came before your ſtrength was ſuf-
ficiently eſtabliſhed, and it was my folly
that induced you to do it. Perhaps,
after all, it was my weakneſs, my va-
nity, which imputed to Mr. Mohun pro-
jects
MARCHMONT.
67
jects he never thought of.”-“ You
have nothing on that head to regret,
deareft Althea,” replied her aunt ; " my
coming to town was not injurious to
me; on the contrary, it was neceſſary for
advice, which, though I believed it to
be uſeleſs, I was yet willing for your
fake to try. As to Mr. Mohun, I know
nothing of him but from public fame-
that indeed beſpeaks him to be a man
whom Althea could never approve, and
to whom, whatever may be his fortune,
I never could wiſh to ſee her united.
From the account you gave me, and
from his general character, I think it
very poſſible that youth and beauty may
have ſtrong attractions for him, and that
your father might have encouraged his,
perhaps, tranſient expreſſions of admira-
tion, in the hope of forming an alliance,
which, in his eyes, was an advantageous
But as in our converſations in
London he never named Mr. Mohun,
I truſt you will not be troubled with
his

one.

68
MARCHMONT.
his importunity: if, however, I ſhould
be miſtaken, a calm and ſteady refuſal
will diſengage you from the neceſſity of
liſtening to him; and your father never
can preſs you to marry againſt your in-
clination."
With ſuch arguments Mrs. Trevyl-
lian endeavoured to footh the mind of
her unhappy niece, and to arm it with
fortitude for the future. But poor Al-
thea, though ſhe made every effort to
ftifle before her aunt the anguiſh of her
heart, yet felt it increaſe in proportion
as the ſad moment approached that was
to tear from her the guardian of her
youth, her more than mother. But it
was inevitable. The awful hour came :
and Althea, more dead than alive, was
taken from the bed-ſide of her dying
friend.
The violence of the ſhock, which
was not the leſs ſeverely felt for having
been ſo long expected, deprived Al-
thea, for ſome hours, of recollection.
Yet


MARCII MONT.
69
Yet ſhe was but too ſoon awakened to
the ſenſe of her irreparable lofs. She
looked around her.
The world ap-
peared a deſert, in which ſhe ſtood
alone ; for in her aunt ſhe had loſt the
only friend who took an intereſt in her.
Mrs. Trevyllian had regulated every
thing with ſo much calmneſs and pre-
ſence of mind fome, time before her
death, that Morris had only to follow
the orders ſhe had given, and Althea
was ſpared every painful taſk but that
of writing to her father, and to her
couſin Mr. Trevyllian, who was now be-
come proprietor of the houſe in which
her aunt had reſided, and to whom the
annuity, on which ſhe had ſubfiſted, re-
verted alſo. The next day, therefore,
ſhe ſat down to this taſk; but her hand
trembled, and the words, as ſhe wrote
them, were almoſt obliterated by her
She had hardly finiſhed her let-
ters, when ſhe received the following
note from a neighbouring gentleman,
whoſe

tears.

70
MARCHMONT.
whoſe mother, the moſt intimate friend
in that country of Mrs. Trevyllian, was
abſent with one of her married daugh-
ters.
« In the abſence of my mother, dear
Miſs Dacres, Mrs. Everſley, Linda, and
myſelf, conſider ourſelves as her repre-
ſentatives; and, being well aſſured how
ſhe would act if ſhe were here, we muſt
entreat of you to leave the ſad ſcene
you are in, and come to Valecombe,
where you ſhall remain alone in your
own apartment, or where Linda will be
gratified in being allowed to attend you;
but indeed you muſt oblige us. My
fifter now waits for you in the carriage,
and will ſtay your own time, or return
again whenever you ſhall appoint.
Mrs. Everſley unites in entreating you
to make Valecombe your home, with,
dear Madam, your moſt obedient fer-
vant,
« FRANCIS EVERSLEY."
stad
This
MARCHMONT.
71
This attention, though coming from a
man for whom Althea had a very high
eſteem, was extremely diſtreſſing to her.
She could not bear the thoughts of
leaving the houſe while the remains of
her lamented friend continued in it.-
To hide herſelf in folitude was now her
only wiſh; ſhe dreaded the fight of
every body but Morris, nor could ſhe
even ſpeak to her without yielding anew
to the violence of ſorrow. To repulſe
coldly the intended kindneſs of her
friends was, however, not in her na-
ture; but unable to ſee Miſs Everſley,
who waited for her, ſhe was about to
write her apology, when Morris came
in and gave her a paper, in which,
among many other directions of the ſame
nature, was written, in Mrs. Trevyl-
lian's hand—“I wiſh my dear Althea
to quit the houſe as ſoon as ſhe i
is able
after my eyes are cloſed. Our good
Mrs. Everſley will receive her; and
ſome of that friendly family will




return
with

MARCHMONT.
to
with her here, whenever it is neceſſary,
regulate the removal of thoſe effects
which will belong to her, before Mr.
Trevyllian takes poffeſfion of the houſe.
In the preſence of the Everſley family,
as the friends of my niece, I would
have my will opened. Mr. Trevyllian
will either come, or fend, and Sir Audley
Dacres will of courſe have notice.”
This memorandum decided the weep-
ing Althea. She bade Morris, to whom
everything was of courſe entruſted,
ſend up a ſervant to aſſiſt in preparing
for her departure. It was done in a
few moments; and the unhappy mourner
ſlowly, and with faltering ſteps, de-
fcended the ſtairs. At the door of her
aunt's room ſhe ſtopped. A thouſand
painful and tender ideas preſſed on her
heart. The laſt founds ſhe had heard
there vibrated in her ears; the laſt look
from thoſe eyes which had ever beamed
benevolence and fondneſs on her, was
again preſent to her. She felt, at that
moment,





MARCHMONT.
73
moment, a wiſh to take a final farewel
of all that now remained of her beſt
friend; but, as ſhe would have opened
the door, the violence of her grief over-
came her: ſhe leaned for ſupport on
the ſervant who led her; and Morris,
who had been detained above, now fol.
lowing her, took her other arm, and
led her down. She ſuffered them to
her into the chaiſe where Miſs Ever-
ſley was ſeated, who preſſed her hand,
but ſaid nothing. On their arrival at
Valecombe, Althea retired to the room
that had been prepared for her, and, at
her own requeſt, was left alone.
In this folitude, or only ſeeing Miſs
Everſley for a few moments at a time, ſhe
remained for two days, when ſhe received
from Mr. Trevyllian the following letter:

put

“ Dear MADAM,

My attorney ſends, according to
my orders, a proper perſon to be pre-
Vol. I.
ſent

MARCHMONT
fent at opening the will of my late aunt,
as a matter of form, and at your re-
queſt; otherwiſe I apprehend it need-
leſs. You are welcome to remain in
the houſe till you can conveniently
remove the perſonals-ſhould be forry
to hurry you. Wiſhing you health, &c.
I am, dear couſin, your obedient hum-

ble fervant, de
“ W. TREVYLLIAN.”
“ OTTERBOURNE PARK,
Sept. 17th, 1794."
.

Though this relation of Althea's
lived only twenty-five miles from the
place where ſhe had reſided with her
aunt ever ſince ſhe was four years old,
She had never ſeen him above once or
twice, and he was then a boy at Eton
School. He was now about five-and-
twenty, and had been ſome years in
poſſeſſion of his very large eſtate, which
came to him with a conſiderable ſum of
ready money ſaved during a long mi-
nority
MARCHMONT.
75
nority. Left early his own maſter, Mr.
Trevyllian had indulged his prevailing
taſtes without reſtraint; which having
lain wholly in the kennel and the ſtable,
his ideas and his expences had gradually
centred in them and he had now no
notion of any enjoyment beyond thoſe
afforded by the one or the other, or a
debauch among the connoiſſeurs and
attendants of each. His guardians had
attempted to engage him to marry a
young woman of faſhion, who might
have kept up ſome degree of that family
reſpectability which he ſeemed ſo likely
to loſe: but he foon convinced them
that he was not to be dictated to, and
coolly declined the propoſals they made
him; aſſerting, that women of faſhion
were good for nothing but to ruin their
huſbands, and bring him children which
perhaps might not belong to him--that
he liked living in the country, and
never would be dragged to London
tied to any fine lady's apron-ſtring
Goin

E2
nor
76
MARCHMONT.
nor would he be put out of his way to
become the huſband of a ducheſs. The
friends of his father, who had no wiſhi
but for his credit and advantage, ſoon
withdrew from all farther remonftrance.
His two fifters were taken by their ma-
ternal aunt, as ſoon as they left ſchool,
the houfe of their brother being ex-
tremely improper for them; and Mr.
Trevyllian had no longer any one to
interfere with his plan of life. He had
two or three packs of the beſt hounds
in the country; almoſt as many pointers
and ſpaniels; feveral ftables well filled
with hunters of all prices, and of all
forts, in which he became a fort of
dealer, as he took care of his money.
He had a great deal of low pride, and
fought not to affociate with his equals
or his fuperiors; but never failed to
find companions that ſuited his taſte much
better, among livery ſtable-keepers,
dealers in horfes, younger brothers who
were unfitted by idleneſs for any pro-
feſſion,


MARCHMONT.
77
feſſion, bankrupt tradeſmen who by
their ſkill in horſe-fleſh had found their
way into the Gazette-or poor curates,
who preferred the conveniences of an
occaſional reſidence in ſuch a houſe to
the loſs of their field ſports:—ſuch were
the men who felt content to live at his
table (which, as he loved eating himſelf,
was always a good one), and be mounted
from his ftud: and none of them had
feeling enough to be hurt at the price
they were expected to pay for theſe
indulgences; for they were the butts
of his very coarſe wit, and often treated
with leſs reſpect than his upper ſer-
vants. Notwithſtanding his averſion to
matrimony, Mr. Trevyllian had en-
tangled himſelf with a vulgar woman,
the fifter of one of his retainers, who,
though extremely ugly, and at leaſt
twenty years older than himſelf, had
acquired ſuch an aſcendency over him,
that ſhe governed with the moſt deſpotic
fway, and had ſo eſtabliſhed herſelf in
his


E 3
78
MARCH MONT.

his houſe that, from that moment, he
ceaſed to be the maſter. This is ſo
common a character that it would be
hardly worth deſcribing, but to account
for the haſte he was in, though he did
not abſolutely expreſs it, for Althea to
quit the houſe, now fallen to him by the
dea:h of his father's fifter. It happened
that, a few months before, he had made
an acquaintance with a perſon who in
youth only was ſuperior to his reigning
Sultana, but for whom he had taken
ſuch a fancy, that he would willingly
have put her in the place of that amiable
perſonage, but had not courage to make
the attempt. The lady, however, in-
fiſted on an eſtabliſhment: and nothing
could be more à-propos than the vacancy
which now happened; the houſe being
not only moſt elegant and convenient
for its fize, but admirably ſituated for
field ſports, and at ſuch a convenient
diſtance, that Trevyllian might eaſily
divide his week between that and his
manſion
MARCHMONT.
79
manſion at Otterbourne, while it was too
diſtant to hazard diſagreeable rencontres
between the Roxana and Statira who
ſhared his heart. But even the little
time which, as his note fignified, he was
willing to allow for the removal of the
effects, he gave with reluctance: but Mr.
Peters, his attorney, who had often ſeen
Althea, and who had great influence
with Trevyllian, aſſured him, that iir
decency he could not do otherwiſe,
adding-—" And, 'faith, Sir, your couſin
is ſo pretty a girl, that, if ſhe were in a
houſe of mine, I ſhould not have the
heart to ſend her out of it at all."
Mrs. Trevyllian had never willingly
named her nephew, or ſuffered any con-
verſation about him to paſs in her pre-
fence; and Althea knew nothing more
of hir than that he was profligate, and
addicted to low company: ſhe was not
forry, therefore, that he fent another to
hear her aunt's will read; and ſhe hoped
that Sir Audley would himſelf come
down



E 4
80
MARCHMONT.
down to prote&t and affift her through a
ſcene which her grief and her little
knowledge of the world made formidable,
though no diſpute or difficulty could
arife.com
In this, however, ſhe was deceived.-
Her father, in anſwer to the letter which
announced her lofs, replied, that his
preſence was by no means neceſſary;
that it would be fufficient if Mr. Eyer-
fley were preſent ; and that it was im-
poffible for him then to take ſo long a
journey without the greateſt inconve-
nience.-He added in a poſtſcript--
“When the affairs are ſettled, which, how-
ever, cannot be for ſome time, you will come
to us; we ſhall remain at Capelſtoke fix
weeks longer, and will ſend to meet you
half-way. I underſtand it to be Lady
Dacres's wiſh, and therefore of courſe it is
mine, that you contrive to accommodate
yourfelf with one of the evomen-fervants
now in my houſe, who ſhall be directed to
attend you. Lady Dacres has an objection
to


MARCH MONT.
81

to the reception of the elderly perſon who
attended you on your laſt viſit.”
Over this letter the unhappy Althea
ſhed many tears. Cold and reluctant
as it certainly was, it appeared to her
much more ſo; and the poſtſcript ſeemed
above all to be needleſsly cruel." No.
kind mention of ſatisfaction in receiving
me," ſaid ſhe, as ſhe read it for the
third time-“None of the affection of a
father ſoothing my fick ſoul for the loſs
of my more than mother. No paternal
advice how to conduct myſelf. No
affurances of a kind reception at what
muſt now be my home.--Alas!
. my fa-
ther need not have repeated Lady Da-
cres's orders, and have given them force
by adding that they were his. I have
no pretenſions to keep a ſervant at all.
If I had, it could not be the elderly
perſon who has given ſo much offence
to her Ladyſhip; for Morris, who is
richer than I am, and retained in fer-
vice only by her affe&ion to my aunt,
will


L 5
82
MARCHMONT.
will now retire among her relations,
where her reception will be far other
than what I ſhall meet with. They are
people in humble competence, and are
not loft to all ſenſe of family affection.
Mine are people in high life. Mine-
ah! I have only one-only a father, and
he is eſtranged from me!"
By ſuch fad reflections the dejected
ſpirits of Althea were but little prepared
for the diſtreffing ceremony of hearing
the will of Mrs. Trevyllian read: this
was now to be done in preſence of Mr.
Everſley, who attended at the requeſt
of Sir Audley; the agent of Mr. Peters,
an attorney of a neighbouring town, on
behalf of Mr. Trevyllian; and Mrs.
Morris, who had been entruſted with
the will. It contained little of which
Althea was not before apprized. The
furniture, books, fome curious plants
which Mrs. Trevyllian had cultivated
with great delight; the muſical inſtru-
ments, plate, linen, and a few pictures,


which
MARCHMONT.
83

tures.
which formed the principal part of her
property, were given to Althea, with a
requeſt that ſhe would herſelf attend to
the removal of them, and not part with
any of the books, inſtruments, or pic-
The ſmall ſavings from her own
fortune, added to what ſhe had accu-
mulated from the allowance Sir Audley
gave his daughter, together with what
ſhe directed to be fold, might, ſhe
thought, increaſe this little fund to ſome-
thing more than one thouſand pounds.
This Mrs. Trevyllian gave in truſt to
Sir Audley for his daughter, with di-
rections that it ſhould be paid on her
marriage, or on her majority. It might
indeed be conſidered as her all, at leaſt
for many years to come; for the thou-
ſand pounds which was her mother's
ſmall portion, belonged to Sir Audley
during his life. The will alſo contained
a requeſt to Mr. Everſley, to conſider
Althea in ſome degree as his ward, and
to afliſt her with his advice and ſupport
till
84
MARCHMONT.
till ſhe ſhould be under the protection of
her father. This diſtreffing ceremony
over, and the perſons who preſided at it
departed, Althea retired to her own room
to calm her agitated fpirits, and el-
deavour to conquer the dread ſhe felt
at returning to the houſe where her
happieſt days had paſſed, but the fight
of which muſt now tear her heart to
pieces. It was the command of her la-
mented benefactreſs; and fhe deter-
mined, whatever it coſt her, moſt punc-
tually to fulfil it.
Morris however,
who was called to the conſultation as
foon as ſhe had a little recovered her-
felf, deſired her to ſtay a few days longer
at Valecombe; and Althea was not ſorry
that this ſevere trial was to be delayed,
though ſhe dreaded the reſtraint which
awaited her at the houſe of Mr. Ever-
fley, where it would now be expected
ihe ſhould appear with the family; as
a longer ſecluſion would certainly be
deemed affectation by Mrs. Everſley,
who


MARCHMONT.
85
ney,
who not having the leaſt fenfibility her-
ſelf, knew not how to make allowance
for that of others.
This woman could not but be diſa
agreeable to Althea; for ſhe was igno-
rant, vain, and arrogant-fond of mo-
and of admiration-of courſe
deſpiſing every one who had not the
former, and deteſting all thoſe who ata
tracted the latter, to which ſhe had her-
felf very ſlender pretenſions; for, with
a very ſhort, ill-made, heavy perſon,
ſhe had coarſe-dubbed features—a long
upper lip, and two great prominent un-
meaning eyes, which, as they were very
full, ſhe fancied were very fine, and, as
they were a dim flate colour, ſhe valued
herſelf upon, as “azure of heaven's
own tint:"-her coarſe light hair, which
had no ſmall tendency to red, flie really
fancied was the moſt beautiful of all
the ſhades of brown, her eye-brows:
which had a ſtill ſtronger propenſity to the
colour of flame, ſhe had picked till not
enough

86
MARCHMONT.
enough remained to betray the unlucky
ſhade, ſupplying this deficiency with
fome delicate ſtrokes of black lead.-
Her eye-laſhes could not well undergo
the ſame operation; but they were ſhort,
and leſs diſtinguiſhable becauſe of a
pink-coloured line which encircled her
eyes. Her ſkin was thick and freckled,
and her voice hoarſe and diſagreeable.
But ſhe had near fifty thouſand pounds;
and the father of Mr. Everſley, who
was her guardian, had contrived to pre-
vail on his ſon to marry her while they
were both under age-and in conſe-
quence of this, poor Everſley, who was
a ſenſible and an amiable man, was now,
at eight-and-twenty, very rich, and very
miſerable.
As Althea was much admired for her
beauty, and had precedence as a Ban
ronet's daughter, ſhe excited, in a para
ticular degree, the ſpleen and indigna-,
tion of Mrs. Everſley. But, on this
occaſion, conſidering the long intimacy
of

MARCHMONT.
87
of the families, and the truſt Mrs. Tre-
vyllian had placed in her huſband, ſhe
could not well refuſe the requeſt he
made her. She complied, perhaps, with
leſs reluctance, becauſe ſhe enjoyed the
thoughts of ſeeing Althea humiliated,
and deſcending to a ſtate of dependance
for ſo it was underſtood ſhe muſt be, in
conſequence of the death of her aunt,
her father's eſtrangement from her, and
the ſmall fortune ſhe was likely to pof-
feſs—for, in the opinion of Mrs. Ever-
fley, a young woman who had no
more than a thouſand or two thouſand
pounds ought to go to ſervice-an
opinion with which ſhe often inſulted
her huſband's ſiſters, who ſhe well knew
had not ſo much.
This cruel inclination to inſult, with
affected pity and arrogant ſuperiority,
the innocent dejected Althea could not
be gratified while ſhe remained in her
own apartment. No ſooner therefore
was her mourning arrived, and the firſt
week


88
MARCHMONT.
week over, than Mrs. Everfley began
to talk to Linda of affectation, and
hypocrify-and to enquire how long
Miſs Dacres was to keep her ſtate
in all the paraphernalia of forrow.--
Linda, who was one of thoſe common
characters which are formed by a very
moderate underſtanding, cultivated only
by ſuch reading as a country circu-
lating library can ſupply, or ſuch fo-
ciety as is to be found in country
towns, failed not to repeat to Althea
all the farcaſms of her filter-in-law,
whom ſhe hated. Althea, of courſe,
haftened to join the family at dinner,
however unpleaſant it was to her and
wrote to Morris to haften ſuch pre-
parations for the ſale, in the melan-
choly and tranſient abode to which
ſhe muſt return, as would ſave her
fome painful hours of hopeleſs regret.-
Too many ſhe knew muſt be paſſed, in
deſpite of theſe precautions,

CHAP,
MARCHMONT.
89
CHAP. IV.
The venomous clamours of a jealous woman
Poiſon more deadly than a mad dog's tooth.
If the lady of the houſe was unfeeling
and infolent, the maſter of it was all
goodneſs, humanity, and conſideration.
His ſoftneſs of temper, which had been
the cauſe of his conſenting to make him-
ſelf miſerable, now induced him to bear
with calmneſs the humours and caprices
of a woman he could neither love nor
eſteem, but who, having given him her
fortune, he thought entitled to his gra-
titude, and, having put herſelf into his
power, to his complaiſance. As the
ſlighteſt contradiction produced paf-
fionate retort, tears, and reproaches,
he

go
MARCH MONT.
he ſeldom contradi&ted her at all; but
when they totally differed in their ideas,
he went quietly his own way, and
avoided the pain of altercation by not
conſulting her. This method, however,
was not without its inconveniences; for
ſhe always ſuſpected that he was engaged
in ſomething which ſhe was not to know,
and ſometimes artfully diſcovered that
he had affifted a friend by a loan, or
forgiven his rent to a tenant in diſtreſs.
On theſe occaſions ſhe failed not to de-
claim, with great energy, againſt the
cruelty and injuſtice of Mr. Everſley,
who had, ſhe ſaid, no more honour than
honeſty to give away hers, and her
children's property--for ſhe had two
girls, both amiable copies of their
It happened that one of theſe
unfortunate diſcoveries had been made
on the day when Althea was firſt to
appear at the table of her hoft. Mrs.
Everſley, who had ſeen her only once
before, received her with a ſcowling
countenance,


mamma.
MARCHMONT.
91
countenance, and hardly ſpoke to her.
She looked indeed very lovely in her
deep mourning; a circumſtance which
was alone ſufficient to excite the diſ-
pleaſure of Mrs. Everſley, and to this
cauſe her huſband imputed the unuſual
degree of ill-humour with which the
ſeemed diſpoſed to entertain him and
his gueſts. He affected, however, to
take no notice of it, but, with his
uſual eaſy good-humour, endeavoured to
carry on the common table converfa.
tion with a gentleman who chanced to
be preſent; occaſionally addreſſing him-
ſelf to Althea, but oftener to his wife.
The lady ſometimes anſwered with a
ſullen-monoſyllable, ſometimes not at
all; while her anger becoming more un-
governable, from the fort of neceffity
to reſtrain it which ſhe thought her
huſband had purpoſely impoſed upon
her by the preſence of another ſtranger,
ſhe ſat ſwelling, and fanning herſelf
with great violence. The day was a
remarkably
92
MARCHMONT.
remarkably warm one, in the beginning
of September, and the ſtranger, who was
but little acquainted with the family
hiftory, obſerved that it was unuſually
hot ; adding, very innocently, “ I am
afraid, Ma'am, you find yourſelf very
much incommoded.”_"That I do, in-
deed, Sir--I am incommoded;-and I
am aſtoniſhed how I bear things as I
do- I am ſure it is a mercy that I have
ſtrength to go through it.”—— My dear
Rebecca,” ſaid Mr. Everſley mildly,
and affecting to miſunderſtand her, “I
am very ſorry you are unwell; but do
not let us trouble our friends with our
maladies--I hope you will ſoon be
better.”
“ You hope!" repeated the lady ſu-
perciliouſly—“You hope!-So it ſeems
indeed !-No, Sir; if you cared about
me, or my family, you would not take
pleaſure in ſtripping us of our own to
enrich a parcel of ſwindlers and ſharp-
ers.”—“Good God! Mrs. Everſley,”
exclaimed

MAKCHMONT.
93
exclaimed her huſband in uneaſy amaze-
ment—" For Heaven's fake let us not
enter on theſe diſcuſſions now.”
~ Now is as well as any other time,
Sir," replied the lady—“ I mayn't have
another opportunity of ſpeaking; and
for my part I wiſh all the world was
here—I'd not fcruple to ſay that, when
we are all ruined, the fault ought to be
laid to the right perſon.—Hundreds at
a time fquandered away, and upon
folks that but t'other day held up their
heads ſo high, and were too proud to
return one's vifits!--Any body muſt
think it very grating to one-to have
one's own children robbed of their juſt
due, and for people."
« What people?” cried Everſley im-
patiently—“ on whom have I fquan.
dered hundreds? However unwilling
I am to enter into altercation with you,
Mrs. Everſley, I beg, fince you have
faid fo much, that you will ſay more;


name

94
MARCH MONT.
name the people for whoſe fake I have
injured you, and your family ?"
“For the ſake of thoſe March-
monts,” replied ſhe. “You know that,
though they were deep in your debt
before, you lately lent the old man
another ſum of money; and what good
did it do?-He is dead, and every body
ſays inſolvent; and that, when his af-
fairs come to be wound up, he won't
pay his creditors half a crown in the
pound.”
The diſtreſs of Mr. Everſley ap-
peared to be redoubled.--He tried to
aſſume compoſure enough to anſwer
without paſſion; but finding indignation
and reſentment conquering his natural
equality of temper, he ſaid haſtily to
the friend at his table—"Mr. Marſton,
I believe we ſhould do well to finiſh our
wine by and by-perhaps you will now
oblige me with your opinion of the
plantations I was ſpeaking of before
dinner?'




MARCH MONT.
95
dinner?” -Mr. Marſton, extremely glad
to comply, immediately aroſe, and they
left the room together; while poor Al-
thea, who dared not go, though ſhe
trembled at the thoughts of ſtaying with
this unhappy and ungovernable woman,
endeavoured, but in vain, to appear un-
concerned, and to enter into indifferent
converſation with Miſs Everſley, who,
very little at her eaſe, was afraid even
of making an attempt to deprecate the
ftorm, which ſhe knew muſt burſt ſome-
where,
Though Mrs. Everſley had no longer
her huſband to torment, ſhe could not
help continuing her harangue againſt
his ridiculous whims, and extravagant
friendſhips; and ſaid ſo many rude
things, which Althea thought imme-
diately pointed at her, that ſhe deter-
mined to quit tlie houſe the next day.-
That ſuch a temper as Mrs. Everſley
poſſeſſed exiſted, ſhe had before no
idea; and now wondered how it was
poſſible

www.han


96
MARCH MONT.
pollible for a man of Mr. Everſley's
manners and underſtanding to live with
her. Determining never again to ſub-
jedt herſelf to her ill humours, Althea
begged to be excufed going down to
tea, under pretence of a flight indif-
pofition; but her friend, the fiſter of
Everſley, dared not abſent herſelf. Al-
thea therefore being alone, and be-
lieving the ſhould be in no danger of
meeting the hateful miſtreſs of the houſe,
who never walked of an evening, and
that her ſlight falſehood was in no danger
of being detected, went down into a
fhrubbery, which led from the garden
to the edge of a heath, where Everſley
was making more extenſive plantations.
The trees in the ſhrubbery afforded an
agreeable fhade againſt a September ſun;
and, though no longer in bloom, they
whiſpered refreſhingly to her fatigued
ſenſes. The uneaſy ſcene fhe had juſt
witneſſed was already forgotten; and her
mind reverted, as it ever did the mo-
ment
MARCHMONT.
97
ment ſhe was alone, to her late irre-
parable lofs. She gathered a branch of
acacia, that waved its feathery foliage
over the walk ſhe was in, and, fighing,
remembered how much her aunt uſed
to admire thoſe trees, and how fond ſhe
was of two of them, which ſhe had her-
ſelf planted at the end of the lawn when
fhe firſt took poſſeffion of her cottage.
Other tender recollections followed
theſe, and ſhe wandered on, without
much attention, to the path ſhe was
taking; when, at a ſudden turn, ſhe was
met by Mr. Everſley, and another per-
fon, whom ſhe took for the gentleman
who had dined with them, till fhe ob-
ferved that he was in deep mourning,
and Everſley introduced him by the
name of Mr. Marchmont. Althea, ap-
prehending that ſhe might be an in-
truder, and recollecting what had paſſed
after dinner, became confuſed; and,
hardly venturing to look at the ſtranger,
walked on-but ſhe ſaw, in the tranſient
VOLI,
glance

F

98
MARCHMONT.
glance ſhe had of him, that he was a
young man of genteel appearance, with
a very dejected countenance. He was
unhappy, and ſhe pitied him; while her
eſteem for Mr. Everſley was increaſed
by her knowledge of his attempts to
ſerve the family of his friend.
She continued her walk round the
grounds; but, before ſhe quitted the
wood near the houſe, ſhe again met
Everſley, who was now alone. Though
he muſt have come in ſearch of her, he
ſeemed confuſed when he met her; but,
recovering himſelf immediately, ſaid-
My dear Miſs Dacres, will you allow
me a few moments the honour of con-
verſing with you? If you are not fa-
tigued, you will, perhaps, be ſo good as
to take another turn round the ſhady
part of the walks?" Althea, ſignifying
her aſſent, turned back; and Everſley,
walking ſlowly by her ſide, remained
for ſome time filent, as if uncertain how
to begin. At length he faid dejectedly,
“ I am
MARCH MONT.
99
* I am afraid, my dear Miſs Dacres,
the ſcene you witneſſed to-day has given
you pain. Poor Mrs. Everſley, having
been an only child, was ſpoiled by her
father, and is unfortunately too prone
to indulge unwarrantable ſallies of ill.
humour and ſuſpicion. Having been
taught to conſider money as the firſt
good, ſhe is always apprehenſive of its
waſte, and has never learned the plea-
ſure of befriending the unhappy. I
cannot vindicate, though I fincerely
pity her; but to you, Miſs Dacres, I
would, were it poſſible, at once apologize
for her and for myſelf. I ſhould be
ſorry to be thought capable of ſquan-
dering the fortune ſhe brought me on
unworthy objects. The unhappy fa-
mily of whom ſhe ſpoke I have indeed
attempted, vainly attempted, to ſave from
ruin ; ruin brought upon them rather by
misfortune than fault. The father of
that family was the friend of my father,
and early in life rendered him ſome

very

100
MARCHMONT.
very important ſervices. With the ſon,
though he is younger than I am, I have
for many years been in habits of friend-
ſhip. I never met with any man who
united, in ſo great a degree, the virtues
of a warm heart and a clear head. He
is indeed a young man whom any one
might be proud of ſerving-but the
little that has been in my power, which
I aſſure you I ſpared from my own for-
tune, has been indeed inadequate to
enable him to reſiſt the torrent of ill
fortune which ſeems rapidly to purſue
him. Mrs. Everſley's invectives ſhall
never deter me from executing the of-
fices of friendſhip, fo far as my own
moderate means will allow. But you
ſee I was compelled to hold a confer-
ence with him in my garden, without
telling him why, ſince he would have
been liable to rudeneſs and inſult, had
Mrs. Everſley known of his viſit; and
ſhe contrives to know every thing by
borowon
the

MARGHMONT.
101
the unworthy expedient of bribing my
ſervants.”
A deep figh, that ſeemed to ariſe from
the ſenſe of incurable unhappineſs, here
broke the fentence; but, ſoon recovering
himſelf, he went on:
DO" I mean not, however, to trouble
you, Madam, with uſeleſs lamentations;
my lot is caſt, and I muſt endure it.
For my friend I may truly fay, that a
more generous manly ſpirit never in-
habited a human breaſt; and had he,
poor fellow! the leaſt ſuſpicion of the
uneaſineſs I have ſuffered on his ac-
count, nothing would induce him to
accept of the very trifling ſervices I can
yet do him. My heart bleeds for him,
bis mother, and his ſiſters. I feel in-
deed, on my own account, that the un-
worthy part I am condemned to act—"
“ I entreat you, Mr. Everſley,” ſaid
Althea, “never to think of the un-
pleaſant ſcene of to-day again; at leaſt
on my account: be aſſured I ſhall never




F 3
name

102
MARCHMONT.
name it--and I moſt ſincerely hope your
friend will never know, what cannot fail
of being painful to him. To-morrow,"
added ſhe, ſighing, “to-morrow I ſhall
return to my late home, there to exe-
cute the laſt commands of
my
deceaſed
parent; and afterwards to take leave of
it for ever! Allow me to afſure you,
Sir, that I depart with a laſting ſenſe of
the kindneſs you have ſhewn me;
and
that, in bidding a final adieu to this
country, Mr. Everſley, his mother, and
my dear Linda, are among thoſe whom
I ſhall ſincerely regret."
“ You go to-morrow then, Miſs Da-
cres ?--Ah! I did flatter myſelf that
Linda and I might yet have had your
company for a day or two longer : but
I ſee it cannot be; I know I ought not
to expect it."
Althea now thought he had nothing
more to ſay--and, complaining of fa-
tigué, turned towards the houſe. Many
reflections indeed occurred, which made
a longer

** I know I cougar
MARCHMONT.
103
a longer continuance of this conference
uneaſy to her. There was ſomething
in the manner of Mr. Everſley more
ſolemn and earneſt than the ſubject de-
manded, and he appeared more affected
than his wife's behaviour, however dif-
agreeable, ſeemed likely to occaſion,
fince ſuch condu&t was probably but too
uſual. There was an appearance of he-
fitation and confuſion; he looked as if
he wiſhed to ſay more, while conſcious
that he had ſaid enough; and his manner
rather than his words conveyed to Al-
thea a notion that it was wrong to pro-
long their converſation. Efteem for his
general character, pity for his unhappi-
neſs, and reſpect for that generoſity of
mind which he had exerted towards the
family of his friend, were mingled with
this dread of impropriety, and with ſome
fear leſt Mrs. Everſley might ſee them
together, which would increaſe her ill-
humour and ſuſpicion.
Everſley


F4
104
MARCH MONT.
Everſley heard Althea's reſolution to
depart with evident regret, but attempted
not to diſſuade her. Early the next
morning, therefore, the chaiſe ſhe had
ordered was at the door. As Mrs.
Everſley was not an early riſer, there
was but little probability of ſeeing her
before ſhe went; and as the lady had
been informed by Linda of her going
the preceding evening, ſhe thought little
more ceremony was neceſſary than to
leave a card of thanks. But from her
unhappy hoſt ſhe could not ſo eaſily
eſcape. He came into the parlour
where ſhe fat, while her little baggage
was placing on the chaiſe : his counte-
nance betrayed the extreme concern
which he felt, but which he appeared
deſirous of concealing, however vain
his attempts: he heſitated, ſighed, and
at laſt ſaid —"Though I am unforiunate
enough to loſe you, Miſs Dacres, ſo
ſoon, I truſt you will fill allow me to
claim



MARCHMONT.
105
claim the honourable, though tranſitory
right with which our late lamented friend
has inveſted me. You will have much,
and I fear fome unpleaſant buſineſs to do
before you quit this country. To be of
the leaſt uſe to you will give me ſo
much pleaſure!"
“ You are very good,” ſaid Althea,
interrupting him-" I hope I ſhall get
through the little I have to arrange,
without troubling you all ſuch ar-
rangements muſt be painful; but, as my
friends cannot alleviate that uneaſineſs,
why ſhould I diſtreſs them with the fight
of it? Be aſſured, however, that ſhould
I have occaſion to aſk your affiftance,
I ſhall not heſitate : and now, Sir,"
added ſhe, riſing, " allow me to thank
you for your hoſpitable kindneſs, and
to wiſh you much happineſs till I ſee
you again.”
110“ Happineſs!", whiſpered he, as he
led her to the chaiſe—“ Happineſs for
me ! ---Ah! Miſs Dacres, if I did not
F 5
know



106
MARCII MONT.
know the goodneſs of your heart, I
ſhould think ſuch an expreſſion an inſult
on my miſery.”
He was now too near the ſervants
who attended to ſay more; and Althea,
haſtening to be releaſed from ſuch pain-
ful and uſeleſs converſation, ſtepped
quickly into the chaiſe, and was ſoon on
her way to the place which had ſo long
been her pleaſant home, but which ſhe
now dreaded to enter. The fad va-
cancy ſhe ſhould feel-her folitary and
mournful ſituation, forcibly recurred to
her, and all that had juſt paſſed was for-
gotten. The nearer ſhe approached to
the houſe, the more cruel became her
reflections; and when the chaiſe ſtopped
at the gate of the ſmall lawn that ſur-
rounded it, and ſhe ſaw Morris waiting
there to receive her, ſhe was ſo over-
whelmed with forrow, that it was with
difficulty fhe got out, and, leaning on
the faithful participater of her grief,
flowly entered the houſe.
Althea's


MARCHMONT.
107

Althea's removal to Mr. Everſley's,
the reſtraint ſhe was under there, her
anxiety to hear from her father, and the
coldneſs of his letter when it arrived,
had occafioned a ſort of pauſe in her
grief, which now ſeemed to return more
poignantly than ever. She wandered
from room to room as if ſhe expected to
find her loft friend--but into the dref-
fing-room, where they had uſually fat
together, or into her aunt's bed cham-
ber, ſhe could not acquire reſolution to
enter. From the folitary houſe ſhe
fought the deſerted garden, where every
tree and every flower brought to her
memory her who uſed to be delighted
with them, and they now ſeemed to
droop as if confcious that they were re-
garded no longer. Twelve or fourteen
years had paſſed fince the ſhrubs, which
ſhaded this little domain, had been
planted under the direction of Mrs.
Trevyllian; with Althea they had grown
up, and her eyes ſtreamed with tears as
F 6
ſhe

108
MARCHMONT.
ſhe viewed the lightly interwoven roof
of half-faded verdure, which ſome of the
moſt luxuriant formed above her head;
but her ſpirits were ſtill more affected
by the annual flowers which yet lingered
in bloom. She had affifted her aunt to
fow the ſeeds of theſe before their un-
fortunate journey to London. The
ſcene was preſent to her; ſhe again
fancied ſhe heard the well-known voice
to which ſhe had ſo often liſtened in
theſe walks--it repeated the name of
Althea.--She ſtopped, and looked trem-
blingly around her, as if her fancy had
really created a found. It was the
hollow wind of evening fobbing among
the trees. She ſhuddered, and returned
to the houſe.Unable to ſtay alone, ſhe
defired Morris to fit with her. The
good woman, diſtreſſed to ſee her ſo
deeply affected, tried to ſpeak cheer-
fully; but, after a ſervice of almoſt thirty
years, Morris had no ideas that did not
belong to her deceaſed miſtreſs. Of the
paſt

MARCHMONT.
109

paſt therefore ſhe could not talk, without
renewing the ſorrow ſhe wiſhed to ap-
peaſe ; yet of the future what could ſhe
fay?-To her the houſe of Sir Audley,
where Althea was now to reſide, was, of
all other places, the moſt hateful—and
ſo much did ſhe reſent the treatment
ſhe had received there, that ſhe could
hardly prevail upon herſelf to ſpeak of
any part of the family with patience.
Her converſation, therefore, was little
likely to relieve the oppreſſed heart of
Althea; nor did the neceſſity of exertion
rouſe her. People came to make out
inventories of the furniture and plants
that were to be ſold.—The fight of theſe
men was inſupportable; and Althea,
amidſt the diſtreſs of mind ſuch prepa-
rations for her removal inflicted on her,
almoſt wiſhed herſelf again at the com-
fortleſs abode of Mr. Everſley.
Nothing indeed could have induced
her to have undergone theſe afflicting
ſcenes but the commands of her aunt;



nor

110
MARCHMONT.
nor could ſhe have ſupported herſelf by
any other reflections than thoſe which
aroſe from the remembrance of the con-
ferences held, during that illneſs, with
her excellent parent, who had laboured
to fortify her mind againſt the inevitable
evil that had overtaken her.
“ I will endeavour,” ſaid ſhe, « dear
ſhade of the beſt of women! Your
poor Althea will endeavour not to diſ-
grace, by feebleneſs of mind, the ex-
cellent leſſons you gave her. But where
ſhall I find courage to live a life ſo un-
like that to which your indulgence ac-
cuſtomed me?-Ah! how different to
me will appear the perſons with whom I
muſt aſſociate, and how little intereſt will
they take in my fate!”.... Her recol-
lection now glanced towards the recep-
tion ſhe ſhould meet with at the houſe
of her father. All that had been un.
pleafant to her, during her ſhort ſtay
there, recurred to her; and the deteſted
idea of Mohun failed not, in deſpite of
reaſon,
MARCHMONT.
111
reaſon, to preſent itſelf.--" Yet why,"
conſidered ſhe, “why ſhould I think of
this Mohun?—Have I not real affliction
enough without bewildering my thoughts
with future poſſibilities?--My father can
never encourage ſuch a man to perſe-
cute me-but if he ſhould !-What if
he ſhould ?"-She dared truſt herſelf no
longer with the contemplation of what
might follow, and ſhe fled to the firſt
occupation that offered itſelf to eſcape
from forebodings ſo painful and uſeleſs.
Never was a more melancholy hour
paffed than that which Althea employed
in ſeeing the books her aunt had given
her taken from their ſhelves, and put
into boxes, where they were to remain
under the care of the elder Mrs. Ever-
ſley until ſhe had a home of her own to
receive them. There was hardly one
of theſe volumes which did not awaken
fome tender recollection, or that did not
draw tears from her eyes. She con-
tinued, however, her mournful employ-
ment,

112
MARCHMONT.
ment, with the help of Morris, and had
got about half way through it, when,
owing to the ignorance of a country
fervant, Mr. Everſley, followed by his
friend Marchmont, entered the room
without any previous notice.
The eyes of Althea, in which the tears
ftill trembled, were red with weeping;
and ſurpriſed by ſo unexpected a viſit,
amidſt a room ſtrewn with books, and
in which there was hardly a chair un-
occupied, fhe received them with ſome
embarraſſment in her manner. Soon,
however, regaining her natural eaſe, ſhe
was able to thank Mr. Everſley for the
offers of ſervice which he came to make,
to enquire after his family, and to enter
on ſuch common topics as uſually offer
in a ſhort morning viſit.-But, as if it
had been infeâious, her flight confuſion
on their entrance ſeemed now to be
transferred to her viſitors. Everſley was
evidently perplexed and melancholy:
and when ſhe addreſſed herſelf to Mr.
Marchmont,


MARCH MONT.
113
Marchmont, his anſwers were by no
means ſuch as the intelligence of his
countenance promiſed; for it ſeemed as
if he was only awakened, by the found
of her voice ſpeaking to him, from the
contemplation of ſome incurable ſorrow;
and his eyes were ſo expreſſive of the
diſtreſs of his mind, that Althea, whoſe
tears had been with difficulty reſtrained
on their entrance, felt them again ready
to ſtream, as ſhe repeated to herſelf
Here, at leaſt, is a being as unhappy
as I am!”
murid yade, o choror
Though neither Everſley nor March-
mont was diſpoſed for converſation,
neither of them ſeemed willing to go;
they ſaw indeed that Althea had been
buſily employed, and Everſley muttered
fomething about his fear of interrupting
her, and once aſked if they might not be
permitted to aſſiſt her. But the hour of
dinner was near; and his watch, which
he failed not to conſult, had twice told
him it was time to depart, before he
could

MARCHMONT.
could determine to riſe, or to utter what
he had long meditated." From all
theſe preparations, Miſs Dacres, I fup-
poſe this neighbourhood is foon to loſe
you. Your aunt's confidence in me
gives me ſome right to make an enquiry,
which might otherwiſe be impertinent:
When do you go from hence?—When
are we to loſe you?” god bist
"My buſineſs here," anſwered Al-
thea, fighing deeply, “is nearly finiſhed.
I muſt then inform my father that I am
ready to obey him, and await his orders
for my removal.” tended
“ Sir Audley is, I ſuppoſe, in the
country at this time of the year p's en-
quired Everſley. ssd beobmi.
“At Capelſtoke, in Dorſetſhire."
"-Alas, Mifs Dacres! you will ſoon
forget your more Weſtern friends; but
pray forgive me--(he faw ſhe was much
affected and tell me, may I be per-
mitted to bring Linda to take leave of
a friend the ſo much loves?
“ I ſhall



MARCHMONT.
115
" I ſhall always be happy," anſwered
Althea, " to ſee my dear Linda--but to
take leave is very painful - painful in
proportion to the love we have for
thoſe to whom we are compelled to bid
adieu !"
2o clairon
V" Ah! I feel that to be but too true,"
ſaid Everſley, as he left the room.
Marchmont only bowed; but Althea,
without knowing why, felt more con-
cern for his dejection than for that of
her old acquaintance." Poor young
man,” ſaid ſhe, “I wiſh I had intereſt
enough to do him any good. Oh! if,
like Sir Audley, I could intercede for
the deftitute and unhappy, with thoſe
who have favours to beſtow, ſurely it
would be for a family like this!" -A
few days were yet to be paſſed before
her departure—at leaſt fo fhe had cal-
culated from the time of her laſt wri-
ting to her father. She hoped Linda
would not come for to what purpoſe
theſe fad adieus?-Her heart would be

heavy

116
MARCHMONT.
heavy enough, and it could hardly bear
any addition to the ſorrow that would
oppreſs her, when it became neceſſary
to bid farewel for ever to the ſcene of
her early pleaſures, to ſo many me-
morials of its ever dear inhabitant-to
part too from the faithful Morris, with
little probability of ever ſeeing her
again! But this painful period arrived
even fooner than ſhe had expected.-
Early the next morning a letter was
delivered to her from Sir Audley. It
only faid, that as he imagined ſhe had
now ſettled her buſineſs, Lady Dacres
had been ſo obliging as to ſend her
own woman to conduct her to Capel-
ftoke, for which place he deſired her
immediately to begin her journey:-
Short as the notice was, Althea deter-
mined to obey, and the hurry in which
ſhe ſet out ſeemed to prevent much
of that anguiſh ſhe had dreaded.--
Enough however remained. Speechleſs
and drowned in tears, ſhe could only

wring
MARCHMONT.
117
wring the hand of Morris; and covering
her face with her handkerchief, ſhe
took a final leave of a place which ſo
many ſubſequent hours of life gave her
reaſon to remember with regret.
Laraw
boboiboy Abung TZ
Fonto Vam od sro
od oticas o og vorb gols !
Boa Soriande bens doo
sobod sodeloir bries agit
A pon har att badoo Of
olacy woa w mo b93368
minton wese Bobtg per
a Botolab vill borilad to stagit
Proud osd golden brood
on ott brised Moonflo
dok onigos Istogod oorgd eine
a rol bus to slooi ovillugor buto
CHAP.
>

118
MARCHMONT.
ราชภวว วัน
นา
od od CHAP. V.
bog
Now this is worſhipful ſociety!
SILENT and fad, Althea proceeded
on the way to Capelſtoke. Her road
lay along the coaſt of Devoníhire and
Dorſetſhire, and through a country va-
rious and rich; but Althea heeded it
not. Every object that had once at-
tracted her attention was now paſſed by
unregarded. She ſaw nothing but the
figure of the friend ſhe deplored; ſhe
heard nothing but her laſt accents. If,
calling off her mind a moment from
this theme of hopeleſs regret, ſhe car-
ried it forward to the future, the cold
and repulſive looks of Lady Dacres, and
the

MARCHMONT, 119
the conſtrained kindneſs of Sir Audley,
were before her. In a family where
ſhe knew the miſtreſs of it conſidered
her as an unwelcome addition, how little
of real affection and of ſoothing friend-
ſhip had ſhe to expe&t!-Her ſpirits,
agitated by theſe reflections, ſunk in
proportion as her journey fhortened-
and when the chaiſe drove through the
new-built Lodge, about half a mile from
the houſe, ſhe was ſo totally depreſſed,
that, notwithſtanding all her endeavours,
She was hardly able, when it arrived at
the door of the houſe, to get out, and
follow the footman into a parlour.-
The man, as if he neither knew her, nor
had received any orders for her recep-
tion, aſked if her baggage was to be
taken from the chaiſe; then ordering
the poftillion to drive round to the ſide
of the offices, he went away. Mrs.
Midgely, Lady Dacres’s woman, a per-
ſon of infinite delicacy, had already left
her,

120
MARCHMONT.
her, on pretence of being greatly fa-
tigued. You

Althea, finding herſelf alone, looked
around with diſmay; the room in which
ſhe was, though large, and magnificently
fitted up, had an air of melancholy and
filent gloom, which was but ill com-
penſated by the ſplendour of the fur-
niture. How different was the recep-
tion from that ſhe was wont to receive
at her former home, where, after the
ſhorteſt abſence, Mrs. Trevyllian uſed
to welcome her with ſmiles of delight,
and fondly preſs to her heart its firſt de-
light!—Now, the only figure that met her
eyes was her own,
own, reflected from a very
large French glaſs which reached from
the ceiling to the floor.-She ſtarted as
fhe approached it, then turned away and
went to one of the windows. Com-
paring this ſtrange reception (for it
ſeemed as if none intended to notice
her being in the houſe) with that ſhe had
formerly

Το
MARCH MONT.
formerly met in London, when ſhe was
carried into a room where a number of
ftrangers were aſſembled. She thought
both very unkind; but this, however
humiliating, was the leaſt unpleaſant.
As Althea had been two days on the
road, it was early evening when ſhe ar-
rived. Perhaps Sir Audley, and Lady
Dacres were walking, or were engaged
with company whom they could not
leave to receive her. She wiſhed the
interview over—but time paſſed on, and
nobody appeared.
After waiting fome time, a heavy ſtep
was heard. She ſuppoſed it to be her
father-her heart beat quick-but when
the door opened a portly gentlewoman
appeared at it, whom Althea had never
ſeen before. A round, broad face, and
two black buſhy eye-brows ſhading her
goggle eyes; with a ſnub noſè, fortunate
counterpart to a treble chin; and a
mouth, the real dimenſions of which ſhe
feemed to evade diſcovering, rendered
Vol. I.
her

MARCHMONT.
her no very amiable figure. – Her dreſs
was in the moſt gorgeous ſtyle of the
fecond table--and ſhe ſeemed perfectly
conſcious of the reſpectable appearance
ſhe made, when, advancing in due ſtate,
ſhe informed Althea, that ſhe had the
honour to ſerve Lady Dacres as houſe-
keeper at Capelſtoke." And my lady,
Ma'am, and Sir Audley being neces-
fated to dine and ſup out to-day with
a large party of ladies and gentlemen
who are now ſtaying at our houſe, a
partickeller frind having given a ball and
fupper on his daughter's birth-day; my
lady directed me, if in caſe you, Ma’am,
ſhould come, though ſhe didn't much
expect you till to-morrow, that I ſhould
ſee you had every thing you pleaſed to
order. Would you like ſome tea,
Ma'am, or ſhall I get you an early ſup-
per ?-and would you pleaſe to have
the cloth laid in the dining-room, or the
ſmall liberry where my lady has a fire
o' nights when we haven't company."
Althea


MARCHMONT.
123
Althea replied, that being a good deal
fatigued, ſhe rather wiſhed to retire to
her room, where ſhe would have ſome
tea, and go to bed as ſoon as poſſible.-
“Oh, to be ſure, Ma'am," anſwered
Mrs. Grimſby, "to be ſure! You muſt
be fatigued, no doubt-So, Ma'am, I'll
fend the houſe-maid to fhew you your
apartment, which is quite ready."
" And I ſhall be obliged to you to
order me a fire,” ſaid Althea. “Though
the day has been hot, I find myſelf chilled
this evening."-She then enquired after
the younger part of the family, and
heard that the two eldeſt ladies were
gone with their mamma to the ball.---
“ Sweet dears!” exclaimed this keeper
of confections--“they are both vaſtly
fine young ladies!--and they were fo
happy! As to the gentlemen, they are
at ſchool, except Maſter Frederic and
Maſter Edmund, and them two and Miſs
Julie are in the nurſery.”--Having
thus received anſwers to the queſtions
ſhe



G 2

124
MARCH MONT.
ſhe thought herſelf obliged to aſk, Al-
thea gladly retired to her apartment,
under the guidance of Mrs. Hetty, one
of the houſe-maids. It was a room on
the ſecond floor, plainly but conveni-
ently furniſhed, with a large cloſet ad-
joining. While Hetty aſliſted in placing
ſome of her things, Althea enquired the
names of the preſent viſitors at Capel-
ſtoke, and heard among them, with in-
conceivable chagrin, that of Mohun.-
Some other of the perſons who were
mentioned Althea recollected to have
feen in London, but there was not one
ſhe remembered with pleaſure; and
never did a deſerted wretch, who finds
himſelf cut off from all human ſociety,
and left in an uninhabited iſland, feel
more deſolate or more miſerable than
did Althea in the ſplendid houſe of her
father, ſurrounded by the luxuries of
life, and amid every elegance of poliſhed
ſociety.
She
MARCH MONT.
125
She haftened early to bed, in hopes of
loſing her regret of the paſt, and her fad
preſentiment of the future, in ſleep.-
Fatigue affifted her to forget herſelf;
but the moment her eyes were uncloſed
the ſenſe of her ſorrows returned, and
with it the conſciouſneſs that ſhe muſt
diſguiſe them, or hazard becoming
doubly unacceptable to thoſe on whom
ſhe was to depend. It was yet ſo early
that none of the ſervants were up. Al-
thea opened the ſhutters, and looked
into the park. Grey milts hung upon
the half-faded groups of trees, and lin-
gered yet more heavily over the diſtant
water which divided a part of the park
from the adjoining eſtate.---About eight
years ago Althea had viſited Capelſtoke
with her aunt.
It no longer ſeemed the
fame place.--" Ah!" thought ſhe," how
little was I then conſcious of my own
felicity! how little aware that the hap-
pieſt moments of my life were pafling! —
I felt not my father's coldneſs—I knew

G 3
not
126
MARCHMON T.
not that Lady Dacres looked upon me
with unkindneſs-but, ſecure of the ap-
probation of my dear benefactreſs, I was
content with the preſent, and thought
not of the future.-- that I could now
look forward with equal indifference,
or that the proſpe&t before me were more
cheerful!"
She now began to turn her eyes round
her apartment, and then to examine the
long light cloſet which ſerved as a fort
of dreſſing-room:-the walls of this latter
were covered with pictures, which ſeem-
ed to have been removed out of other
rooms to give place to more modern
ornaments. Some of them appeared to
be family portraits belonging to the
former poſſeſſors of the houſe (which
Sir Audley had purchaſed foon after his
ſecond marriage): they were injured by
time, and want of care; and it was dif-
ficult to diſtinguiſh what ſort of beings
many of them had been intended to re-
preſent. Althea fighed, as a reflection
aroſe

MARCH MONT.
127
aroſe in her mind on the inefficacy of
art to fave from oblivion the evaneſcent
forms of beauty or worth. Thus
mournfully moralizing, ſhe turned to
the other ſide of the cloſet, where ſhe
was ſtruck with a whole-length figure
of a young and beautiful woman, appa-
rently painted at a much later period
than the reſt. The features and air of
her mother, fuch as ſhe had ſeen in her
picture carefully preſerved by Mrs. Tre-
vyllian, immediately occurred to her;
and ſhe diffolved into tears as ſhe read
at the edge of the canvas--" Althea
Dacres, 1773"-It was the
year
after
her marriage, and preceding the birth of
Althea.-." Oh, my mother!” cried the
weeping girl," you, at leaſt, ſeem to
welcome your unhappy child!-I am
obliged to whoever placed here this re-
preſentation of what you once were. It
is the only pleaſure I ſhall perhaps taſte
in this houſe: yet when it was put here,
my gratification was not, I imagine,
thought

G4
128
MARCHMONT.

thought of.-No-Lady Dacres could
allow it no other place.-I wonder in-
deed it was brought to this houſe at all. ----
Alas! how could Sir Audley review
thoſe features, and not nouriſh continual
regret ?”
Such melancholy contemplations oc-
cupied Althea for ſome time. She was
never weary of looking at the pi&ture.-
On a farther examination of the cloſet,
ſhe began to flatter herſelf that her fa-
ther had thought more of her accom-
modation than ſhe at firſt imagined-for
there were a few books, in ſome of
which, on opening them, ſhe found her
mother's name—and they were placed
over a little inlaid cabinet, which formed
a commodious writing-defk : this alſo
had belonged to her mother, for her
cypher was inlaid in the centre of the
deſk.-"Here then at leaſt," fighed Al-
thea, “ here I ſhall not be unhappy.-
When my full heart is unable to bear
the unintereſting and defultory conver-
ſation


MARCHMON T.
129
ſation of mixed company, I may retire
hither to weep for both my parents--for
thoſe beloved ſiſters who will here ſeem
preſent to me, and whoſe benign ſpirits
may perhaps hover over their poor Al-
thea."
A miniature of her aunt, painted when
ſhe was in middle life, was her conſtant
companion. On this ſhe now fixed her
eyes
filled with tears; but the entrance
of Hetty, who came to aſk whether ſhe
choſe to have her breakfaſt in her own
room, or to take it below, put an end
to her ſorrowful foliloquy.-Diſtreſſed
by the thoughts of the firſt interview
with her father and Lady Dacres, yet
wiſhing it over, ſhe enquired whether
all the party who were in the houſe
uſually aſſembled together in the break-
faſt-room--and whether Sir Audley and
Lady Dacres had any rule in regard to
their viſitors. The maid replied, that
ſome of the ladies had breakfaſt in their
own apartments; that the reſt of the
party
G 5
130
MARCII MONT.
party aſſembled in the breakfaſt-room;
but that Lady Dacres feldom attended,
and Sir Audley never.--To enter among
a number of ftrangers, or, what was worſe,
to appear in a company where the only
perſon ſhe knew was the perſon in the
world the moſt diſagreeable to her, was
certainly to be avoided. She deſired
therefore to remain where ſhe was; and
hardly knew whether to be moft hurt or
pleaſed, that the appeared likely to be
treated with the ſame civil indifference as
the uſual viſitors at the houſe. As far as
ſuch conduct would leave her more at
liberty, ſhe rejoiced at it; but ſhe could
not help feeling a cold and comfortleſs
ſenſation, when ſhe reflected that the
perſon by whom ſhe was thus put on the
footing of an ordinary acquaintance was
her father-nor could ſhe fail to re-
collect that ſhe had now been many
hours in his houſe without being en-
quired after.
MARCH MONT.
131

In endeavouring to conquer thefe de-
preſſing thoughts, the time paſſed till an
hour at which Althea thought it impof-
fible but that the maſter and miſtreſs of
the houſe muſt be viſible to their gueſts;
and at length ſhe was informed by a
footman that Lady Dacres deſired to ſee
her.-Althea now hoped that ſhe ſhould
meet her father and Lady Dacres alone:
but ſhe was diſappointed; ſhe was ſhewn
into the breakfaſt-room, where a large
circle was aſſembled--ſome ſtill at their
morning repaft'; ſome of the gentlemen
in ſhooting dreſſes, and preparing to go
out, and others talking in ſmall parties.
Among the laſt was Sir Audley, who,
when Althea appeared at the door, left
the perſons he was converſing with (one
of whom ſhe immediately faw was Mo-
hun), and, taking her hand, led her to
his wife.--Lady Dacres half roſe from
her chair, while with a forced ſmile, and
in a low voice, the bade her welcome to
Capelſtoke.--Sir Audley then preſented


G6
the

132
MARCHMON T.
the bluſhing and half-weeping Althea to
two ladies who were next Lady Dacres.
“ Lady Barbara,” ſaid he, “give me
leave to preſent to you my daughter
Althea.”—Lady Barbara made a cold
bow, and ſurveyed her from head to
foot without ſpeaking. He then turned
to the other—“My dear Mrs. Polwarth,
allow me to make known to you my
daughter."--Mrs. Polwarth, riſing from
her feat, ſaid one of the ſomethings uſual
on ſuch occaſions; and then whiſpered
Sir Audley loud enough to be heard-
« Oh! ſhe is divinely handſome.”_A
frown from Lady Dacres checked the
continuance of this audible whiſper-
but not the impertinent looks with which
this ſtrange woman continued to gaze
on Althea, whofe heart, i already op-
preſſed, could not hear the name of
Polwarth without being cruelly affected;
for it was impoſſible for her to forget
that to Mrs. Trevyllian's friendſhip for
the mother of Mr. Polwarth (who was
alſo





MARCH MONT.
133
1
alſo preſent) ſhe owed the loſs of that
dear and much-regretted friend.-By
this time, however, the ceremony of
general introduction was over. Two
young women of faſhion, of the name of
Newmarch, whom Althea had met in
town, were alſo of the party; and to
them it ſeemed as if Lady Dacres was
willing to conſign her, conſidering them
probably under the general claſs of
miſſes, and not without hopes that their
fuperiority in point of fortune, know-
ledge of the world, and reputed beauty,
would ſink Althea at once into the in-
fignificance in which ſhe wiſhed to ſee
her.—They were at a window together,
when Lady Dacres, calling to them,
begged to introduce Miſs Dacres once
more to their acquaintance. Althea
gladly quitted Mohun, who was talking
to her in a cold and careleſs manner,
which greatly abated the terror ſhe had
conceived at meeting him, and began a
fort of converſation with the eldeſt Miſs
Newmarch;


*34
MARCHMONT.
Newmárch; while Mohun, inſtead of
going out to ſhoot as ſeemed by his
dreſs to have been his intention, ſtood
in a lounging way, ſurveying Althea
with the ſort of look that a fagacious
jockey puts on when he is about to pur-
chaſe a horſe--and thoſe who had
taken the trouble to examine his coun-
tenance might have ſeen his ap-
probation. The mourning Althea wore,
which was as deep as for a pa-
rent, particularly became her.-The
confuſion of her mind had added
to her complexion the roſes it fome-
times wanted; and Mohun thought her
infinitely handſomer than when he had
ſeen her in London. Sir Audley, who
was intereſted in his opinion of her,
failed not to remark this with fatis-
faction; but Lady Dacres, by no means
delighted with the general approbation
with which every man in the room
feemed to conſider Althea, broke up the
party by ſaying, " Lady Barbara, is
dowo
your
MARCHMONT.
135
your ladyſhip diſpoſed to adjourn to my
dreſſing-room ?-Mrs. Polwarth, how do
you diſpoſe of yourſelf?-You ladies, I
ſuppoſe, will walk;” ſpeaking to the
Miſs Newmarches, “ and Miſs Dacres
will doubtleſs attend you.”_" I ſhall
be of their party, dear Madam,” cried
Mrs. Polwarth; “I am not diſpoſed to
be ſedentary this morning; I feel ex-
tremely young."_" Mrs. Polwarth is
always young," whiſpered a young man,
whoſe dreſs might have ſerved for the
repreſentative of the moſt outré man of
the day in the moſt outré comedy:
“ Mrs. Polwarth is always young-al-
ways delightful-always the envy of her
own ſex, and the admiration of ours.”
-" Oh, flattering creature!” cried the
lady to whom this was addreſſed, " you
know you think no ſuch thing-Or, if
you do, you wicked animal,” added ſhe,
riſing, and in a half whiſper, “if you
do-Oh Heavens! keep it to yourſelf,
or I ſhall have poiſon put into my cup
by

136
MARCHMONT.
by the miſſes.” She now walked to-
wards Althea and her companions; Mr.
Wardour ſtill following, and whiſpering
to her. Althea gazed at and liſtened
to this woman with aſtoniſhment foon
mingled with diſguft—whichi, however,
Mrs. Polwarth was ſo unconſcious of,
that ſhe thus addreſſed her:
My dear ſweet girl, I have been
dying to make an acquaintance with
you. I dote upon beauty—there is
nothing I delight in half ſo much. Pola
warth tells me ſometimes that I am
vaſtly impolitic—but he is the beſt huf-
band in the world-is he not, Wardour?":
“ Who could be otherwiſe to ſuch
perfe&tion ?” anſwered Mr. Wardour,
with an expreſſion of countenance that
gave this anſwer very much the air of a
fneer. “Ah! who could be otherwiſe
to ſuch a woman?-But, alas! there is but
one in the univerſe ſuch as Mrs. Polo
warth.”—“Now, my dear Jack,” re-
plied the lady, “what a common-place
compliment
MARCHMONT.
137
compliment is that! Beſides, you know
it is juſt the reverſe, for there are a
thouſand women in the little univerfe of
London like me ; and a million there
would be, if they dared to be as honeſt
as I am, and own, as I do, that they
dote upon flirting. I like always to
have half a dozen young fellows round
me, and care neither for the envy of
the miſſes, nor the malignity of their
mammas and maiden aunts. Oh! War-
dour, fince you are the only tolerable
wretch here, do find ſomething new to
ſay to me. Come, I will give you a
ftudy-you ſhall be my gallant round
the park.” So ſaying, ſhe took his arm,
and marched out of the room, to the
wonder of Althea, who looked at Mr.
Polwarth to ſee if ſuch ſtrange beha-
viour paſſed unnoticed. He talked of
politics with Sir Audley on the oppoſite
fide of the room, and was totally re--
gardleſs of this ſally of his wife's. It
ſeemed not new indeed to any of the
few

138
MARCHMONT.
few who remained. Lady Dacres and
her friend were gone; and no one but
Mifs Newmarch took notice of Mrs.
Polwarth, who, as ſhe paſſed the window,
hanging on the arm of Wardour, ex-
claimed, " What a woman!” Althea
then accompanied Miſs Newmarch in a
walk which her fifter declined. A filence
of ſome moments enſued, which Mifs
Newmarch, whoſe character was that of
haughty indifference, ſeemed not dif-
poſed to break; and Althea, who feared
her father's country reſidence was not
likely to be more pleaſant to her than
that in London, funk in cold defpond-
ence. Her companion at length broke
filence. " You are not acquainted with
Mrs. Polwarth, Mifs Dacres?"-" No,
Madam, I never ſaw her before.” --" I
muſt own,” continued the lady, with a
very fignificant tofs of her head,
" that
I was ſurpriſed to find her here; and my
aunt Lady Barbara was not lefs amazed.
It will certainly ſhorten our viſit. Mrs.
Polwarth

MARCH MONT.
139
Polwarth is by no means a perſon with
whom we ſhall be ſuffered to affo.
ciate."
Althea, who cared nothing about
Mrs. Polwarth, had neither ſpirits nor
inclination to enquire into the particu-
lars of her character, but Mils. New-
march could not reſiſt the malignant
pleaſure of giving her hiſtory. And ſhe
was in the midſt of theſe ſcandalous
anecdotes, to which Althea could not
prevail upon herſelf to attend, though
ſhe appeared to liſten, when they met
the ſubject of their converſation with
her attendant. As they paffed, and
flightly ſpoke, the countenance of Miſs
Newmarch ſufficiently explained the
cauſe of her peculiar inveteracy, which
a very few ſubſequent obſervations con-
firmed. Mr. Wardour was one of thoſe
very fine men for whom half the faſhion,
able girls in London were juſt then
dying—one of thoſe irreſiſtibles, who
are always ſeen lounging in St. James's
Street,
540
MARCH MONT.
Street, or riding in Hyde-park-who
ſhew themſelves for a moment at half a
dozen different places-affect to have
engagements every where, and to attend
to none of them-imagine fome ridicu-
lous fingularity of dreſs, and enjoy the
paltry pleaſure of ſeeing it adopted firſt
by all who are emulous of being in the
world of faſhion, and then watch its
progreſs deſcending among the frequent.
ers of the lobbies, the weekly viſitors in
Kenſington Gardens, lawyers' and bank-
ers' clerks, brokers, the ſecond in the
firm, and the Philpots of the day. Miſs
Newmarch, who made a mighty parade
of the ftri&tneſs of the education ſhe had
received, and fancied that it gave ſome
fingularity to her character, had not
however learned to deſpiſe this ſpecies
of coxcomb. She had ſeen Wardour in
London with very partial eyes, and they
had told him that neither prudence nor
prudery could withſtand his attractions.
It was by chance they met at Sir Aud.
0912
ley's,

MARCHMONT.
ley's, when Mr. and Mrs. Polwarth
were there for a week on their way into
the Weft. Mrs. Polwarth delighting to
fhew her power, immediately threw out
her lure for Wardour; who profeſſing to
be worn to death with the inſipidity of
miſſes, and to find a great deal of amuſe-
ment in the extravagant coquetry of the
married lady, paid his court openly to
Mrs. Polwarth, and affected to forget
that he had ever ſeen Miſs Newmarch
before. lo
too
Lady Dacres either did not or would
not ſee how very much the conduct of
her viſitor was out of rule, and Lady
Barbara ſneered and talked at her in
vain. This good lady, the unmarried
daughter of an Iriſh Earl, was near
fixty-tall, thin, upright, and formal :
ſhe ſeemed as if her ſhape had been
imagined by ſome joiner no adept in
grace, on purpoſe to ſerve as a layman
for the clothes ſhe wore. Lady Barbara
was a ſort of oracle among a certain
ſet

142
MARCHMONT.
ſet of ancient maidens of ſmall fortune,
or childleſs widows of moderate join-
tures, who formed a little ſociety in the
ſtreets immediately around the ſquare
where ſhe refided in London. Not
having many titled acquaintance, theſe
ladies conſidered Lady Barbara as their
head and patroneſs. Her name was-
ever ſolicited firſt on the liſt of fub-
fcriptions, and to ſuch charities as were
made public ſhe had no obje&tion to
contribute. She was ſuppoſed to have
a predilection in favour of Methodiſm,
was an adept in medicine, and had faith
in the ſcience of the illuminés. Above
all, her ſtrict and unbending prudence
was a ſource of continual eulogium. Yet
there were thoſe who gave her no other
credit for this extraordinary portion of
rigid auſterity, than what aroſe from her
never having had in the younger part of
her life any temptation to ſeek that ad-
miration, or mix in that general ſociety,
which, though not inconſiſtent with real

purity
MARCH MONT.
143
purity of character, often gives occaſion
to doubt it. Plain and diſagreeable in
her perſon, ſhe had been neglected by
the men; chilling and ſevere in her
manners, ſhe was deteſted by the women.
Her rank alone had reſcued her from
entire neglect--her relations viſited her
as a matter of form; and on the death
of one of her ſiſters, the Miſs New-
marches, her two daughters, had fallen
under her care. But theſe young wo-
men, who had been educated in a very
different ſtyle of life, could ill brook the
formal dulneſs of Lady Barbara's houſe
and ſociety, and impatiently expected
the time when their majority ſhould re-
leaſe them from her control.
Nothing could aſſort lefs than Althea
and theſe two young women: Mrs. Pol-
warth was ſtill more diſagreeable to her;
and the ſociety of the elder ladies, Lady
Barbara and Lady Dacres, was the fub-
ject of her dread; for while the latter
conſidered her as the rival of her daugh-
ters,


144
MARCHMONT.
ters, the eldeſt of whom was now juſt
coming out in the world, the other
ſeemed to look upon her as a proper ob-
ject on which to exerciſe her ſatirical
ſagacity. She criticiſed, even before
her face, her manners, her air, and her
figure--diſcovered faults which Althea
had never before heard of; yet, "merely
as her friend,” adviſed her to conſider
how difficult it was in theſe times for
young women of very ſmall fortune, and
good family, to procure proper eſtabliſh-
ments--and exhorted her by a moſt pru-
dent and circumſpect behaviour to do
honour to “ the memory of her dear
deceaſed aunt.”
Althea, who had not the leaſt incli-
nation to deviate from prudence, and
ſaw no temptation to do ſo if ſhe had,
was for ſome days ignorant whither all
theſe leffons tended : at length, how-
ever, ſhe diſcovered that Lady Barbara
was engaged to forward the views of her
father and Lady Dacres, and to prepare
her
MARCHMONT.
145
her for what they were endeavouring to
bring about, a paffive acceptance of
thofe attentions from Mr. Mohun, which
had given her ſo much diſquiet in Lon-
don, and which he now was evidently
diſpoſed to renew.
Mrs. Polwarth, her huſband who had
not three ideas out of the routine of the
office in which he was employed, and
the envied irreſiſtible Mr. Wardour, de-
parted in a few days; and the party was
reduced to Lady Barbara, her two nieces,
and Mr. Mohun, with two or three de-
pendants of Sir Audley's, who were
frequently at the houſe. The evenings
were become long, and many were the
hours, when Althea was condemned to
fit in this dull and unintereſting circle,
or to walk round a card table, while
Mohun, ſeating himſelf at whiſt, ſome-
times followed her with his eyes, and
fometimes attended to his game, and
ſeemed internally to reſolve on not
taking much trouble about a filly girl,
VOL. I.
who


H

146
MARCH MONT.
who had ſo little judgement as not to
value the good opinion of a man of
talents ſo ſuperior, and judgement ſo
indiſputable.
Hitherto Althea had contrived to
avoid ever meeting him alone, and his
profeſſions of admiration, which he was
too proud to laviſh while any could wit-
neſs how coldly they were received,
hardly ſeemed to have made any im-
preſſion. But as his inclination for her
increaſed every day, and as he could
not believe a final refuſal from her poffi-
ble, he at length determined to open his
pretenſions in form. There was now
no Mrs. Trevyllian to encourage her
refuſal; he ſaw that her preſent home
was very uneaſy to her, and he was fure
Lady Dacres did not want diſpoſition to
make it more ſo. Sir Audley was not
only warmly his friend, but proteſted to
him that this marriage was nearer his
heart than any other circumſtance in
the world. Althea was therefore fated

to
MARCH MONT.
147
to undergo that ſort of perſecution which
has filled ſo many novels, and either
diſoblige her only parent and protector,
or devote herſelf for life to a man ſhe
deteſted.

H2
CHAP.

148
MARCHMONT.
CHAP. VI.
My parks, my walks, my manors that I had,
Even now forſake me, and of all my lands
Is nothing left me!
SIR AUDLEY had watched Althea's
manners towards his friend, and was at
no loſs to underſtand what they meant;
but he was ſo ſure ſhe had no other at-
tachment, that he could not help flatter-
ing himſelf the proſpects of ſplendour
and affluence which Mohun could offer
her, would have their weight; and ac-
cordingly prepared to exert all the
power of parental authority to conquer
any ſcruples that his daughter might
have, and to haften the concluſion of
the

2
MARCHMONT.
149
the marriage before they returned to
London for the winter.
The active timidity of Althea baffled
for a few days the intentions of Mohun
to addreſs her alone. Her father faw
ſhe avoided him; and fearful that his
exceſſive pride would be hurt if ſhe
poſitively refuſed him, he determined
to ſpeak to her before the interview took
place, and to prevent the probability
of ſuch a repulſe by his poſitive com-
mands.
Poor Althea, whoſe only tolerable
hours were thoſe which ſhe paſſed alone
in the early part of the morning, was as
uſual enjoying her ſolitary walk in the
park, when a footman informed her Sir
Audley deſired to ſpeak with her in his
ftudy.—Trembling and breathleſs, for
ſhe gueſſed but too well what ſhe was to
hear, ſhe followed him to her father's
room, where he waited for her.
“ Althea,” cried Sir Audley, as ſoon
as ſhe was ſeated, “I have but a few
H 3
words


150
MARCHMONT.
words to ſay to you ; but I expect that
you will attend to them, and confider
them as deciſive. You cannot be really
ignorant of my friend Mr. Mohun's
partiality for you. It has ſurvived thoſe
girliſh and ridiculous airs which would
have diſguſted a leſs ſenſible and diſ-
cerning man ; but he fees that you have
a good underſtanding, and he knows
how to make allowances for extreme
youth, inexperience, and perhaps fome
romantic and fooliſh notions which you
have picked up in the courſe of a retired
and country education. He ſtill does
you the honour to conſider you in the
moſt favourable light; a circumſtance
that gives the trueft pleaſure to Lady
Dacres, and to me. I know you can
have no other attachment--fuch an idea
is impoſſible. Mr. Mohun offers every
advantage that can fatisfy a reaſonable
woman; nay, all that can gratify the
moſt ambitious. He will fpeak to you
himſelf; and I expect, Althea, that you
receive

MARCHMONT.
151
was,
receive him as a man who is my friend,
and who is to be your huſband.”
It was fortunate for Althea that the
length of this harangue gave her time to
recollect herſelf: young as ſhe and
hitherto without having had any occa-
fion to act for herſelf, her good ſenfe
ſupported her in this trying moment,
and gave her courage to act from the
impulſe of her unadulterated heart.-
Free from every preference, and unin-
fluenced by every motive but native
integrity, her ſoul revolted at the idea
of ſelling herſelf to any man; and Mo-
hun was in his perſon, manners, and
morals, equally diſagreeable to her.--
However averſe to diſoblige her father,
ſhe was yet more unwilling to let him
for a moment ſuppoſe her capable of
making ſuch a ſacrifice of principle;
and it was better to declare her refolu-
tion at once, than to encourage expec-
tations fhe never could fulfl. Col-
lecting all her courage therefore, yet
H4
trembling



152
MARCHMONT.
trembling ſo that ſhe could hardly arti-
culate her words, ſhe declared to her
father, that however forry ſhe was, not
to comply with his and Lady Dacres's
wiſh, yet that her diſlike to Mr. Mohun
was not to be conquered—that ſhe had
no ambition, nor any wiſh to leave his
protection, ſo long as he would afford it
her.
Sir Audley could hardly hear her
with patience. Unuſed to have his will
oppoſed, he could not endure to find
oppoſition where he thought he had a
right to implicit obedience; and having
by this marriage, in imagination, ſeen an
end to all his folicitude, and to the un-
eaſineſs which he foreſaw between Lady
Dacres and Althea, the refuſal of his
daughter, which counteracted theſe
hopes, ſeemed the moſt unpardonable
offence that ever was committed againſt
him. He diſdained, however, to argue
where he thought he had a right to com-
mand; and therefore in very angry and
peremptory



MARCHMONT.
153
peremptory terms declared to her, that
though he had at firſt condeſcended to
ſpeak to her rather as a friend than as
her father, ſhe ſhould find that he would
be obeyed." I have received you,”
ſaid he, “ at the riſk of my domeſtic
quiet, into my houſe, becauſe it appear-
ed to be my duty to do ſo; but do not
imagine, Althea, do not imagine that in
performing my duty I ſhall ſuffer you
to forget yours. I declare to you, and
my reſolutions are not eaſily fhaken,
that if you do not receive Mr. Mohun's
propoſals, as if you finally meant to ac-
cept them, I ſhall no longer conſider
you as my daughter."
“ The alternative is a very dreadful
one,” replied Althea; “
my
father will
then abandon his child—for indeed, Sir,
indeed I cannot marry Mr. Mohun.”
“ Go, Madam,” ſaid Sir Audley
fternly; you know my final determi-
nation-I argue no longer.”



29

H 5
At
154
MARCHMONT.
At this moment a fervant entered the
room, and told Şir Audley that Mr.
Marchmont was in the parlour, and
begged to ſpeak to him.
“ Mr. Marchmont !” exclaimed Sir
Audley, angrily; “and what does he
want? Who let him in ? Have I not
given orders to be denied to him? Why
did you ſay I was at home ?"
“ It was not I, Sir," ſaid the foot-
man; "it was Robert who met him at the
ftables. He had been enquiring for
Mr. Addingreve; who not being at
home, or expected theſe two days, he
deſired, Sir, to ſee you as a matter of
great conſequence.”
What are his matters of conſe-
quence to me?” cried Şir Audley, in a
ftill more angry tone;
“ thoſe March-
monts think one has nothing elſe to do
but to attend to them. I never faw
more troubleſome people.--Go, Miſs
Dacres,” added he, turning to Althea,
"and do you, John, let Mr. Marchmont
know---"
>>
MARCH MONT.
155
know.” Althea, glad to be diſmiſſed,
now left the room, when in the veſti-
bule ſhe met the ſame young man who
had been ſo oddly, and, as the thought,
improperly introduced to her by Mr.
Everſley. He ſtood in a heſitating way,
as if anxiouſly waiting for Sir Audley's
orders of admiſſion. He was paler,
thinner, and appeared more dejected
than when Althea had before ſeen him.
When he ſaw her he ſtarted, but ſeemed
uncertain whether he ought at ſuch a
moment to renew the flight acquaintance
he had with her. Althea, whoſe eyes
and manner betrayed the agitation ſhe
had been in, bluſhed at once from the
recollection of their former meeting,
and from the conſciouſneſs of her pre-
fent appearance ; and unable to decide
whether ſhe ought to ſpeak to him or
no, ſhe courteſied and paſſed on, while
Marchmont ſtepped forward into the
library. Althea involuntarily pauſed,
to learn the reception her father gave
H 6
him :


156
MARCHMONT.
Howly re-
him: ſhe heard only, “Well, Sir, ſince
I muſt be thus troubled”-uttered in
the ſame angry tone which had ſo lately
been uſed to herſelf. The door was then
ſhut; and with a heart oppreſſed by her
own forrows, yet feeling for thoſe of
this unfortunate ftranger, ſhe ſlowly re-
turned to her own room.
For a moment ſhe relieved herſelf by
ſhedding tears, which terror had in ſome
meaſure reſtrained while in the preſence
of her exaſperated father. Some cruel
reflections which he had thrown out
againſt Mrs. Trevyllian, and the preju-
dices ſhe had imbibed, hurt Althea as
much as his menaces in regard to Mo-
hun; and when ſhe began to reflect on
the power he poſſeſſed, and his apparent
determination to uſe it, all the bitterneſs
of her loſs recurred to her with ten-fold
force. “If my father perſiſts,” ſaid
ſhe, “whither ſhall I go, or what will
become of me? I have not a friend in
the world; for my mother's relations are
all

*
MARCHMONT.
157
eſtranged from me: and who will en-
courage a child in diſobedience to a
father, in a caſe too where ſo many
people would think him right in uſing
the authority that nature has given him ?
But I never will, I never can give my-
ſelf to that man. Servitude—daily la-
bour would be preferable to the moſt
brilliant ſituation which I ſhould owe to
him.". The violence of her ſenſations
occaſioned ſickneſs and languor; and
fhe determined, as it was yet early, to
take the walk her father's fummons had
delayed. Yet dreading left ſhe ſhould
meet Mohun, ſhe rang for Betty; and
queſtioning her how the people in the
houſe had diſpoſed of themſelves that
morning, ſhe heard that Mr. Mohun,
with others, was gone out on a ſhooting
party. Aſſured, therefore, that he could
not croſs her way, ſhe put on her hat,
and haſtened to a conſiderable diſtance
from the houſe, where a long row of
Spaniſh cheſnut trees joined on one



fide
158
MARCH MONT.
ſide to a coppice, and on the other to a
road which led through the park from
a neighbouring town to a ſea-port at
the diſtance of eleven miles. The trees
yet afforded a ſhade againſt the morning
fun, though their leaves began flowly
to fall; and Althea, ſoothed by the
fighing of the autumnal wind among
their branches, and by the perfect foli-
tude of the place, ſeemed as if ſhe was
for a moment at liberty to breathe more
freely; and leaning againſt a hunting-
gate that opened into the coppice, ſhe
began, with that fad diſpofition to in-
creaſe mental anguiſh which ſo fre-
quently hangs about the unhappy, to
carry her memory back to the fame
ſeaſon in the preceding year, when ſhe
was blefſed with the tendernefs and pro-
tection of her aunt, without a wiſh un-
gratified, and to compare it with the cruel
reverſe which had now fallen upon her!
The ſound of an approaching paſſenger
interrupted her reverie. Poney 2
She

MARCHMONT.
159
She looked towards the end of the
cheſnut walk, and ſaw Mr. Marchmont
on horſeback, but riding ſo ſlowly that
his horſe, which ſeemed to be a hired
hack, hardly put one foot before the
other: the bridle was laid on the neck
of the animal, and Marchmont held one
hand to his forehead and eyes, as if
fuffering pain: the horſe, however,
on ſeeing Althea, ſtopped, and then
went on a more irregular pace; and his
rider, rouſed from his feveriſh dream,
looked
up and ſaw her. He pulled off
his hat, and, checking the horfe, ſaid in
a low and dejected voice, “ I believe I
have the honour of ſeeing Miſs Dacres :
I hope ſhe is well.” Althea would have
anſwered ſo common an enquiry in its
uſual indifference, had not her good-
neſs of heart urged her to be more than
uſually civil to a man who ſhe knew was
unhappy, and who had, ſhe feared, been
harſhly uſed by Sir Audley. She there-
fore aſked when he laſt ſaw Mr. Ever-
ſley's

160
MARCHMONT.

ſley's family? If he knew whether the
elder Mrs. Everſley was returned ? and
ſuch other queſtions as led to a conver-
fation. Thus encouraged, Marchmont
feemed for a moment to forget his de-
ſpondence, and, diſmounting, appeared
extremely gratified in being acknow-
ledged as an acquaintance. He talked
of the Everſley family, and evidently
wiſhed to prolong the pleaſure he had
thus ſo unexpectedly been indulged in;
while Althea, anxious to know the buſi-
nefs which her father had received with
ſo much ill-humour, made an effort to
ſatisfy what may be called benevolent
curioſity; for though ſhe had no in-
fluence with Sir Audley, ſhe thought it
not impoſſible but that Addingreve, the
old ſteward, might be induced by her
folicitations to grant a ſmall favour,
which was all ſhe ſuppoſed Mr. March-
mont likely to folicit. Under this idea
fhe ventured to ſay, “ I fear, Sir, you
have had the trouble of a long journey
without
MARCHMONT.
161
without meeting Addingreve, with whom
I underſtand you had buſineſs at home?
Sir Audley perhaps, who leaves almost
every thing to him, could not equally
tranſact it?” The expreſſive counte-
nance of Marchiont, before lighted up
with a tranſient ray of pleaſure, changed
at once; he caſt a melancholy look on
Althea, and ſaid, “You are very good,
Miſs Dacres, to beſtow a thought on ſo
luckleſs a being as I am. I had indeed
buſineſs with Mr. Addingreve; and
miſſing him, as the affair was of import-
ance to my mother, I ventured to fo-
licit an audience of Sir Audley Dacres.
I hoped he might have obliged me, even
without the intervention of his fleward;
but he has refuſed me.-Perhaps my in-
truſion was wrong: but when my mo-
ther and my fiſters are in queſtion, I
preſs forward without regard to conſe-
quences; nor is it indeed always in my
power to forget, that the diſtance was
formerly not ſo great between me and
thoſe


162
MARCH MONT.
thoſe from whom it is now my abject
fortune to folicit favours and forbear-
ance."
A deep and indignant figh, which he
yet wiſhed to ſuppreſs, burſt from the
heart of Marchmont, as he finiſhed this
ſentence. At the word forbearance, Al-
thea was ftruck with an idea that the
family of Marchmont was ſomehow in-
debted to her father--and ſhe was at
once ſhocked and mortified to think he
was an inexorable creditor.
After pauſing a moment, Althea ſaid
in a low voice-" I lament, Sir, a cir-
cumſtance which ſeems to give you
pain; 1 lament it the more, becauſe I
have not the leaſt influence with my fa-
ther, and dare not venture to ſpeak to
him on buſineſs. I ſhould hope, how-
ever, if it were known to Lady Dacres,
that your requeſt, relating to the accom-
modation of your mother, might, through
her Ladyſhip's interceffion, be liſtened
to."
« Ah!
MARCII MONT.
163
“ Ah! Miſs Dacres,” replied March-
mont with increaſed emotion, “ that in-
genuous countenance is an index to a
mind as ingenuous, to a heart which,
generouſly feeling for the unhappy, be-
lieves that others are equally tender and
conſiderate.--Lady Dacres, who, as co-
heireſs of the late Sir Ralph Gunſton,
became entitled to the mortgages my fa-
ther had made on his eſtates in Devon-
ſhire, and others, has directed thoſe
mortgages to be forecloſed; and her La-
dyſhip’s agents have been ſome time in
poſſeſſion of Eaſtwoodleigh, a very an-
cient houſe of my anceſtors, but which
indeed the embarraſſed ſtate of my poor
father's affairs has not allowed us to re-
fide at ſince his death. Of this pro-
ceeding I have no right to complain-
it was but juſt, and I fubmit without
murmuring; but as Lady Dacres's pro-
perty is for the greater part ſecure and
out of queſtion, I had hoped that Sir
Audley would have allowed my mother
and
164
MARCH MONT.

and my ſiſters to have remained, during
this winter, at the ſmall houſe which was
alſo mortgaged to Sir Ralph, near Dork-
ing in Surry. This was the requeſt I
had to make-the requeſt that I have
been refuſed !--I ſhould not however
have made it,” continued he, “ but that
my mother is in a fad ftate of health;
and I fear”-(the tears, in deſpite of his
endeavours to repreſs them, filled his
eyes)--" I fear that the comforts of ſuch
an abode as I can now procure for her
will be ſo inadequate to what her preſent
ſtate demands, that the conſequence of
her removal will be ſuch as I tremble
to think of." __“ Gracious Heaven !''
exclaimed Althea," and is it poſſible
Sir Audley and Lady Dacres can have
the cruelty to deny you ſo ſmall a fa-
vour? What reaſon can be alleged for
refuſing what ſurely it would give any
human being pleaſure to grant ?"
“ The reaſon,” anſwered Marchmont
dejectedly, "is, that a friend of Sir
bus
Audley's,

MARCH MONT.
165
Audley's, who lives in that neighbour-
hood, has offered to take a very long
leaſe of the houſe, to give a great rent
for it, and to make I know not what
alterations and improvements. With
this propoſal your father has cloſed; and
the intended tenant, who is ſome man of
fortune and high in the law, has already
ſent down ſurveyors to examine the
houſe. - As the ſeaſon is now approach-
ing when nothing can be done, I hoped
the indulgence I aſked might have been
obtained for my poor mother-I now
repent that I have made the attempt
But I forget myſelf ftrangely Mifs
Dacres,” continued Marchmont, ob-
ſerving that Althea was extremely af-
fected, “ I have no right in the world
to intrude upon you, and indeed I
hardly know how I have been betrayed
into it. I beg your. pardon, and will
detain you no longer.”
“Do not, however, go, Mr. March-
mont,” ſaid Althea eagerly ; “ do not
go



166
MARCHMONT.
go
till I know whether you think there
is not fome means by which I may be
of uſe to your mother.”—The mention
of a lawyer from London as the future
tenant of the houſe made her think of
Mohun-to whom it was highly pro-
bable it was promiſed; and though his
name was hateful to her, ſhe felt at this
moment as if ſhe could almoſt aſk a fa-
vour even of him to relieve Marchmont
from the anguiſh which ſeemed to op-
preſs his heart. From ſuch an experi-
ment, however, her heart recoiled; but
ſtill ſhe could not bear to relinquiſh
wholly the hope of ſerving a family for
whom ſhe felt herſelf unuſually inte-
reſted.
While Althea filently debated this
with herſelf, Marchmont gazed at her
without the power of anſwering her
queſtion. At length he ſaid-" I can-
not again ſolicit-I have been degraded
too much by it already; neither can I
aſk you, Miſs Dacres, to undertake for
me
MARCHMONT.
167
me a taſk fo painful to a generous mind,
becauſe it would probably be ſo fruit-
leſs. I am ſorry, indeed I am, that my
accidentally meeting you here has given
to ſuch a mind the pain of hearing of
diſtreſs it cannot relieve. May guardian
angels watch over your happineſs, Ma-
dam-and may Heaven reward your hu-
mane and generous wiſhes!”—At this
moment the park-gate, from which they
were not far diſtant, ſhut with conſide-
rable noiſe, and the approach of ſome
perſons was announced by voices, and
whiſtling to dogs.-Althea hardly know-
ing why, nor venturing to aſk herſelf,
was yet conſcious that ſhe would not be
ſeen talking to Marchmont; and March-
mont, equally uneaſy, made no effort to
detain her; when ſpringing ſuddenly
from him, ſhe opened the hunting-gate,
and was in a moment rendered inviſible
by the thick underwood of the coppice;
while Marchmont, leading his horſe,
flowly continued his way. Near the

great

168
MARCHMONT.
great gate of the park, Mohun and another
gentleman, with their ſervants and dogs,
paſſed him. The former ſtared at him,
but noticed him not; and the unhappy
young man, miſerable every way, and
feeling his miſery increaſed by the ten-
der admiration which this interview with
Althea had created in his breaſt, re-
luctant and mournful, took the road to
a neighbouring town, from whence he
had hired his horſe.
Marchmont was the only ſon of a
gentleman who was heir to a very an-
cient family, and to ſuch parts of their
once great property as had not been
diſſipated or forfeited in the civil war
which deſolated England in the middle
of the laſt century. Mr. Marchmont,
the father, had entered life with a for-
tune of above three thouſand a year,
though it was nominally five. All the
habits of his anceſtors, their family
oftentation, as well as their old hof-
pitable cuſtoms, clung about him, and
about
MARCHMONT,
169
about his domains; on the principal of
which was an old manſion-houſe that
had been twice beſieged by Cromwell's
army, and rendered the ſcene of ex-
ploits on which hereditary honour or
hereditary pride delighted to dwell.
Mr. Marchmont could never endure the
thought either of ſelling or letting this
houſe, though he could not afford to
repair, or to live in it with any degree
of comfortable ſufficiency for years before
his death.
Could he have had the reſolution,
when he came to his eſtates, to have fold
half of them to pay off the mortgages
on the reft, he would have enjoyed, and
have tranſmitted to his fon, a hand-
ſome and competent fortune:--but, from
the ſtrange prejudices he had imbibed
in his youth, he never could be per-
fuaded to think ſo; and the mortgages
(the intereſt of which his want of eco-
nomy never allowed him regularly to
pay) by degrees devoured the eſtates
VOL. I.
themſelves.


I
170
MARCHMONT.
themſelves. Mr. Marchmont married
a very lovely woman without any for-
tune, by whom he had three daughters
and an only fon—a ſon who promiſed
to do honour to the line on which the
father's pride ſo anxiouſly reſted. When
therefore the opening merits of this be-
loved boy rendered the father ſtill more
anxious not to diſmember his eftates, he
entered into projects to retrieve them,
which unhappily failing, ſerved only to
precipitate the ruin of his family; and ſome
public events accelerating this, March-
mont died of a broken heart a very
ſhort time before Althea had ſeen his
ſon at Mr. Everſley's.---The younger
Marchmont, to ſave his mother from the
preſſure of ſuch inconveniences as im-
mediately threatened her, made himſelf
anſwerable for his father's debts: it was
foon diſcovered that he had died in-
folvent; and thus, at the age of twenty-
three, his fon found himſelf, without a
profeſſion, ſtripped of his paternal pro-
perty,

MARCH MONT.
perty, and not only liable to be purſued
for debts he had no means of ſatisfying,
but charged with the ſupport of a mo-
ther, whoſe body and mind equally un-
fitted her to contend with adverſity, and
three fiſters, whoſe beauty and helpleſs
indigence rendered them the objects of
his conſtant ſolicitude and anxiety.
The education of this young man had
fitted him, in point of knowledge, for
active life: yet his heart, unadulterated
by his knowledge of the ways of men,
was full of candour and generoſity.
The ſame ſpirit of loyalty which had
attached his more remote anceſtors to
the cauſe of monarchy under Charles
the Firſt, had devoted their ſucceſſors
to the party of his infatuated and un-
fortunate ſon James the Second ; in
conſequence of which another confider-
able portion of their property had been
loft; and a brother of Marchmont's
grandfather ſettling in France, his de-
ſcendants had there become naturalized:

1 2
yet,

172
MARCHMONT.
yet, continuing to remember his Engliſh
origin, the Baron de Lavergnac (which
was the name now aſſumed by the head
of that branch of the family.) had re-
ceived his great nephew into his houſe,
which was ſituated near Toulon, when
his father, waving all falſe pride, had
ſent him to France with a view of
placing him in trade. The increaſing
embarraſſment of his father's affairs, and
finally the Revolution, which threatened
to put an end to all commercial pro-
jects, had occaſioned his return to Eng-
land about twelve months before he be-
came acquainted with Althea. Sobota
ขาฯ.. (9321. วารสาร

no como se
od bodo to notarog oken
a dondolo bored lins
Contud
CHAP.
MARCHMONT
173
CHAP. VII.

Ha! Baniſhment?
hment?
It comes not ill. I hate not to be baniſhed!
Yo banin
THIS conference with Marchmont,
though it had for awhile ſuſpended thoſe
anxious thoughts with which Althea had
begun her walk, now ſerved only to
fhew her that there were others even
more miſerable than herſelf, and that
the very perſons who threatened to be
the cauſes of her laſting unhappineſs;
unfeelingly added to the weight of for-
row that oppreſſed a man who appeared
to deſerve a better fate. A compariſon
could hardly fail to be made between
this man and the fortunate, arrogant,
eloquent Mohun--but how little to the
I 3
advantage


*74
MARCH MONT.
advantage of the latter! Not merely
becauſe ſhe thought one was the hand-
fomeft, and the other the uglieſt of their
ſpecies (for Althea did not allow herſelf
to believe that perſonal beauty had any
influence whatever on her mind), but, in
proportion as the character of March-
mont appeared amiable and excellent,
Mohun roſe as a fiend deſtined to per-
ſecute her, and to oppreſs him ; and if
any thing could have been added to
ſtrengthen her reſolution of ſuffering
every extremity rather than become his
wife, this new acquaintance was exactly
calculated for the purpoſe.
Her fortitude was foon to be. put to
a ſevere trial. Sir Audley ftill feared
that the diſdainful and poſitive manner
in which he thought Althea would re-
pulſe Mohun, might put an end at once
to a plan which he had every hour more
and more at heart: Lady Dacres par-
ticipated his fears, and determined at
every event to diſengage herſelf from
the
MARCHMONT.
175
the neceſſity of taking to town with her
a daughter-in-law whom ſhe ſo much
diſliked. They determined to ſpeak ſe-
parately to Althea, before Mohun's au-
dience. The one was to foothe, the
other to threaten; and if theſe methods
failed to induce her to give Mohun a
patient hearing, they were then jointly
to declare that ſhe muſt either deter-
mine to go to London the wife of Mr.
Mohun, or remain in the country--not
at Capelſtoke as the daughter of Sir
Audley Dacres, but to board in ſome
cheap retirement, and live on the in-
tereft of the ſmall fum her aunt had left
her.
It ſeemed, in the opinion of Lady
Dacres, impoflible but that, when theſe
two lots were ſet before her, Althea
muſt chooſe that which would fecure to
her affluence and elegance, in preference
to obſcurity and a bare fubfiftence. So
Lady Dacres would have ated herſelf,
fo would have acted all the women of
her


14
176
MARCH MONT.
her acquaintance; and it therefore never
entered her head, that Althea could
make any other election. ISSN
Sir Audley, after he had fettled this
matter with his wife, and was proceed-
ing to the converfation he had agreed to
hold with his daughter, felt ſomething
very like a qualm of conſcience, which
reproached him for the part he was a&-
ing. He could not entirely ftifle the
recollection of what he had himſelf been,
when, at a more advanced age than Al-
thea's, he ſacrificed every profpe&t of
fortune, and braved every oppofition
from his friends, to marry her mother.
He reaſoned, or rather ſubdued this im-
pertinent ſenſation by reflecting, firſt,
that Althea had no predilection in fa
vour of any other perſon-ſecondly,
that ſhe was too young to have any
judgement as to what would make her
happy—and laſtly, that when, in con-
ſulting the peace of his family, he in-
cluded a plan fo evidently advantageous,

MARCHMONT
177

to hefitate about enforcing it would be
injurious both to her and to himſelf.
As to Lady Dacres, ſhe was ſo little ac-
cuſtomed to trouble herſelf about the
feelings of others, when the gratifying
herſelf was in queſtion, that ſhe never
thought about the cruelty of compelling
Althea to make herſelf a wretch for
life, when her caprice and ill humour
were to be ſpared having before them
an object whoſe merit ſhe could not but
internally acknowledge ; although ſhe
hated her as the rival of her children,
and as one who claimed, on too juſt
grounds, a ſhare of her huſband's af-
fection. The characters of women in
general have been ſaid to be nothing-
la “
" Matter too ſoft a laſting form to bear."
Perhaps very young women have no
ftriking traits of character to diſtinguiſh
them, till ſome circumſtance in their
lives either calls forth their underſtand,
15
ing

178
MARCHMONT.
ing, or decides that they have none.
What appears diſcriminating, like the
colours of cultivated flowers, is often an
accidental variety; the fhades and tints
are different, the ſpecies remains the
fame. It has been ſaid that Shake-
ſpeare, the great delineator of human
character, has failed in diſtinguiſhing his
principal women--and that fuch as he
meant to be amiable are all equally
gentle and good. How difficult then
is it for a noveliſt to give to one of his
heroines any very marked feature which
ſhall not disfigure her! Too much rea-
fon and ſelf-command deſtroy the in-
tereſt we take in her diſtreſſes. It has
been even obſerved, that Clariſſa is fo
equal to every trial as to diminiſh our
pity. Other virtues than gentleneſs,
pity, filial obedience, or faithful attach-
ment, hardly belong to the fex, and are
certainly called forth only by unuſual
Such was undoubtedly
the lot of Althea, and they formed her
character;
occurrences.
MARCHMONT.
179
ally of the brink
character; for in the hard ſchool of ad.
verſity ſhe acquired that fortitude and
ſtrength of mind which gave energy to
an underſtanding, naturally of the firſt
claſs.
It now enabled her to refft alike the
unjuſt commands of her father, the art-
ful cajoleries of Lady Dacres, and the
long lectures of Lady Barbara. For
the firſt, ſhe would have made any
other facrifice but this-which her rea-
fon told her he had no right to aſk.
When, after two days, her refolution
remained unſhaken, another conſulta-
tion was held, and another expedient
deviſed, which Lady Dacres thought ſhe
could ſucceſsfully manage herſelf.
Althea therefore was ſent for, on the
following morning, at an earlier hour
than Lady Dacres uſually admitted any
body into her dreſſing-room. She was
alone, and ſeemed deſirous that Althea
ſhould remark that ſhe had been in
Althea knew that, among all her
16
mother-



tears,
189
MARCHMONT.
mother-in-law's virtues, fincerity was
not the moſt eminent. She had re-
marked, that when Lady Dacres had any
point to carry ſhe could produce tears
as eaſily as remonftrances, and it .re-
quired all Althea's candour to believe
that ſhe could ſhed unaffected tears oves
the victim whom ſhe was thus volun.
tarily endeavouring to ſacrifice.
Preparing, however, to hear her with
great calmneſs, Althea ſat filent, till,
after ſome deep fighs, and fundry ap-
plications of her handkerchief to her
eyes, Lady Dacres thus began-
“I know not, my dear Miſs Dacres,
whether, as I fear you are not free from
the too common prejudices againſt mo-
thers-in-law-I know not, I ſay, whether
what I am going to tell you may be well
received, but I am ſure that I could not
feel more concern were one of my own
children in queſtion.”
Althea, by a flight motion of her head,
feemed to fignify that ſhe was obliged



to
MARCHMONT.
181
to her ; but remaining filent, Lady Da-
cres proceeded:
“ I have been trying to perſuade Sir
Audley to recede from his reſolution of
inſiſting on your immediate anſwer as to
Mr. Mohun. I have been almoſt im-
ploring him on my knees to conſider
that our likings and averſions are not
always under the control of our rea-
fon--and I have taken upon me to an-
ſwer for you, Mifs Dacres, that if he
will give you a little more time, if he
will only allow the merits of Mr. Mo-
hun to be more known to you, you
will ſee his propoſals in a very different
light.”
I am ſorry your Lady ſhip has done
ſo,” ſaid Althea with more courage than
ſhe had ever exerted before, “becauſe
I can never releaſe you from the en-
gagement you have thus made in my
behalf, being well aſſured, that the more
I know of Mr. Mohun the more my
averſion to him will be confirmed.”
“ Well,




182
MARCHMONT.
« Well, Miſs Dacres," replied the
lady, "ſince you are fo peremptory, all
that remains for me is the very dif-
agreeable taſk of communicating a re-
folution, from which I heartily wiſh you
may have influence enough to divert
Sir Audley-for 1, alas! lament that I
have tried in vain to do it."
“ I am prepared, Madam,” ſaid Al-
thea, “ for whatever rigour my father
chooſes to infli&t; and howſoever it may
be his pleaſure to puniſh me, I ſhall
only be grieved at bis anger, and on
his account alone deplore his unkind-
nefs."
“Since you think of the matter fo
philofophically, Madam," reſumed the
lady, viſibly piqued, “ I may venture to
tell you, that my moft earneſt perſua-
fions cannot prevail on Sir Audley to
let you even remain in this houſe when
we quit it: he declares, that your re-
fuſal to accept ſuch an offer an offer
ſo unexceptionable, ſo proper, ſo agree-
able

a

MARCHMONT.
183
able to him-diffolves, in his opinion,
every other duty beyond that of af-
fording you a bare maintenance, and
far removed from him-fince, were you
to inhabit this houſe, you would ſtill ap-
pear to have more of his conſideration
than, in his opinion, you deſerve.” on
“ I believe, Madam, I heard this be-
fore. Mere place is to me a matter of
perfect indifference. Since death has
deprived me of my only friend, and of
the comfortable and cheerful home her
kindneſs afforded me, I aſſure your La-
dyſhip that I have no choice between
the houfe of. Capelſtoke and the ha-
bitation of the humbleſt labourer on its
domain.” Innovbb
“ As you pleaſe, Miſs Dacres; but I
do not imagine it is Sir Audley's in-
tention that you ſhould reſide on any of
the eſtates to which he occaſionally goes.'
am certainly at my father's
diſpofal, Madam, as to a place of re-
fidence."



“ I am
" He
184
MARCHMONT.
“He obje&ts, too, to a country town.
He thinks you may there be liable to
make improper acquaintance."! punibe?
“ I have never yet fought fuch, Ma-
dam: but indeed I have not yet been
in the unprotected ſtate into which it is
now my father's pleaſure to throw me.'
I really think, Miſs Dacres, it would
be as proper were you not to condemn
your father. You diſclaim his care-
you throw off his protection.” he
The tender recollection of Mrs. Tre-
vyllian had fo nearly overcome the pre-
ſent fortitude of Althea, that ſhe dared
not truſt her voice with any reply ;
and Lady Dacres, finding her filent, pro-
ceeded with additional ſolemnity:
“Sir Audley, juſtly incenſed as he is,
is yet unwilling to expoſe you to the
acquaintance of the ſort of people who
live on narrow incomes in petty towns:
beſides, he knows no town, however
obſcure and inconſiderable, where you
could in any creditable way lodge and
board
MARCHMONT
185
board on fo very ſmall an income as
yours; to which, I am truly concerned to
fay, he refuſes, notwithſtanding all my
perſuaſions, to make any addition.”
Althea looked incredulous as to her
perſuaſions, and began to wonder whither
all this preamble tended, unleſs it were
to terrify her with the idea of an Italian
or Spaniſh convent: thoſe of France
and Flanders were no longer open:-
This, however, was a menace which
brought no terror with it. Without any
local attachment, without any friend
whom ſhe particularly wiſhed to be
near, ſhe had not the leaſt repugnance
either to change of place or country,
or to renounce the little portion of li-
berty ſhe could in her preſent ſituation
enjoy.
She waited therefore, without any vi-
ſible emotion, for the farther explana-
tion of a plan which, it was very evi-
dent, was opened with ſo much cere.
mony only to, alarm, her with the pro-
ſpect


186
MARCHMONT.
fpect of ſome mode of life to which it
was ſuppoſed ſhe would never have
courage to ſubmit Lady Dacres thus
proceeded :
“A mortgage my late father Sir Ralph
had in Devonſhire, near the ſea coaſt,
has been ſome time forecloſed, and,
in my right, Sir Audley is become pof.
feffed of an old manfion-houfe be-
longing to that unfortunate family, the
Marchmonts; by whom, after all, we
are likely to be great loſers." -At the
name of Marchmont Althea bluſhed
deeply: yet ſhe knew not why the
bluſhed, nor why ſhe liſtened with trem-
bling anxiety for what was to follow.
“You remember,"' continued the
lady, “a houſe-keeper who lived in
the family before I became Sir Audley's
wife: fhe married Wansford, the butler,
who had been his valet, and was after-
wards much in truſt with him."
Althea perfe&tly recollected this per-
fon, who had been her mother's maid,
2002
and
MARCHMONT.
187
Bho
and had, with her huſband, been diſ-
miſſed by the preſent Lady Dacres for
no other reaſon, as was then believed,
but becauſe they were too much at-
tached to the memory of their firſt miſ-
treſs.
"Sir Audley,” added Lady Dacres,
“ who was really at that time enough to
ſpoil the beſt ſervants in the world, had
indulged theſe two people till they were
unfit for their ſtations: he obliged me
by diſmiſſing them, but he ſtocked a
farm for them, and they went on for
fome years well enough. I don't know,
however, how they contrived it, they
laid up nothing; indeed their family
was large, and Wansford loft money by
a brother for whom he was bound-
and laſt year, by endeavouring to ſave
fome cattle in the marſhes, he caught
cold, and loſt the uſe of his limbs: fo
that, as every thing was going to ruin
on the farm, Addingreve adviſed Sir
Audley to take it into his own hands;
and


188
MÀRCHMONT
and this houſe at Eaſtwoodleigh being
juft then delivered up to us, Wansford
and his wife were ſent to look after it.
I really believe, from the account I have
had of it, that the wiſeſt thing Sir Audley
could do would be to pull it down, and
fell the materials: but he ſays that they
will not even pay the expence, ſince in
that country nobody would purchaſe
them. However, till he can determine
what to do with it, theſe people live in
that part of it which is habitable; but
a great deal of it, I am told, is a mere
heap of ruins. Sir Audley, I aſſure you
Mifs Dacres, has talked very ſeriouſly
of your going thither to reſide, nor
have I yet been able to diſſuade him
from it.”
SVM I thank you for your endeavours,
Madam,” ſaid Althea coldly, “ ſince I
dare ſay they were kindly meant; but
ſhould my father be pleaſed to renew
the converſation, I ſhall be obliged to
your Ladyſhip to inform him that I

have
MARCHMONT.
189
up in
have not the leaſt objection to the plan-
and will prepare myſelf to depart when-
ever he pleaſes to ſend me from him.”
“Upon my word, Mifs Dacres! You
have then no dread of being ſhut
this remote and gloomy old manſion,
and being buried in ſuch an obfcure
folitude ?"
« I never had the leaſt fear of fo-
litude—and I declare to you, Madam,
that had my father the power and the
will to baniſh me to Siberia, I would
cheerfully go thither, rather than marry
Mr. Mohun.”
"Young ladies in love,” ſaid Lady
Dacres, ſneeringly, “and great readers
of romances, have, I know, theſe vio-
lent flights.” tab-1 olunach
“But I aſſure your Ladyſhip,” re-
plied Althea, reſuming all the courage
ſhe had muftered at the beginning of
the dialogue, “that I am neither the
one nor the other; yet I moſt willingly
accept whạt my father propoſes, and


ber

have
190
MARCHMONT.
."
have no favour whatever to aſk of him,
but that he will allow me, ſince I have
now made my election, to be releaſed
for ever from all perſecution about Mr.
Mohụn, and that he will not part with
me in anger.”
« Indeed I cannot anſwer for that
I am ſure that he will not be pleaſed.”
And as ſhe ſaid this, Lady Dacres fuf-
ficiently expreſſed by her countenance
how little ſhe was ſo herſelf.
“ I ſuppoſe there is hardly a tolerable
apartment in this horrid old place,” con-
tinued ſhe.-" It will be ſome expence,
I dare ſay, to keep out the wind and
The ridiculous vanity of thoſe
Marchmonts made them perſiſt in keep-
ing of it, becauſe I don't know what
ſtrange things happened there in the
civil wars. --But never were ſuch a ſet
of proud beggars! Notwithſtanding they
had two or three executions, which de-
prived them of every thing but lumber
which was not worth their carrying
away,

water.

oysa
MARCHMON T
191
away, old Marchmont was abſurd enough
to betake him to one corner of the
houſe, and thought, I ſuppoſe, that ſome
of his anceſtors, who the country
people ſay ſtill walk there, would be
kind enough to diſcover to this poor
deſcendant ſome of the money and
jewels which they had concealed in their
troubles. But the dead were no civiler
to him than the living; not a ghoſt
rummaged out a guinea for him-nor
any thing elſe, unleſs it was an old-
faſhioned gold watch, that was found at
the root of a great walnut-tree that grew
in the court-yard—and this circumſtance
made the fooliſh people believe more
than ever that there was treaſure hid
about the houſe. So that, when firſt our
people took poſſeſſion of it, Sir Audley
was forced to huff them out of the folly
of paſſing their time in pulling down the
old wainſcoting, and digging wherever
their filly fancy made them ſuppoſe there
was any thing hid. But nothing was ever
found

192
MARCHMONT.
found afterwards-not even a rat or a
mouſe; for the Marchmonts were latterly
ſo poor, that the very reſidents of the
wainſcots had been ſtarved out. Wani-
ford, however, complains bitterly that
they have returned now to their old
quarters, ſo that he is half devoured with
them; and that they make ſuch intole-
rable noiſes in this great old rambling
ruin of a houſe, that his wife and chil-
dren are ſometimes quite ſcared by
them."
Althea felt, with all the contempt it
deſerved, that this account, though given
in a careleſs way, was yet meant to im-
preſs on her mind ſuch an idea of the
place as might make her afraid of going
to it, and compel her, through terror, to
adopt any expedient that might releaſe
her from the dread of paſſing her life in
ſo dreary an abode.—She anſwered
therefore dryly, that as ſhe had no fears
herſelf, ſhe ſhould not be an unwelcome
addition to theſe poor timid people.-
."
. I am
MARCHMONT.
193
I am glad," added ſhe, « Wansford's
children are there--a houſe is always
cheerful where one hears the voices of
children and as I ſhall have but little
elſe to do, I will afliſt their poor mother
in working for them."
Lady Dacres now found ſhe had en-
tirely miſſed her aim, at leaſt fo far as
it was intended to obtain conceſſions
from Althea in favour of Mohun's pre-
tenſions. On the other hand, as ſhe
was determined at all events to get rid
of her, ſhe was rejoiced to find ſhe had
now a fair opportunity of ſending her
with her own conſent to a place where
her influence over Sir Audley would be
no more dreaded. Lady Dacres often
fancied he loved her better than he
dared avow, and ſometimes believed he
traced in her features the reſemblance
of her mother, which ſhe could not think
of with patience.--Her buſineſs now
was to aggravate Sir Audley by her
report, and make him perſiſt in the ſen-
Vol.I.
к
tence
194
MARCHMONT.
tence of baniſhment: and this ſhe pre-
pared to do the ſame day; while Al-
thea, feeling an unaccountable ſatisfaction
in a plan which was intended to affect
her ſo differently, feared nothing but
that her father might be diverted from
it; and ſtudied only how to avoid any
particular converſation with Mohun,
till the day which was to deliver her
from his perſecution, though the alter-
native was a reſidence, perhaps for life,
in dreary folitude and perfect fecluſion.
B VIST
point of conteni
olay yolbuns 70-1979.gode
a head bayol si
od hovedbol Wovi
od color de
cada es
tising blog si bida
od od 2
od poto tie Vene
si intender los
CHAP
MARCHMONT.
195
CHAP. VIII.

If weak the pleaſure that from theſe can ſpring,
The fear to want them is as weak a thing.
WHEN returned to her room, Al-
thea began to reflect on what had juſt
paſſed. She ſaw that there was a deter-
mined plan, of which Lady Dacres was
the principal contriver, to terrify her into
an immediate marriage with Mohun;
or, if that did not ſucceed, to make her
refuſal a pretence for diſmiſſing her from
a reſidence in her father's family, which,
though leſs ſatisfactory to Sir Audley
himſelf, would be the next moſt defi-
rable circumſtance to Lady Dacres.
Far, however, from ſhrinking from
the dreary proſpect which had been held
K 2
out
196
MARCHMONT
out to her, ſhe conſidered it till it be-
came in her opinion eligible. The com-
mon comforts and neceſſaries of life
ſhe doubted not but that her father
would order her to be ſupplied with; and
in renouncing ſociety fo little to her
taſte as that ſhe had hitherto ſeen, either
in London or at Capelſtoke, ſhe thought
there was nothing to regret. “How,"
ſaid ſhe, as ſhe recollected the figures
which had paſſed before her like the
diſtorted and tawdry images exhibited
by a magic lanthorn,“ how is it to be
regretted, that I ſhall no more be in-
ſulted by the pride and ſelf-conſequence
of the Miſs Newmarches; or that I am
relieved from the formal pedantry and
prudiſh malignity of their inſufferable
aunt? However ruftic the manners, or
uncultivated the minds, of the people
among whom I may be thrown, it is im-
poſſible the groſſeft ignorance can be half
fo offenſive as the infolent miſconduct
of Mrs. Polwarth, who ſeems to glory
in


MAKCHMONT.
197
in ſhewing how far the affluence and po-
litical ſervility of her huſband can bear
her out, when ſhe ventures to violate
all the common rules of behaviour in
civil ſociety. How can I help rejoicing
at being releaſed from the necellity of
hearing perpetual harangues upon coun-
ty politics, or the minuter ſquabbles of
contending intereſts in a paltry country
village called a borough, where every
malignant paſfion of the human heart is
called into activity, and the baſeneſs of
the contending characters is not hid by
the greatneſs of the object for which
they contend, as it ſometimes is in high-
er ranks of life ? At this folitary houſe,
whither I am to be ſent, I ſhall hear no
more orations from Mr. Mohun, the
great di&tator of the party that frequents
my father's table in London. No more
of his axioms in politics will offend the
feelings of common honeſty and plain
fenſe--nor his moral deciſions fet de-
cency and humanity at defiance. If
theſe

K 3
198
MARCH MONT.
to
theſe graver perſonages will never be
thought of but that I may rejoice I ſhall
ſee them no more, little otherwiſe ſhall
I feel in remembering the infipid and
wearifome ſameneſs of the tables where
I uſed to be placed, with giggling miſſes
enjoying their own little jokes amidſt a
general eagerneſs for the pool.--No:
there is not one ſcene in which I was
engaged either laſt winter or fince my
lucklefs deſtiny has brought me
Capelſtoke, not one party that I recol-
lect with pleaſure, or in which I ever
wiſh to make one again. But if Lady
Dacres's houſe offered, together with
all the elegances and luxuries of life,
fociety I enjoyed, and even friends I
loved, it would be impoſſible to lament
quitting it, when thoſe advantages are
to be purchaſed only by being con-
tinually ſubjected to the arrogant pre-
tenſions of Mohun, who ſeems thorough-
ly perſuaded that his political conſe-
quence, his legal celebrity, and his in-
creaſing



MARCHMONT.
199
creaſing fortune, give him a right to
diſregard and inſult the feelings of the
reſt of the world. If then I ſhall re-
joice at quitting the circle that ſurround
my father, and cannot conciliate his
favour by remaining in it, I ſhall ſurely
accommodate my mind to any ſituation,
however lonely, without caſting one lin-
gering look back on what I leave, or
feeling any dread left the recollection
of them ſhould embitter one of my foli-
tary moments.
“ The intent of ſuch an education as
my beloved and lamented inſtructreſs
gave me, was leſs to qualify me to ſhine
in the world than to teach me to reſign
it. Wherever I may be, I ſhall find
fome place where I may depoſit and en-
joy the books ſhe left me--where I can
once more ſit among them, recollect
thoſe ſhe moſt delighted in, and ſtrength-
en my failing fortitude by meditating on
the paſſages marked by her hand. There
I ſhall ſtill ſeem to hear her advice-ſhe
K4
will

200
MARCHMONT.
will once more ſeem to ſuperintend my
actions--I ſhall meet her benign ſpirit
in my lonely walks, and I ſhall at leaſt
wander at liberty over a country to
which the returning ſpring will reſtore
many of thoſe objects which ſhe taught
me to contemplate with ſo much plea-
fure.--A place, which to Lady Dacres
would appear defolate and hideous, will
probably to me ſeem beautiful and ro-
mántic; for objects certainly offer them-
ſelves to her and to me in very
different
lights. Some degree of pleaſure, though
of a melancholy kind, I may perhaps
derive from tracing, among the ruins of
the deferted manſion, memorials of its
former poffeffors; veneration for the
unfortunate loyaliſt of the laft century
will mingle with the pity I feel for their
unhappy deſcendants; and as the March-
mont family are probably well known
where they have reſided fo long, my
abode there may perhaps afford me the
means of being uſeful to the ladies of a
family
MARCHMONT.
20L
family for whom it is impoſſible to help
feeling particular intereſt.” The thought
with which this ſoliloquy of Althea con-
cluded, was one which had often re-
curred to her ſince ſhe had heard
that the long-deſerted manſion of the
Marchmonts was to be her abode.
Hardly conſcious of it herſelf, the un-
fortunate heir of that family had made
an impreſſion on her mind; though ſhe
would have ſtarted had fhe been told
that ſhe thought with particular favour
of a young man whom ſhe had ſeen only
twice: yet imperceptibly his idea be-
came continually preſent to her, while
ſhe fancied ſhe was trying to reconcile
her mind to the ſituation ſhe was going
to.
However uneaſy Althea felt at the
impoſſibility of obeying her father, yet
now that ſhe had come to a final reſo.
lution, and knew the worſt that was to
happen, ſhe felt her ſpirits relieved; and
believing herſelf fure of eſcaping from
the
K 5
202
MARCH MONT.
MARCH
the perſecution of Mohun, ſhe came
down, after her conference with Lady
Dacres, with a compoſed if not a cheer-
ful countenance.
Sir Audley appeared unuſually gloomy,
and it was evident that ſomething had
extremely diſturbed him. Lady Dacres
affected that mild reſignation to his will,
of which ſhe knew perfectly well how to
aſſume the ſemblance. Lady Barbara
was ſevere and ſententious; and her two
nieces, who had long ſince ceaſed to
trouble themſelves about Althea, (whom
they conſidered as a perſon quite out of
their way) were buſied in making re-
marks on their company; which was,
however, very little calculated to amuſe
them, unleſs as it afforded food for fatire.
It conſiſted, beſides the uſual company
in the houſe, of a miſcellaneous group-
officers from the neighbouring barracks;
attornies from the next borough; eſquires
of moderate fortune, who were not rich
enough to perform an annual viſit to
London ;
MARCHMONT,
203
London; and what are not improperly
termed Squiriferous Parſons, young
men in orders, who ſhoot, hunt, attend
races and cricket matches, and “ but on
Sunday hear no bells.”
As the military men who this day
attended Sir Audley's table happened to
be an old adjutant, and two Scottiſh
ſubalterns who were without fortune
or pretenſions, there was not any object
in the whole aſſemblage on whom the
Miſs Newmarches condeſcended to look
with the ſlighteſt degree of favour, or
whom they deigned even to ſpeak to
with civility. The men of law, and the
men of the church, they conſidered and
called Hottentots, Vandals, and Caribs :
and the awkward attempts at elegant gal-
lantry, which fome of them made, were
to theſe ladies ſources of merriment,
which they took very little trouble to
diſguiſe. Althea looked at the circle
with very different ſentiments-ſhe had
never been accuſtomed to conſider every
ſingle


K 6
204
MARCHMONT
fingle man according to his fortune, or
to ridicule thoſe of inferior deſcription
becauſe they had none. But, her mind
thus totally diſengaged, ſhe liſtened with-
out reſtraint to the infinite deal of
nothing" which was talked; ſhe again
congratulated herſelf that ſhe fhould fo
foon enjoy her ſimple repaſt in the filent
folitude of Eaſtwoodleigh.
Mohun had a rude and infolent man-
ner of ſtaring, which was cruelly dif-
treſſing to Althea; and ſhe never felt it
more ſo than now, when, as ſhe wa
placed near her father at the bottom of
the table, Mohun had contrived to place
himſelf exactly oppofite to her. Το
efcape as much as poſſible from meeting
his eyes, ſhe buſied herſelf in little civi-
lities to the perfons near her; and foon
by her eaſy and intereſting manners,
mingled with ſo much condeſcending
fweetneſs, attracted the particular at-
tention of the old foldier, who himſelf,
the father of a family, thought, he might
without
MARCHMONT.
203
without any indecorum, expreſs the re-
ſpectful admiration with which Al-
thea inſpired him: but while ſhe con-
verſed with him on fuch topics as the
defultory dialogue of a table' allowed,
her ears were ſuddenly ſtruck by the
name of Marchmont répeatedly uttered
with great earneſtneſs between her father
and Mohun. Amid the murmurs of a
large company, and the rattling of knives,
forks, and plates, ſhe could only now
and then catch a word of their dir-
courſebut ſhe collected that they
agreed in ſeverely blaming young
Marchmont for ſome ftep he had lately
taken, of which they appeared to have
received information from a grim-vi-
faged figure fitting between them.---This
tiger-looking man, who was, as ſhe foon
diſcovered, an Attorney, had a piercing
ſharp voice, and a fnapping manner of
fpeaking, which conveyed what he ſaid
diſtinctly, though diſagreeably, to the

ear.

206
MARCH MONT.
ear. The following ſentence therefore
could not be miſtaken:
Why yes, Sir-Yes!-- your re-
mark is perfectly juft, Sir-perfeâly
juſt indeed.—True, Sir Audley, true! -
As you ſay, Sir Audley, there are people
ſo wrong-headed, and ſo--fo--fo-in
ſhort, fo conceitedly bewitched to
their own opinion, that they never do
themſelves good, Sir Audley; and this
young man, to be ſure, is one of that
fort. Yes, yes, he is to be ſure an un-
happy obſtinate young fellow, Sir Aud-
ley. That, none of his friends can pre-
tend for to deny-nor the friends of his
family neither.”
“ As to friends,” faid Mohun with a
malicious laugh, “ I never heard he had
any; and for thoſe of his father, the old
man diſperſed them all long before his
death, by attempting to borrow money
of them which he knew he could never
is gone
5. And
repay.” vid
MARCH MONT.
207
“ And with ſome,” ſaid Sir Audley
ſternly," he ſucceeded but too well.-
I am told that Mr. Everſley has found
fufficient reaſon to repent of his im-
prudent loans to him.”
The Attorney, Mr. Lumbard, looked
very fignificantly, and replied_"Why,
Sir, as to that ---Mr. Everſley, Sir
Audley, is no client of mine—I know
but little of his affairs. His wife, to be
ſure, had a capital fortune; but then he
has laid out a great deal of money, and
made very expenſive improvements-and
then his lady, it ſeems, has been in a
deal of alarm, upon account of this here
affair of Mr. Marchmont; for they ſay
that upon the upſhot it appears, Sir
Audley, that he was deeper in for it
with old Marchmont than any body
thought for. I am ſorry for it; for Mr.
Everſley has the name of being a good
ſort of man: and as to any hope of the
Marchmonts' affairs being ſettled and
made up ſo that the creditors may have
their

208
MARCHMONT.
their own, and the like, why, bleſs my
foul! it is a matter quite out of the quef-
tion--for where, Sir Audley Dacres, I
fay, where is it to come from?''
“ Where indeed!” anſwered Sir Aud-
ley: "and therefore, Mr. Lumbard, we
will unalterably abide by the refolution
which I mentioned to you before din-
ner; and Mr. Marchmont muſt be po-
fitively given to underſtand, that ...'
The converſation was now carried on in
a lower tone; and Althea could only
diſtinguiſh that it was inimical to poor
Marchmont, whoſe poverty, however
incurred, ſeemed in the opinion of all
theſe gentlemen to be a crime, which
ſhould throw him at a diſtance from all
human ſociety. The ladies ſoon after
leaving the eating-room, Althea eſcaped
to her own, where ſhe found herſelf in
a diſpoſition to ſhed tears for the fate
of this unfortunate ſtranger-tears which
her own diſtreſſes had not lately drawn
from her. His animated countenance
and
MARCH MONT.
209
and handſome figure undoubtedly added
conſiderably to the intereſt with which
Althea dwelt on the particulars of their
laft, indeed their only converſation; for
when ſhe had ſeen him with Mr. Ever-
fley ſhe had hardly ſpoken to him.-
The fortitude he ſeemed to exert in a
fituation ſo different from that wherein
he had been born, the tenderneſs with
which he ſpoke of his mother and his
fiſters, and the noble reſolution he
fhewed in facrificing, to the hope of
being ferviceable to them, his own feel-
ings, acute as they certainly were, could
hardly fail of recommending him to ſuch
a heart as inhabited the bofom of Al-
thea.-Of all the men ſhe had ever been
acquainted with, he ſeemed the moſt
deſerving; yet unwilling to acknow-
ledge, even to herſelf, how frequently
ſhe thought of him, ſhe endeavoured to
perſuade herſelf that it was his virtues
and his misfortunes alone that had
awakened theſe lively emotions in her
mind,

210
MARCHMONT.
mind, and that any other perſon, equally
meritorious and equally unhappy, would
be as often the ſubject of her thoughts.
Thus palliating anxiety, for which no
apology would have been neceſſary, had
ſhe not fufpected her own heart, a day
or two paſſed without her hearing any
thing more of her departure, though
preparations were making for the return
of the family to London. Lady Bar-
bara and her nieces had left Capelſtoke,
and the departure of Mohun had been
named as ſoon to take place. He made,
however, no attempt to ſpeak to her
alone---and ſeemed to ſee with pride
and reſentment that ſhe avoided giving
him any opportunity to do ſo.--He now
again affected an air of haughty diſdain;
which Althea rejoiced to ſee, and began
to flatter herſelf that, by his deſiſting
from his odious pretenſions, the hazard
of incurring her father's anger would be
at an end. But ſhe entirely miſtook the
motives of his conduct. Reluctant as he
knew

MARCH MON T.
211
knew her to be, and mortified as his
pride was to know it, he yet bad fo great
an inclination for her perſon, that he by
no means relinquiſhed the deſigns which
he had begun to form the preceding
ſpring. He had ſo thorough a contempt
for the underſtandings of women, that
he thought her mind not worth con-
ciliating; a girl who could not know her
own wiſhes, or be any judge of his
merit, was too inſignificant to give him
the trouble of an affiduous courtſhip;
and he remained ſatisfied, as ſhe had no
other prepoſſeſſion, that her father's com-
mands were ſufficient to compel her to
conſent to be his wife; after which he
truſted to his own ſuperiority of in-
tellect, and the authority he ſhould then
have, to make her all he wiſhed to ſee
her--for he now, contrary to the cuſtom
of other lover's, found a thouſand faults
with her, and continually told Lady
Dacres what a pity it was ſhe had re-
ceived ſo ſtrange an education, and how
much
212
MARCH MONT,
much forming ſhe would require when
fhe firſt entered the world.
To this gothic education, and the
romantic and uncouth ideas which he
believed ſhe had imbibed under a formal
old maiden aunt, he imputed much of
her reſerved and cold manner; but as
he had come to a perfect underſtanding
with Sir Audley, he began to think it
time for him to ſpeak more decidedly
to the object of what he was pleaſed to
call his love. The moment this happened,
Lady Dacres knew an explanation would
take place which would deſtroy every
chance of Althea's being diſpoſed of to
Mr. Mohun-and Sir Audley, who had
the ſame apprehenſion, was willing to
make uſe of every art, before he put all
his hopes on the iſſue of a conference
between Mohun and Althea. Both Sir
Audley and Lady Dacres therefore had
afliſted her to avoid him, inſtead of
throwing her in his way; but Sir Audley
faw with anger and indignation that his
ſcheme
MARCHMONT.
213
ſcheme of terror had not only totally
failed, but that Althea was even more
cheerful than before ſhe was acquainted
with the ſpecies of impriſonment with
which he deſigned to puniſh her refuſal.
As Mohun was to go in a few days to
attend on the multiplicity of buſineſs
that awaited him the enſuing term (which
was now near its commencement), it
was impoffible to put off a final eclair-
ciſſement much longer, and Sir Audley
faw that he muſt give up the hope of an
alliance which he had more reaſons for
deſiring to complete than even Lady
Dacres was acquainted with.-Unable to
command the rage and vexation which
he felt when he reflected on the pro-
voking obſtinacy of Althea, he had not
ſpoken to her for many days; but time
now preſſed-and Mohun deſired to
have aſſurances before he departed for
London, that foon after the arrival of
Sir Audley's family the marriage ſhould
be concluded.—Sir Audley was but too
well

214
MARCHMONT.
well convinced, that not even com-
pulſion of the moft violent nature, if it
had been in his power to uſe it, could
now bring this about. However, he de-
termined to make one effort more.-
He knew the timid temper of Althea
when the happineſs of any one ſhe
loved was in queſtion; and though he
could not in his conſcience call himſelf
a good father, yet that he was her fa-
ther, he thought ſufficient to give him
ſuch influence over her, as ſhould make
her yield to his entreaties the conceſ,
fions ſhe denied to his threats,
anib ng ito
com banga od sold
Ole ole
A teheb
CHAP
MARCHMONT.
215
CHAP. IX
Che ingiuſto rigore!
Che fiero conſiglio!
Scordarſi l'amore
D'una mifera figlia
D'una figlia infelice
Che colpa non ha!
THE
poor perſecuted Althea there.
fore was ſummoned to another for-
midable conference. Sir Audley en-
deavoured to ſmooth his brow, and be-
gan rather by perſuaſion than authority.
He repreſented to her the ſmallneſs
of the fortune to which ſhe would be
entitled even in caſe of his death--that
ſhe had, at preſent, only the intereſt of
the ſmall ſum Jeft her by her aunt Tre-
vyllian,

2

216
MARCHMONT.
vyllian.--" If you wilfully diſoblige me,
Althea,” ſaid he-"if you refuſe a match
ſo perfectly unexceptionable---if you fly
from happineſs, and embrace obſcurity
and ruin, how can you think that you
will obtain any indulgence from me?-
Can I fuffer ſo bad an example to the
reſt of my family to go unpuniſhed?—
What ſhould I expect—what ſhould I
deſerve if I did?—That they too ſhould
deſpiſe my advice, and defy my autho-
rity.”-
"_" There is no danger, I hope,
of that, Sir,” ſaid Althea in a tremulous
voice. “ The family of Lady Dacres
have been accuſtomed to more ſplendid
fcenes of life than I have ever been
among—it is fit they ſhould follow ſuch
paths as lead to riches and honours ; but
why ſhould I do fo ?-1, who am accuf-
tomed to obfcurity and retirement, have
no wiſh for fplendour, and defire only
of my dear father that he would not, for
the ſake of what cannot make me happy,
compel

not
MARCHMONT.
217
compel me to marry a man who would
inevitably render me miſerable.”
Sir Audley bit his lips, and threw
down, in evident diſpleaſure, a pen he
had held in his band: but making an effort
to command himſelf, he was filent; and
Althea, hoping that this might be her
laſt converſation on ſo hateful a ſubject,
acquired courage to proceed.nl
“ Lady Dacres, Sir, has communi-
cated to me your reſolution as to my
future manner of life--if I do not con-
ſent (which indeed I never can) to be-
come the wife of Mr. Mohun. Dear
Sir! believe your poor Althea, when
ſhe aſſures you, that the only wiſh fhe
now forms is to be ſuffered to remain
near you, and to ſhew you, by her at-
tentive duty, how much, in every other
inſtance but this, it is her deſire, and it
ſhall be her ftudy, to oblige you."
“ Cant not to me,” cried Sir Audley
in a loud and angry manner-" You
cannot impoſe upon me, Althea Dacres,
1. Vor. I.
by
L

218
MARCHMONT.
by this ſhallow hypocriſy. You ſay you
have been apprized by my wife of the
reſolution I have taken. Ifyou perfift in
reje&ing my friend, I ſwear, by all that's
ſacred, that nothing upon earth fhall
ever make me recede from that refolu-
tion; and that, while I retain a father's
juſt power over you, you never ſhall
leave the place whither I have deter-
mined to ſend you, but as the wife of
Mr. Mohun."
“ Then, Sir,” ſaid Althea firmly, “I
muſt prepare myſelf to die there. As
long as my dear father lives, I ſhall never
conſider myſelf as exempted from his
authority, even although the laws of my
country may give me liberty to act
without conſulting him. But though I
never will offend him by quitting the
place he aſſigns me, wherever that may
be, I never will ſell myſelf to a man I
abhor-I never will take an oath to love
and honour a being I loath and de-
teſt."
« Your
MARCH MONT.
219
“ Your words are very ſtrong, young
lady,” cried Sir Audley.
If ſuch is
your reſolution, you know mine-but let
me never hear the words duty or af-
fection for me profaned by ſo worthleſs
an hypocrite. Prepare yourſelf to leave
this houſe in a few days—I have already
indeed given directions for the old fer-
vant who lives at Eaſtwoodleigh to come
hither for you, as I cannot ſpare any of
mine or Lady Dacres's people. Per-
haps ſhe may be here to-morrow; but,
be that as it may, you will remember,
wretched infatuated girl! that when once
you quit this houſe, I ſhall conſider you
no longer as my child.”-Althea, now
drowned in tears, and finding her cou-
rage begin to yield before her father's
wrath, only ſaid, with a deep ſigh-" Ah!
Sir, however cruel you may be to me,
I ſhall ſtill love and reſpect you.-Alas!
if my father forſakes and caſts me off,
what other friend have I upon earth?”
Then fancying that by the expreſſion of
his
L 2

220
MARCHMONT.
his features he was a little foftened in
her favour, ſhe ventured to throw her-
felf upon her knees before him; and,
taking his hand, ſhe kiſled it, as ſhe
fobbing faid—“My father!- if I muſt
go-1 ſubmit patiently to your diſpoſal
of me. Poor and deſerted as I ſhall be,
ſuch a remote ſituation as Lady Dacres
has deſcribed to me, may beſt become
my defolate fortune. I only aſk that
my father will not part with me in
anger, will not load me with his dif-
pleaſure!"
The idea was terrible; and, her for-
titude failing under it, ſhe could arti-
culate no more. Sir Audley, who was
greatly affected, ſtruggled againſt the
emotions of his heart; and flattering
himſelf that the dread of his anger might
now operate on the ſoft mind of his
daughter, and produce the change he fo
ardently wiſhed in her reſolution, he
affected even greater anger than he felt,
and, throwing himſelf from her, left
her
not load me will
MARCHMONT.
221
her kneeling and weeping before the
chair he had quitted. But when he
reached the door he turned towards her;
and ſternly repeating his firm reſolution
that ſhe ſhould never quit the dreary
folitude ſhe was going to but as the
wife of Mohun, he left the room,
and the houſe-while Althea, abſorbed
in anguiſh, yet unſhaken in her deter-
mination, continued to weep for ſome
moments in the attitude her father had
left her in; then recollecting how fruit-
lefs her tears were, and not without
ſome apprehenſions that Mohun might
find her there, ſhe tried to recover her-
ſelf, and went to her own apartment. —
As ſhe paſſed by the window of the
ftair-cafe, ſhe ſaw that Mohun had joined
her father in the garden—and that they
were in deep conference.--Her fate was
now, ſhe thought, decided; and when
ſhe looked at Mohun ſhe could neither
repent of her determination, nor of the
courage with which ſhe had ſuſtained
this


13

222
MARCH MONT.
this laſt dreadful conflict--but rejoicing
that it was over, and truſting to thoſe
remains of tendernefs which ſhe flattered
herſelf would ſtill prevent her father's
driving his child from him in anger, fhe
endeavoured to compoſe her mind, and
prepare her few effects for a journey
which ſhe knew Lady Dacres would not
fuffer to be long delayed, and which ſhe
felt no reluctance to begin.
The party below were more affected
than ſhe was—for over their ſpirits thoſe
paſſions had painful influence, to which
the innocent and unadulterated mind of
Althea was a ſtranger. As to Mr.
Mohun, his conſcience never gave him
much trouble: having been educated to
plead as well againſt as for it, he ſeemed
to think it a monitor which a man of
fenſe might eafily bribe to filence, if not
entirely diveſt himfelf of the weaknefs
of attending to it; though he thought it
might be a bugbear very proper to
terrify the vulgar, who could not be kept

too
MARCH MONT.
223
too much in awe.
It was long ſince he
had met with contradiction of any kind;
for it was long ſince he had been rich,
and accounted infallible. Born with a
hard, ſelfiſh, and unfeeling heart, all the
defects of his character had been aggra-
vated by his profeſſional fuccefs; arms
have been proverbially ſaid “to make
bad men worfe.” The remark may with
much more truth be applied to the law.
Attached to thoſe whom he called his
friends, only in proportion as they could
ferve his views, or promote his intereft,
he ſeemed to think he had a right to
aggrandize or to gratify himſelf by
every means, and by all means, not
even regarding the opinion of the world,
becauſe he was certain that his abilities
and his influence would always procure
him outward reſpect, and he troubled
himſelf very little to obtain private
eſteem. He had a fovereign contempt
for the bulk of mankind, which might
indeed be excuſed by the facility with
L 4
which

224
MARCHMONT.
which he faw they were impoſed upon
by cuſtom, and enſlaved by precedent.
A libertine with regard to women, he
thought the young and handſome highly
honoured in being allowed to become
objeds of his notice and favour; and as
to thoſe who had (on whatever preten-
fions) acquired the name of ſenſible
women, he vehemently declared them
to be his averfion; and if ever he ſpoke
of or to them, it was with no other de.
ſign than to expreſs his convi&ion of the
futility of their underſtandings, and en-
force the arrogant ſuperiority of his


own.
3 To ſuch a man Althea's refuſal muſt
of courſe give all that indignant pain
which is inflicted by mortified pride.
Sir Audley knew, that if once he felt
this acrimonious ſenſation in all its ex-
tent, it would be ſo inſupportable, that
the paſſion he now dignified with the
name of love would probably be de-
Alroyed by it; and her father had ſo
much

MARCHMONT.
225
much hope, that the obſtinate reſiſtance
of Althea would be 'conquered by a
fort probation in the melancholy ſeclu-
fion of Eaſtwoodleigh, that he deter-
mined to try it before he acknowledged
to the haughty ſuitor that his applica-
tion muſt be wholly fruitleſs. Sir Aud-
ley, however, was not very dexterous
in diſguiſing a fact ſo obvious as Althea's
averſion: in hopes, therefore, of Lady
Dacres's managing it better, he left it
to her, and betook himſelf to his own
reflections. Theſe were by no means
pleaſant. All the worldly fophiftry he
could call to his aid was inſufficient to
fatisfy him that he was juſtified in treat-
ing his daughter fo harſhly. He en-
deavoured to perſuade himſelf that, in
compelling her to accept of an offer
which was in point of fortune ſo advan-
tageous, he only confulted the good of
his daughter; but his heart and his con-
ſcience gave the lie to his politics. Yet
too obſtinate to acknowledge himſelf in
viliste
15
the




226
MARCHMONT.
the wrong, and ſo circumſtanced in re-
gard to his domeſtic arrangements, that
it was hardly poſſible for him to recede,
he felt pangs which he could not ap-
peaſe, and heard internal remonftrances
that he could not ſtifle. As to his wife,
whoſe intelleêts, not originally ſtrong,
had been weakened by conſtant indul.-
gence—ſhe had very few ſeruples about
requiring any facrifice from others when
her own pleaſure or convenience was
to be conſulted. Accuſtomed by the
example of a purfe-proud father, and
the ſervile example of dependants, to
value every one according to their pro-
perty or their rank, ſhe had inſenſibly
acquired a habit of forgetting that thofe
who had neither were beings of the ſame
fpecies; while her reſpect for affluence
had reconciled her to the extravagant
conduct of Mrs. Polwarth, though ſhe
was herſelf a prude, and to the dull
proſing harangues, and the tedious med-
ley of fatire and ſcience, which fhe eter-
nally

MARCH MONT.
227
nally heard from Lady Barbara—though
ſhe deteſted ſuch fort of converſation,
and had no taſte for any other ſociety
than that which was collected round a
card-table.
Every little narrow paſſion of this
ſelfiſh woman was engaged againſt poor
Althea, whoſe beauty ſhe ſaw univerſally
admired—which might render leſs ſtrik-
ing that of her own daughters; and her
avarice ſtill proteſted more vehemently
againſt the expence which would be in-
curred by Althea's appearing as Miſs
Dacres an expence which the flender
income at preſent her own could by
no means anſwer. The reſpect which
the ſervants ſeemed diſpoſed to pay her
(for on them the gentleneſs and reaſon
which always appeared towards them
could not fail of having its influence)
was a continual vexation to their proud
and ſtately miſtreſs, who miſtook haughti-
neſs for dignity. But much more mor-
tifying was the ſuſpicion that Sir Audley
himſelf
16
228
MARCHMONT.
himſelf really loved his daughter, and
was reſtrained only by his fear of do-
meſtic contention from expreſſing to-
wards her the affection he felt.de
Thus, if Sir Audley ſpoke to her,
Lady Dacres fancied there was parti-
cular tenderneſs in his voice; and ſhe
perſuaded herſelf that ſhe had often
caught him looking at Althea with min-
gled concern and fondneſs, when he be-
lieved himſelf unobſerved. To render
this notion ftill more uneaſy, it occurred
to her, that as Althea extremely reſem-
bled her mother, he was in theſe inter-
vals of ſtolen indulgence tracing in the
countenance of her daughter the ſtill
regretted remembrance of Althea Tre-
vyllian; a ſuſpicion which never failed
to occaſion tears, fullenneſs, and ſome-
times remonftrances: ſo that Sir Audley
was haraſſed with complaints, importu -
nities, and ill-humour; and whatever
were his internal yearnings towards Al-
thea, his peace obliged him to ſuppreſs
them,
MARCHMONT:
229
them, ſince he found it impoſſible for
her to live in the ſame houſe with his
wife, without ſubjecting himſelf to the
moſt painful contentions. However
different had been the character of Sir
Audley Dacres in more early life, he
was now become a convert to thoſe
maxims, and had thoroughly adopted
thoſe meaſures, which lead to the pof-
feſſion of power and fortune. The por-
tion he originally had of the latter was
fo ſmall, that, after an indiſcreet mar-
riage of love, he owed his preſent
flouriſhing circumſtances entirely to his
more prudent choice of a fecond wife,
and on the advantages he derived from
it all his proſpects of power and place
were founded. He poſſeſſed two bo-
roughs in right of Lady Dacres: and
having thus acquired a nomination of
three voices, together with his own, in
parliament, he of courſe became a man
of conſequence in the political world;
and though he had yet no oſtenſible
poft,


230
MARCH MONT:

poſt, it was believed that he had ample
compenfation for the expences of the
fort of open houfe he kept, as well in
London as at Capelftoke; for the ac-
commodation and reſort of that party
which adhered to the exiſting powers in
adminiſtration. This arrangement, what-
ever it was, had the viſible effect of en-
gaging him to receive all forts of people
who could be made uſeful in the exiſting
circumſtances. No man's abilities in
political wrangling were more highly in
repute than thofe of Mr. Mohun; no
point, therefore, was more ſolicitouſly
purſued by Sir Audley, and his employ-
ers, than to attach him firmly to his
party. He had, therefore, not only
private but political reaſons for wiſhing
to unite him to his family, and to relin-
quifh all hopes of effecting this was one
of the fevereſt mortifications he ever
was expoſed to.
Still unwilling however wholly to re-
ſign it, he endeavoured to prevent Mo-
hun's


MARCHMONT.
231
hun's being convinced of Althea's de-
cided averfion, flattering himſelf that a
very ſhort abode at Eaſtwoodleigh would
conquer this unfortunate obſtinacy, and
that ſhe would conſent to be reſtored to
the comforts and pleafures of ſociety on
whatever conditions.
In the mean time Althea received a
note from her father, which told her in
very harſh terms that, after all that had
paſſed, ſhe could not be admitted to his
preſence. She was directed, therefore,
to keep her room; where, on the fol_
lowing day, Mrs. Grimſby, the conſe-
quential and confidential houſekeeper,
herſelf attended with her dinner; when,
probably in conſequence of directions
fhe had received, the portly gentlewo-
man (who was compared by Althea to
Mrs. Heidelburgh acted by a ſtroller)
thus began :
“ Lord, Miſs! I'm quite forry indeed
for this here fad affair-I declare it
goes
to my very heart to ſee my good lady
in


232
MARCH MONT:
in ſuch affliction; and for certain 'no-
body can be more confarned for ſuch
famully troubles than I am.” to
1." I thank you for your concern, Ma-
dam,” ſaid Althea, coldly, “and am
ſorry to have been the cauſe of any
affliction to your lady; but as I am going
from hence immediately, the cauſe of
her lady ſhip's affli&tion, and your con-
cern, will fortunately be removed to-
gether."--"Why now that is the very
thing, Miſs," whined the houſekeeper :
“ 'tis your going as 'twere in ſuch a ſad
way! and to ſuch a place too.--I de-
clare, Miſs, that from all I've heard
about it, and Thomas Jackfon, and Ro-
bert the helper, they have both on em
been there; I declare, that tho'misfor-
tins have obligated me to go to farvis as
a ouſkeeper, I voud not go for to live
there, no not though Sir Audley voud
make me a preſunt of the land and ous,
hout and hout ; why, I ſhould die with
the unketneſs of the place.” hovany


56 AS
MARCHMONT.
233
"As I do not know what that is,"
faid Althea, fomewhat impatiently, “I
truſt it is not an evil with which I ſhall
be greatly affeaed.” 1947
" Lord, Miſs! why unketneſs means
dull, and folintary, and molloncolly, and
Such-like. Beſides, I've been told by
them as knows that country parfitly
well, that the famully as it laſt belong'd
too was fairly drived out of the ous.”
They certainly were,” ſaid Althea
with a figh, “ driven out of the houſe-
but whether fairly, I rather doubt.”
Well, then, Miſs-Bleſs me! only
think, after that would you go to ſuch
a diſmal kind of a place, and to live
there, as one may ſay, all alone? Why,
I purteſt I'm all of a creep when I thinks
of it.”
“ Do not think of it then, Mrs.
Grimſby,” ſaid Althea, drily. gia
“Well, Miſs, you know beſt perhaps;
but for my ſhare I own. I can't but
wonder, that ſuch a fine young lady,
and

234
MARCHMONT.
and one who might have as 'twere all
the world at her feet, ſhould think of
burying herfelf alive.”
“ It is my father's pleaſure,” ſaid Al-
thea; “and it is my duty to ſubmit.”
“ Ah! dear, dear!” cried the houſe-
keeper, ſhaking her curled head, “Sir
Audley I'll be bound for it has no
pleaſure in it; and as for my lady, in all
the time I have lived with her lady ſhip,
I have never ſeen her ladyfhip ſo much
eaſt down."
“ And did your lady order you, Mrs.
Grimſby, to ſay all this to me?"
« No, indeed, Ma’am; my lady never
opened her lips with any ſuch order.-
But it is impoſfabul for good upper far-
vants in fuch a famully as ours, not to
know fummut of what is going forward ;
and Mr. Addingreve and I have been a-
thinking for ſome time what a fad thing
it was; but we was in good hope that
you would have thought better of it.
For to be ſure nobody could ſuppoſe,
when
MARCH MONT235
T.
.
would go
when it came to the upſhot, that you
for good and all to live among
ſpirits and ghoſts, for they ſay that it
ſwarms with 'em."
“ I have never ſeen any," faid Al-
thea with a ſmile, “nor heard of any
body who has; and I like to make new
acquaintance."
“ Well, for my ſhare," replied Mrs.
Grimſby, “if I did make new acquaint-
ance, I am ſure it ſhould be among
fleſh and blood. However, Mifs Al-
thea, I hope there is no harm done,
Ma’am, in my juft ſpeaking; I am ſure
I could not mean no other than your
good; and as the old man's wife that
lives in the houſe came here about an
hour ago to fetch you, I thought per-
haps it middent be too late-though to
be fure, as Counſellor Mohun is gone,
it is likely that there is entirely an end
of the matter."
• Is he gone?” faid Althea, her eyes
ſparkling
236
MARCH MONT
ſparkling with pleaſure; “is he really
gone ?” vibot is to be
Lord, yes, Miſs; I ſhould hardly
fay ſo if he wasn't. I affure you he
went away this morning, almoſt as ſoon
as brackfuft was done, and I heard that
all talk of your being to be the Coun-
ſellor's lady was over. I am ſure I am
ſorry for it; for Mr. Addingreve ſays,
that he is ſuch a clever man, that there's
not one of all the great lawyers to be
compared to him; and that as fure as
can be, thoſe who live long enough will
ſee bim Lord High Chancellor of Eng-
land.”
“ I wiſh he may,” ſaid Althea, "with
all my heart; and I am really obliged
to you, Mrs. Grimſby, for informing
me that he is gone, and that Mrs.
Wansford is come to fetch me. Per-
haps you can tell me alſo what time my
father has fixed for my departure from
home?? biador
Why,
MARCHMONT.
237
" Why, as to that, Ma'am, to be ſure
I did hear fay, that the day after to-
morrow was the very longeſt Sir Audley
thought proper for your ſtay; but I was
in hopes—”—“There is no occaſion,"
interrupted Althea, " for any delay.-
My reſolution will not change, nor will
Sir Audley relent. I am ready, there-
fore, to ſet out to-morrow morning, if
he directs it; for the child who is un-
worthy of being admitted to the pre-
ſence of her father, cannot too ſoon re-
lieve him by ſeeking the exile he con-
demns her to."
Althea ſaid this in a way which evi-
dently teſtified ſo much impatience, that
Mrs. Grimſby, no longer hoping to make
any impreſſion, or to execute to any
purpoſe the orders ſhe had received from
her lady, withdrew with “Dear, dear,
dear! Alas! how ſorry I am !” And
Althea, who longed to ſee Mrs. Wans-
ford, who had been ſo long the ſervant
of her mother, ventured to write a re-
queſt

238
MARCHMONT.
queſt to Lady Dacres, that ſhe might
ſpeak to her; and expreſſing her ex-
treme concern for having incurred the
diſpleaſure of her father, ſhe profeſſed
her readineſs to obey his orders--only
moft earneſtly entreated that he would
not ſend her from him in anger-but
that before ſhe left his houſe he would
ſee her, and forgive an involuntary fault
--the only one he ſhould, through life,
have occaſion to reproach her with.
The ſtyle in which this billet was
written probably gave to Sir Audley
and Lady Dacres ſome hope that ſhe
might yet be brought to their purpoſe,
from the fear of offending her father
beyond all hopes of forgiveneſs, for it
produced the following anſwer :
“I am extremely ſorry, dear Althea,
that I cannot prevail on Sir Audley to
ſee you on terms of affection before you
go. But he is ſo irritated, that I dare
no farther preſs it. He allows you to
fee Mrs. Wansford. Why am I 'under



1
the
MARCHMONT.
239
the very diſagreeable neceſſity of adding,
that he wiſhes you to ſet out with her
to-morrow morning at a very early
hour, unleſs you can determine to re-
main a member of our family on terms
which are advantageous to yourſelf, and
therefore fo neceſſary to the happineſs
of your father? I am, dear Miſs Dacres,
“ Moſt truly yours,
“ ELIZA DACRES.”
To this Althea, with very little he
ſitation, anſwered:
“ Since it will not be permitted me,
dear Madam, to have the pleaſure of
ſpeaking to you, nor the confolation of
throwing myſelf at my father's feet, un-
lefs on conditions with which it is im-
poſſible for me ever to comply, I can
only teſtify my ſubmiſſion to his will by
acceding to the cruel alternative he has
put before me. Be aſſured, Madam,
that were the ſacrifice of my life only in
queſtion, I would make it with pleaſure;
I would

240
MARCHMONT.
morrow.
I would willingly die to oblige my fa-
ther, but I cannot live miſerably; I can-
not become the wife of Mr. Mohun.
“ I thank your ladyſhip for allowing
me to ſee Mrs. Wansford; and will pre-
pare for my departure with her to-
Dear Lady Dacres, intercede
with my father
father to ſend me his bleſſing
and his forgiveneſs in writing, if he is
indeed determined to drive me from him
without allowing the conſolation of one
affe&ionate word to his unhappy Al-
thea."
In a ſhort time after having ſent this
billet, ſome perſon tapped at her door,
and, on being bid to come in, Mrs.
Wansford entered.
This old ſervant was ſo much changed
ſince Althea had ſeen her fix or ſeven
years before, that ſhe would hardly have
known her. The troubles and diſap-
pointments which had ſo long purſued
her, had changed her appearance more
than time, and the heavy traces of care

were
MARCHMONT.
were deeply indented on her pale fea-
turesa Althea, who loved her from re-
collection as the faithful attendant of her
mother, now conſidered her as one who
was to be almoſt her only friend. She
received her with tears, which, how-
ever, ſhe immediately repreſſed when ſhe
found the poor woman affected even to
agony. It was ſome time before Althea
could prevail on her to be more calm,
and ſome time longer before Mrs. Wans-
ford could be prevailed upon to believe
that the conſented even cheerfully to
accompany her to Eaſtwoodleigh.
Vol. I.
M
СНАР.
242
MARCH MONT.
2
CHAP. X.
Strange things, the neighbours ſay, have happened here,
The deſcription which Mrs. Wans-
ford gave Althea of her future abode
was not very flattering.--"Ah! my dear
young lady,” ſaid ſhe with a deep figh,
“ You who have always lived in ſo much
comfort, and had all ſo pretty and gen-
teel about you
with
your dear aunt, will
find it, I am afraid, a ſad hardſhip to
live at ſuch a place as Eaſtwoodleigh is
To be ſure in times paſt it was
a houſe of great note, and they ſay
that the greateſt Lords in all that coun-
try did not afford ſuch good houſe-keep-
ing as there was at it; but, to my think-
now.
ing,
MARCHMONT.
243
ing, all that makes the diſmal ſtate it is
now in, a great deal more fad--and in-
deed, dear Miſs Althea, if I and my
poor Wansford had not met with ſuch
loſſes in the world as he has done, ſo
that we had no home for ourſelves and
our children-beſides being ſo depen-
dent on Sir Audley's good favour-we
ſhould have been very ſorry indeed to
have gone to ſuch a place-
“ Oh! be not concerned, my good
friend,” replied Althea, " on my 'ac-
count, about the place I ſuppoſe there
are rooms that keep out wind and wea-
ther-and in the day-time I can always
amuſe myſelf. I intend to be ſchool-
miſtreſs to your little girls, for I am
afraid you have not much time to attend
to them-it will ſerve to divert me, you
know, and will be doing them good.”
“ That is ſo like my late dear lady,"
interrupted the poor woman." Ah!
Miſs Dacres, how times are altered-I
was going to ſay, in this houſe!-But,
however,

M 2
244
MARCH MONT.
however, it was not here, to be ſure-nor
yet in ſo large nor ſo fine a place; but
I queſtion whether Sir Audley, if he
was to own the honeſt truth, has ever
been ſo happy ſince."
“ That is exa&ly,” ſaid Althea, willing
to turn the diſcourſe upon her future
abode, “exacly, Wansford, what I have
been ſaying, or at leaſt meaning to ſay-
that happineſs does not depend ſo much
upon where we are, as upon the manner
in which we employ ourſelves.”—Mrs.
Wansford anſwered only by ſhaking her
head, as if to ſay, “ You are yet young,
my dear lady.”—But Althea, in no way
diſcouraged by the gloomy proſpect held
out to her, was oppreſſed only by the
cruel reflection that ſhe ſhould leave her
father's houſe without being allowed to
ſee him, and to expreſs that affection
which ſhe really felt for him.
One attempt more ſhe determined to
make, and therefore wrote again to Lady
Dacres, entreating her to intercede with
Sir
MARCH MONT.
245
Sir Audley that he would ſee her before
ſhe went: but either this commiſſion
was more than the lady had power to
execute, or ſhe feared that Sir Audley
might be too much foftened by his
daughter's tears and diſtreſs; for Althea
received no other anſwer, than that ſhe
already knew her father's determination,
and that, though Lady Dacres was ex-
tremely ſorry to announce ſuch unplea-
fant intelligence, ſhe had found it im-
poſſible to prevail upon him to relax, in
the ſmalleſt degree, from the poſitive
reſolution he had taken.
To Mrs. Wansford it was at the ſame
time fignified, that it was Sir Audley's
pleaſure ſhe ſhould be ready to depart
as ſoon as it was light the next morn-
ing—and with this cruel and peremp-
tory order, Althea, with a heart made
more wretched by her father's anger
than by any apprehenſions as to her
future abode, prepared to comply.
Mrs.


M 3
246
MARCH MONT.
Mrs. Wansford aſſiſted in packing up
her clothes, which were to be ſent after
her; and Althea, looking round her pre-
fent apartment, where ſhe had now paſſed
near ſix weeks without having taſted
one moment's pleaſure, found nothing
to regret in leaving it, but the picture
of her mother (before which ſhe had ſo
often ſhed tears), and the little inlaid
deſk which had belonged to her. She
wiſhed that her father would have in-
dulged her with theſe two memorials of
her loſt parent; they would have gra-
tified her beyond any gift he could be-
ftow. But ſhe dared not venture to
folicit for them; and with the earlieſt
dawn of the morning ſhe took leave of
theſe inanimate obje&ts, as if they had
been two friends whom ſhe was to fee
no more; and ſtepping, with ſtreaming
eyes and a half-broken heart, into the
chaiſe which waited for her, bade a long,
perhaps a laſt adieu to Capelſtoke.
IC
MARCHMONT.
247
It was now the middle of Novem-
ber; and the dark and gloomy morn+
ing, heavy with fogs, which ſeemed
to wrap every object in cold obſcurity,
was well ſuited to the beginning of
fuch a journey, and to the diſpoſition of
mind in which poor Althea undertook
it. As the chaiſe drove round the ſweep
to get into the high road through the
park, it paſſed within fight of the win.
dows of Sir Audley's apartment.-Al.
thea looked up towards them, flattering
herſelf that he would in ſome
way
notice
her departure; but the ſhutters were
cloſed. Her father was probably deep
ſunk in fleep, and thought not of his
baniſhed child. Cold and blank ſeemed
every object to the defolate Althea; but
this idea was the moſt cruel of any—and
ſo ſeverely did ſhe ſuffer in believing
that he thus caſt her off, that it would
have ſubdued the dread of any leſs ir-
remediable misfortune than that of being
the wife of Mohun. When, however,
ſhe
M4
248
MARCH MONT,
fhe reflected on the miſerable fate that
muſt then await her, her fpirits became
more compoſed; though fill to be thus
thrown from her father's arms, and ren-
dered more deſtitute than an orphan,
ſince he who fhould protect her became
her perſecutor, appeared ſo fad, that her
heart funk in deſpondence, and her eyes
overflowed with tears.
The poor woman, her companion,
naturally of a defponding temper, and
funk ftill more by misfortune and dif-
appointment, ſometimes wept with her,
and ſometimes made a ſucceſsleſs at-
tempt to conſole her.-Their melan-
choly journey was unmarked by any
incident. They remained the firſt even-
ing at Sidmouth, and the next morning,
at an early hour, proceeded by Exeter
to the place of their deſtination.
Between three and four in the even-
ing they had reached an extenſive com-
mon, which Mrs. Wansford told Althea
had once belonged to Eaſtwoodleigh
eftate

MARCHMONT.
249

eſtate, and was not far from the houſe.
The road, which was rough and much
broken, led in an unfrequented track
over the ſteep inequalities of the ground,
covered with brown heath and tawny
fern, with a few ſcattered thorns, and
faint remains, in other places, of neglect-
ed plantations--and through the gloom
of an evening ſky in November the
ſea, though not above a mile and a half
diſtant, was not to be diſtinguiſhed.
From this waſte they entered an en-
cloſed ground between two maſſes of
broken wall, which were, Mrs. Wans-
ford ſaid, the remains of a lodge once
ſerving as an entrance to the park, the
fields they were now croſſing being then
the park itſelf.
Mrs. Wansford pointed out to Al-
thea three or four doddered oaks and
pollard alh, venerable, in decay.-
“ There," ſaid ſhe, “are the marks of
ſeveral bullets, and one may ſtill ſee the
great nails remaining which faſtened tº


M 5
it
250
MARCHMONT.
it a ſquare plate of lead. The ſhepherd
boys have torn it down to make the
things they play with on the turf; but
it once contained a ſort of epitaph, or
account of one of the family of March-
mont, who was killed near this place in
the great rebellion—and thoſe holes in
the trees were made by the fame balls.
They ſay that while old Mr. Marchmont
lived, he made a great point of the pre-
fervation of thoſe trees; and they were
even ſpared when his neceſſities com-
pelled him to cut down almoſt all the
fine timber on his grounds. The coun-
try people have a notion,” added the,
“ that the young man who was killed
here appears near the place continually;
and it is not an eaſy matter to get the
men that work about the farm to come
by this way of a night.”—Althea, on
whoſe ear the name of Marchmont never
fell unheeded, had attentively liſtened
to this little narrative." I ſuppoſe,”
ſaid ſhe, when Mrs. Wansford ceaſed
ſpeaking,


1
MARCHMONT.
251
ſpeaking, " that there are a hundred
ſtories of the ſame kind told about the
houſe itſelf; for Mrs. Grimſby, Lady
Dacres's houſekeeper, attempted to im-
preſs on my mind I know not what
fears of ghoſts and hobgoblins."
"Ah! yes, Madam, there are ſtrange
ſtories enough, to be ſure, told of this
place, as indeed there are about all ſuch
old 'lone houſes in the country—and
certainly there are not many places more
likely to give ſuch notions than Eaſt-
woodleigh. But you may now judge
for yourſelf, Miſs Dacres; there is the
houſe before us.
“ The houſe!”' cried Althea -"Good
Heavens! it ſeems like the ruins of an
immenſe caſtle.”
** Yes,” replied Mrs. Wansford—“it
is altogether very large ſtill; yet fome
parts of it are quite fallen, and others
are grown over with graſs and ivy,
having never been rebuilt ſince they
were battered down in the civil wars."
Althea
M 6
25.2
MARCHMONT.
Althea now looked earneſtly towards the
venerable pile they were approaching;
and her companion, ſuddenly ceaſing her
narrative, exclaimed eagerly—“Ah!
there are Lucy and Nanny: they hear
the chaiſe, and are come out to meet
me--and there is my poor Ned leading
Jittle Fanny.”—The mother's heart thus
flown out to meet her children, Althea
was for a moment left to her reflections;
while the chaiſe ſtopping, and the chil-
dren approaching it, Mrs. Wansford
aſked them many queſtions about their
father, who was, they ſaid, ſo ill with
the gout, that he could not come to
help the lady out of the carriage, but
that he had ſent down to the farm-yard
for one of the men. Althea, however,
wanted no help, and entreated Mrs.
Wansford not to mind her, but to attend
to her children, who came round her,
cach with its little hiſtory of what had
happened in her abſence.
The
MARCHMONT.
253
The good woman, with an apology
for taking Althea into what might be
called the kitchen end of the houſe,
becauſe what was properly the great
door had not been opened for ſome
time, now paſſed before to fhew her the
way—which was, except where the little
communication of the houſe had worn a
path, over-run with nettles and weeds,
the growth of three or four fummers,
which had elapſed ſince the Marchmont
family were driven from the dwelling.
This path led under a maffy gate-
way, part of which was boarded up, into
a court, round which the high and pon-
derous walls of the moſt entire part of
the building frowned in mournful gran-
deur. By the uncertain light of even-
ing, the buttreſſes, with long ſtone-
framed windows between them, pre-
ſented altogether ſuch an image of a
priſon, that Althea ſhuddered as the
went on. Through a large and high-
vaulted paſſage, an old worn door let
them
254
MARCHMONT.
them into the room that ſerved the pre-
fent inhabitants for every purpoſe but
ſleeping. A ſcreen of boards, which
were put up to intercept the winds that
gathered in theſe paſſages, prevented
Althea's immediately ſeeing the poor
invalid ſervant to whom Sir Audley
here afforded an aſylum.--His wife was
already hanging over him with anxious
folicitude, hearing how fadly helpleſs
his lameneſs had made him in her ab-
fence, and how well his Nanny and
Lucy had acquitted themſelves in help-
ing him, when Althea approaching, he
tried to riſe, and welcome her to Eaſt-
woodleigh; but a ſenſe of his own in-
firmities, and of the fad contraſt be
tween his ſituation now, as well as that of
his young miſtreſs fince they laſt met,
ftruck ſo forcibly on his mind, that,
inſtead of ſpeaking, he burſt into tears.
Althea, though her heart funk heavily,
fpoke cheerfully to him; forbade him to
attempt ſtanding, and ſaid ſhe was glad
MARCHMONT.
255
to ſee him looking well, though he was
ſo infirm.
“Ah! my dear young lady,” faid
Wansford, “this is a ſad place for you
to come to: indeed I could never have
thought his honour, Sir Audley, would
have ſent you hither!-But we will do
the beſt we can for you-for both my
poor woman and I would lay down our
lives to ſerve you."
“ I ſhall do well enough, my good
friend,” anſwered Althea—" be in no
concern about me.-Come, I ſhall take
poſſeſſion of a chair by your fire.—Make
no ceremony with me,” continued ſhe,
perceiving that Wansford felt awkward
at ſitting before one on whom he had
been uſed to wait; “ I am not now your
young lady, Wansford, but your lodger."
The poor man, unwilling to truſt his
voice with an anſwer, remained silent;
and Althea, but little diſpoſed for con-
verſation, ſurveyed the room where he
fat.
It
256
AL ARCHMONT.
It had once been a ſervant's hall, and
was ſo large and high, that its termina-
tion and its ceiling were now alike ob-
ſcure--for the only light in the room
was from a fire of wood and peat in the
chimney; a cavity of ſuch dimenſions,
that it ſeemed able to contain a modern
country villa, ſuch as ſpring up in rows
near London.—The great beams of
darkened wood that ſurrounded it were
coarſely carved, and in the centre were
the arms of Marchmont--of little better
workmanſhip: they had once been
painted and gilt; but ſmoke and time
had long ſince obliterated their luſtre.-
The ſtone pavement was broken in va-
rious places, and repaired with bricks;
a great oak table, ſupported by legs
which might well be called timber, was
placed along two ſides of the room, and
ſerved for depoſiting the various houſe-
hold utenſils of the family.-Althea did
not finiſh her ſurvey without being ſen-
fible that, if the reſt of the houſe corre-
fponded


MARCHMONT.
257
fponded with this part of it in diſmal-
neſs and magnitude, it would require all
the reaſon the poſſeſſed, and all the for-
titude ſhe had collected, to make
up
her
mind to her deſtiny.
In a few moments Mrs. Wansford
came, and ſaying that there was now a
better room ready to receive her; that
there was a good fire, and that her tea
was ready; Althea, though ſhe was really
more diſpoſed to remain where ſhe was,
followed her hoſteſs, who did not, as
ſhe feared, lead her far from the general
abode of the family; but merely along
a paffage which led by a carved door
into a parlour--not very large in pro-
portion to the hall ſhe had left. One
end of it was entirely occupied by an
immenſe window; but there was a cur-
tain of old-faſhioned Decca work that
drew round the lower part of it: the
wainſcot was in thoſe little ſquares which
are ſtill not unfrequently ſeen in old-
faſhioned houſes; and all along the fide,
oppoſite


258 MARCHMUNT.
oppoſite the chimney, ſeemed to be
preſſes, though the wainſcot was the
fame as the reſt. An old plan of the
eftate and houſe painted on vellum, but
almoſt effaced by time, hung over the
fire ; and in another part 'was a genea-
logical tree of the Marchmont family.
Upon the whole, the appearance of this
room, though far from being cheerful,
was much leſs diſmal than Althea ex-
pected. There was a lively fire, and
candles on a ſmall table near it. A
clean country girl was waiting.--Althea
obſerved that ſhe looked at her as if
greatly ſurpriſed to ſee her there.-
Being diſmiſled, Althea defired Mrs.
Wansford and her children to partake
of her repaft; while relieved from the
apprehenſion of having been ſent to a
place even leſs comfortleſs than had been
reprefented, ſhe became eaſier, and once
more looked forward without deſpond-
ence.
That
MARCHMONT.
259
That part of the houſe, however,
which ſhe was to go through to reach
her bed-chamber was leſs flattering-
ſo large was the gallery-like paſſage that
led to the ſtairs ſhe was to aſcend, that
ſhe feared to carry her eye to the end
of them. This ſtair-caſe, which was not
the principal one, led to an apart-
ment, which Mrs. Wansford aſſured her
was one of the moſt comfortable in the
houſe; it was, however, ſufficiently large
and gloomy, and the little furniture that
was in it was a ſtrange mixture of rem-
nants of former magnificence, and the
plaineſt articles in modern ufe, fuch as
the common labourer would purchaſe:
the gilding and carving in ſeveral parts of
the room witneffed the expence that had
once been laviſhed on it; but very com-
mon paper had now taken the place of
the tapeſtry or damaſk hangings, and a
piece of the former ſupplied the place
of a carpet.
Althea
260
MARCHMONT.
you think
Althea ſurveyed the room with a look
which Mrs. Wansford could not inter-
pret into a look of approbation.--"I am
afraid, my deareſt Miſs,” ſaid ſhe, “that
your accommodations
very
uncomfortable here: but I aſſure you it
was the beſt I could do for you; and I
have been contriving and contriving
ever ſince I firſt heard of your coming
hither, and whatever there was left
about this unfortunate old place I col-
lected together, and took the beſt of it
for this room.- 'Tis, to be ſure, but
poorly furniſhed ſtill for you ; and I am
afraid you will find it diſmal cold-but,
however, your bed is aired, for I've
made my two little girls lie upon it, and
here has been a fire in the room theſe
three or four days: I heartily wiſh, how-
ever, that things were better."
Althea, ſorry to ſee the good woman
thus concerned, endeavoured to appear
leſs ſo herſelf--and aſſured her the room


was
MARCHMONT.
261
was even better than ſhe expected. -
" I have only one wiſh about it,” ſaid
Althea; “I hope it is not at a very great
diſtance from that where you and your
huſband ſleep; for though I have in ge-
neral no fears, it is impoſſible to tell
what fooliſh fancies may enter one's head
of a night in a ſtrange place, and eſpe-
cially ſuch a place as this. In almoſt
every houſe there are noiſes either from
wind or from vermin, which, when once
a perſon is uſed to, or can account for,
give no alarm- but to a ſtranger they
are unpleaſant; and if I ſhould be made
uncomfortable by them, I ſhould not be
forry to know where to find ſome living
creature.”
Mrs. Wansford aſſured Althea, that
the room where ſhe, her huſband and
children ſlept was only the third door
down the paſſage, on the oppoſite fide.
Althea deſired it might be pointed out
to her; and being ſatisfied that ſhe was
not very far removed from them, ſhe
returned
262
MARCHMON T.
returned to her allotted apartment for
the night, and in that confidence which
innocence always gives ſhe recom-
mended herſelf to Heaven; and, re-
tiring to her bed, foon forgot the vexa-
tions which had lately worn her ſpirits,
and flept undiſturbed till morning.
anael
CHAP
MARCH MONT.
263
CHAP. XI.
Sunk are thy bowers in ſhapeleſs ruin all,
And the long graſs o'ertops the mouldering wall;
While trembling, ſhrinking, from the ſpoiler's hand,
Far, far away, thy children leave the land.
The girl, who was now taken into the
houſe to aſlift Mrs. Wansford, awakened
Althea in the morning by coming in to
make her fire.-Rouſed to a ſenſe of
her new ſituation, ſhe felt content with
having paſſed a tranquil night, and aroſe
in a diſpoſition to ſee every object around
her, however dreary they might be, in
the moſt favourable light. The fatif-
faction which her honeft hoft and hofteſs
expreſſed at ſeeing her look well and
cheerful, and the grateful delight they
took

264
MARCHMONT.
took in talking to her of thoſe happy
days when they lived with her mother,
ſerved to ſtrengthen Althea's fanguine
diſpoſition. She looked around the in-
habited part of her abode—it was me-
lancholy enough, but the faces of the
inhabitants were the faces of friends -
of people really intereſted for her wel-
fare, and ſuch as ſhe had not, for a very
long time, been accuſtomed to ſee.
The morning was leſs gloomy than is
uſual fo late in the year—and Althea,
looking from the Gothic windows, en-
deavoured to pi&ture to herſelf what the
landſcape before her would be, when its
preſent mournful hue was exchanged for
the verdure of ſpring. The country
around indeed would have been fingu-
larly beautiful, if the unfeeling rapacity
of the creditors had not long ſince
ſtripped all the land that formerly be-
longed to the Marchmont family of its
ancient woods, and even of the trees in
the hedge-rows that were fit for ſale.-
The
MARCHMONT.
265
The iron ploughſhare of oppreſſion, in
the form of law, ſeemed every where to
have paſſed over the domain-and Al-
thea could not but recollect with a figh,
that the heir to this once rich and ex-
tenſive property was now an unhappy
dependant, without having even the moſt
moderate portion of it left for his ſup-
port.-From this reflection it was a na-
tural tranſition to wiſh ſhe could know
what was become of this unfortunate
young man--but it was a wiſh ſhe had
no means of ſatisfying. The people of
the houſe knew the family of March-
mont only by name; they were pro-
bably more known in the village about
three miles diſtant, which their hofpi-
tality and expenditure had formerly ſup-
ported, and which, ſince they had quitted
the neighbourhood, was falling to de-
cay. But thither Althea could not well
go abruptly to make enquiries; and ſhe
knew nobody but the family of Ever-
Vol. I.
Пley


N
266
MARCHMONT..
ſley who were acquainted with that of
Marchmont.
Whatever injuſtice and tyranny there
had been in Sir Audley's treatment of
her, Althea had fo proper a pride, as
well as fo juſt a ſenſe of the duty ſhe
ſtill owed her father, that ſhe had never
complained to the very few corre-
fpondents ſhe had nor had fhe, as moſt
girls ſo fituated would have done, in-
formed Linda Everſley, “journal wife,”
of her calamities—but had fimply told
her, that it being neither Lady Dacres's
wiſh nor her own ſhe ſhould accompany
the family to London, ſhe was to re-
main at Eaſtwoodleigh for ſome time.-
Cabals againſt her father would, ſhe
knew, have been extremely blamed by
her dear and ever lamented friend.-
She had therefore avoided writing any
letters but thoſe of mere civility; and if
The murmured, it was in ſilence, or in an
apoſtrophe to the ſpirit of that friend. --
Many

MARCH MONT.
267
Many and dreary were the hours to
which Althea was to look forward, before
the return of fine weather was likely to
afford her even ſuch variety as might
be obtained by viſiting the neareſt vil-
lages, wandering among the copſes, or
towards the fea, which ſhe ſaw at a dif-
tance-and though ſhe felt an intereſt
excited by the interior of her antique
priſon, which could have happened in
no other place, ſhe had been two days
in it before ſhe could acquire reſolution
enough to enquire about the uninhabited
apartments of the houſe; to every one
of which Mrs. Wansford told her
a ſtory belonged.--" Though, for
part, Madam,” ſaid ſhe, “ you know I
am but a ſtranger in this country, and
I cannot ſay I have had much curioſity
even to aſk about this old caſtle-like
houſe, which, till you came, I am ſure
I thought the diſmalleſt unket place that
ever 1 fet my foot into; and God knows,
nothing but the want of a home, and

my

N 2
our
268
MARCH MONT.
our fear of diſobliging Sir Audley, would
have made Wansford and I think of
coming to live here. If I had been
fearful and timorous as many people are,
it would have been a harder matter to
have reconciled me to it; but, for my
part, I think, that if one has never done
any harm, one may ſleep quiet in one's
bed, let what will be the ſtories that go
about. I believe it is nothing but the
nonſenſical notions of the people about
here; for, excepting the wind, which
does make ſtrange howlings and whift-
ling round the buildings (but ſo it does
round all old houſes), I declare I never
heard any thing I could not very well
account for; though I cannot but ſay,
that when I firſt heard you were to come
here, I thought it a ſtrange thing indeed
for Sir Audley to ſend you, Madam, to
ſuch a forlorn place !-Ah! well-a-day!
if my dear lady had lived, how happy
we ſhould all have been!” —Althea, who
was ſoftered by this expreſſion of regret
for




MARCHMONT.
269

for her mother, and her ſpirits depreſſed
by the very means Mrs. Wansford had
taken to raiſe them, had but little cou-
rage to continue the converſation: turn-
ing it however once more on the hiſtory
of Eaftwoodleigh Houſe, ſhe told her,
that the firſt fine day ſhe would go all
over it.
"Indeed, my dear Miſs,” anſwered
Mrs. Wansford, “it will be no ſmall
undertaking, for it is a great deal bigger
than it appears to be--and, for my part,
I don't know half the ways about it.-
There is an old woman who lives in a
fmall cottage on the edge of the com-
mon, next the grounds that they call
the old park—a cottage that they ſay
was made partly out of one of the lodges,
where the family formerly kept her very
well out of gratitude for her paſt fer-
vices; but ſince they have been in trouble
themſelves, the pariſh officers have talked
of obliging her to go into the work-
houſe, though I never heard ſhe was
chargeable

N 3
270
MARCH MONT.
chargeable to them yet. So ſhe has
lately, poor creature! kept very cloſe.
But, when firſt we came here, it was
cuſtomary for travellers who had cu-
rioſity about this houſe, becauſe of its
being a famous place in the civil wars,
to have old Mary Moſely ſhew them
about the place; for, having been a fer-
vant in the family I don't know how
many years, ſhe knew all the old ſtories
that belong to the houſe.”-Althea, who
felt more curioſity than ſhe was willing
to avow for every anecdote of the
Marchmont family, and who thought
there would be a melancholy pleaſure
in converſing with this their humble and
ancient hiſtorian, deſired that Mrs.
Wansford would engage this old ſer-
vant to come up to the houſe to reſume
once more her long-neglected narrative,
and the next fair day was fixed for this
purpoſe. Althea, however, in making
this requeſt, did not think only of the
gratification of her curioſity: ſhe hoped
that,


MARCHMONT.
.
that, ſmall as her power was, it might be
enough to give ſome little relief to this
poor folitary creature, who, fince her
former benefactors were no longer able
to ſupport her, ſeemed to be expoſed to
the complicated miſeries of poverty, age,
and negleet; or, what was yet worſe, to
the unfeeling tyranny of pariſh officers,
more grievous to the deſolate victims
of extreme indigence, than that want
which their interference is intended by
the law to remedy.
In the mean time Althea, who had
ſent for the collection of books left her
by her aunt, and which had been de.
poſited in their caſes in the houſe of the
elder Mrs. Everſley, was buſied in con-
triving how they might be placed, and
in making ſuch other arrangements as
would make her abode the moſt cheer-
ful and comfortable.--Wansford, lame
as he was, undertook to be the chief
manager of all th, ſe operations; and
while Althea was telling him how ſhe
N4
would




272
MARCHMONT.
would have the fhelves, or giving him
any other direction, he would ſtop in
the midſt of his proceedings to ſay, in
faltering accents, and with tears riſing
in his eyes, that in voice, in
that in voice, in manner, in
look, ſhe was ſo much the image of his
dear lady, her mother, that he fome-
times could not help fancying that it
was her very ſelf !--The weather, which
during the firſt week of Althea's arrival
had been only a ſucceſſion of ſtorms,
now became more tolerable.-Mrs.
Moſely, having had previous notice, was
ſummoned to her taſk and Wansford
was ſent round the houſe to open the
doors, ſome of which had not been un-
locked fince every piece of furniture
that was worth taking had been torn
away by the rapacity of thoſe who had
judgements againſt the elder March-
mont, and little but fome pieces of
antique and uſeleſs lumber, and ſome
old pi&tures and mops on vellum, was
left
MARCII MONT.
273
vour.
left with the diſmantled houſe for the
mortgagee.
69
The appearance of Mrs. Moſely im,
mediately intereſted Althea in her fa-
Poor as ſhe was, ſhe was re.
markably neat; her ſlender figure was
bent with age, and, as it ſeemed, with
trouble--and the little hair, that ap-
peared under her clean plaited cap, was
quite white. The only remnant of that
dreſs which had been allowed her in the
affluent ſervitude of better days, was a
black velvet cloak, ſtill quite freſh.-
And though the reſt did not anſwer to
this piece of once expenſive apparel,
there was ſomething about her ſo re-
ſpectable, that Althea could hardly help
fancying ſhe was one of the family, re-
ſerved amid the general wreck as the
authentic chronicle of its buried merit.
If her looks thus excited reverence,
her manner ſerved to confirm it.- There
was nothing about her of the vulgar
goſſipping old woman.--Almoſt every
N 5
pallion


274
MARCHMONT.
paſſion ſeemed to be fubdued in her
heart, except affection for the family fhe
had ſo long ſerved.-Inured to diſap-
pointments and ſorrows, ſhe bore what
related merely to herſelf with the calmeſt
reſignation, and was never heard to
complain of her forlorn and comfortleſs
fituation. But when the ruin of her
maſter's houſe became, as it too often
did, the ſubject of vulgar triumph, and
among the very tenants who had grown
rich by his indulgence, but who now
paid their court to Sir Audley Dacres,
the poor woman for a moment forgot
her moderation and mildneſs, and could
hardly refrain from the bittereſt re-
proaches, however prejudicial they were
to her, who was greatly in the power of
the renters of the pariſh, in which ſhe
was relu&tantly fuffered to linger out the
few fad years that remained.
This fort of conduct, and her making
always a cleaner and better appearance
than her ſlender means were ſuppoſed
whole
able



MARCHMONT.
275
able to afford, together with her having
very little communication with any one,
except when a fick neighbour wanted
her affiftance, had raiſed fundry ſtrange
reports and opinions about her in the
neighbouring country. The lower claſs
of peaſantry were not without ſome fuf,
picions of her being a witch, though
whenever they ſaw her at all it was in
the exerciſe of charity and kindneſs.
Some of the farmers, and ſtill more
their wives, had taken up a notion, that
among the viciſſitudes to which the houſe
ai Eaſtwoodleigh had been expoſed du,
ring the civil war, ſeveral ſums of
money had been hidden in it, or buried
in the adjoining grounds; and that Mrs.
Moſely was in the ſecret, and ſupplied
herſelf in this manner with comforts,
which to keep concealed, ſhe ſhut herſelf
up from all intercourſe with her neigh-
bours, and affected poverty ſhe was far
from really fuffering.no
Impreſſed



N 6
276
MARCHMONT.
Impreſſed with this idea, fome of the
honeſt and ſapient leaders at the veftry
had more than once threatened to re-
move her to the workhouſe, under pre-
tence of their fearing ſhe would become
helpleſs and burdenſome; and though
till ſhe actually was fo, and ſolicited re-
lief, they had no legal right to diſturb
her, yet as ſhe was a folitary and helpleſs
being, they ventured to haraſs her with
menaces, in hopes that in her eagerneſs
to remain where ſhe was they might
extort the ſecret from her: at all events,
their malignity was gratified in having
the power to torment and terrify one,
who, humbled as ſhe was, and never
above the rank of an upper fervant,
feemed to conſider theſe thriving men,
their wives and daughters, as inferior
people.
0009999
Thoſe who have imagined that at a
great diſtance from London there reigns
Arcadian ſimplicity, and that envy, de-
traction,


MARCHMONT.
277
traction, and malice, only inhabit great
cities, have been ſtrangely miſled by ro-
mantic deſcription. Every bad paſſion
of the human heart thrives as luxuriantly
under the roof of the old-faſhioned
farm-houſe, two hundred miles from the
metropolis, as in that hot-bed itſelf; and
ſome are even more flouriſhing.-Igno-
rance is a powerful auxiliary to ſcandal,
and a thouſand exaggerations are added
by the illiterate to the tale of ill-nature-
abject poverty is no defence. The very
wretch who fubfifts on caſual alms is
ſometimes the object of hatred and ca-
lumny to thoſe who believe they have a
better right to the charity on which he
lives; and ſo many inſtances of this de-
prayity occur, that one wiſhes what the
poet ſays was ſtriểly and invariably.
true
sad
Heaven's Sovereign faves all beings but himſelf
That hideous fight : a naked human heart,
YOUNG,
When
278
MARCHMONT.
When an ancient family is gone to de+
cay, and the opulent creditor ſeizes on
the eſtate, the few ſervants that remain
attached to their reduced maſter are
uſually the avowed though impotent
enemies of thoſe that come into poſ-
feffion of what he has loft. Mrs. Mofe-
ly, on this principle, detefted the very
names of Sir Audley and Lady Dacres;
and had they fent for her to give an ac-
count of the antiquities of Eaſtwood-
leigh, the certainly would have refuſed
to have attended, however ſhe might
have wanted the half-crown, which, on
ſuch occaſions, was her uſual fee: but
when ſhe had heard as much of Althea's
hiſtory as Mrs. Wansford chofe to tell
her, and underſtood that ſhe was fent
from her father's houſe by the cruelty
of her mother-in-law, ſhe heſitated not
a moment, but offered her poor and
trifling ſervices with an earneſtnefs and
a ſimplicity that entirely won the heart
of Althea.
So
MARCH MONT.
279
So ſeldom had this poor woman an
opportunity of talking over thoſe paſ.
fages of her paſt life which dwelt the
moſt forcibly on her memory, that ſhe
feemed relieved and gratified by having
found, in Althea, one who not only pa-
tiently liſtened, but by many queſtions
relative to the Marchmont family en-
gaged her to continue her narratives.
Mrs. Wansford had left them to go
about her domeſtic concerns; and poor
old Mrs. Moſely, already forgetting that
ſhe was to fhew the houſe, was telling
at length the hiſtory of its former pof-
feffors.
“ A moſt worthy and brave race of
noble gentlemen they were," faid ſhe;
" and though their loyalty and all the
blood they loft, and the great fortune
they laid out in the King's ſervice, never
got them a title, I have heard it was
becauſe they never would accept of
one.--I have thought ſometimes, Ma-
dam, that this was a great pity, as things
banyo
have

280
MARCHMONT,
have turned out; for I have heard that
Lords and great men who have titles,
let their family be ever fo much re-
duced and poor, are always taken care
of by the King. But there's our poor
dear young man-a gentleman, Madam,
who, if you were to ſee him, you would
fay was fecond to none of the firſt
noblemen in the land, yet nothing is
done for him.-though his family haye
been undone by their attachment to the
Royal cauſe. I am ſure, whenever I
think of him- when I remember, at the
time he was born what rejoicings were
made, and how my dear old maſter,
with tears in his eyes, thanked my Lady
for the precious preſent ſhe had made
him-how they both doted upon him
as he grew up-and how my poor maſter,
even latterly, while he tried in vain to
fhut his eyes againſt the ruin that was
coming upon him, lamented it chiefly
on account of this dear fon, and yet was
fill willing to flatter himſelf that he was
fo
MARCH MONT.
281
dear young
ſo accompliſhed, ſo clever, that he would
repair all by his own merit:-ah! Ma'am,
when all this comes acroſs me-(and I
think of it, God knows, every day of
my fad life)—and when I know how
different things are with my
maſter-how little his parents thought
of his being a poor wanderer, as I may
ſay he is now, without a home, and
without friends-my heart aches ſo, that
I am fain to wiſh I could lay me down
and die at once, if it pleaſed God! -
that I might know no more about it,
nor hear what cruel cutting things are
ſaid of this dear good young man by
thoſe who are not worthy even to look
at him!”
Sad remembrance, mingled with
wounded pride and affection, here over-
came that calmneſs which time and ha-
bitual ſuffering had taught her.
The aged fhed not many tears, but
her voice failed, and ſhe fobbed aloud.
Althea could ſay nothing likely to mi-
tigate

282
MAKCHMONT.
tigate concern fo juf--and at once
pained by the recital, yet deſiring to
hear more of Marchmont, ſhe continued
filent, till Mrs. Moſely, having a little
recovered herſelf, went on:
“Ah, Madam! what ſtrange changes
a few years make in families !-When I
came, then a young girl, to wait on my
dear lady--it is indeed almoſt five-and-
forty years ſince, before ſhe was mar.
ried, though it ſeems but like yeſterday--
there was not a family within twenty
miles of this place that were looked upon
like them. My lady too was of a good
family in Dorſerſhire, but ſhe had no
fortune-my mafter married her for her
beauty-and beautiful as the day to bę
fure ſhe was !-As tall as you are,
Ma'am, and much of your fize. There
were five ſiſters of them, and they were
called the Dorſetſhire Angels; but Mrs.
Marchmont was allowed to be the hand-
fomelt of them all. There were two of
thoſe ladies, her fifters, that married no-
blemen,

MARCH MONT.
283
blemen, and their children are now great
people. But they take no notice at all
of their near relations, becauſe they are
poor!- Yet how they can harden their
hearts againſt ſuch a relation as my
young maſter--a man that a king might
be proud to own-I have no notion
of And then if they did but look in
his face! He is ſo like his mother,
Madam! - Juſt her mild open counte-
nance, and fine eyes--one would think
every body would have a pride to ſerve
him, and to own him as their relation.”
Althea could hardly repreſs a me-
lancholy ſmile at the ideas this poor
woman had formed of the force of
kindred among the great; and at the
amazement ſhe expreſſed that none of
his affluent relations eſpouſed the in-
tereſt of a young man whom, as he was
poor, they probably did not know even
by name!
to vie
" But it is not merely, Madam, his
fine and noble perſon,” proceeded Mrs.
Moſely,

284
MARCHMONT.
Moſely, “ but his being ſuch a young
man at all ſorts of learning, that he
might do any thing, I am very certain,
if he had but friends to help him for-
ward at firft. And then there never was
ſuch a good temper, nor ſuch a generous
heart--ah! too much fo! Even to the
laft, Ma'am, he and his dear mother and
fifters have ſent me what they hardly
had enough of themſelves; and to this
very hour it is to my gond young maſter
that ........"
She ſtopped-as if conſcious that her
gratitude had nearly conquered her pru-
dence, or perhaps betrayed her into a
breach of promiſe.—Althea, however,
from what ſhe had ſaid, gueſſed that the
ſupport ſhe had, and which Mrs. Wans-
ford had ſaid occafioned fo much won-
der, and ſo many diſadvantageous con-
jectures, really came from the generous
pity of Marchmont towards the old fer-
vant of his family. There needed not
this trait of his character to intereſt her
in
MARCH MONT.
285
in his favour. Yet ſhe felt all its force.
The loquacity of her new acquaintance,
far from being exhauſted, ſeemed to ac-
quire new ſpirit, although chaſtiſed by
many cruel recollections, as ſhe led her
over the houſe once the ſcene of hof-
pitality--"Now to the duſt gone down."


CHAP.

286
MARCHMONT.
CHAP. XII.
od to
Ye towers fublime, deſerted now, and drear!
Ye woods deep ſighing to the hollow blaſt!
The muſing wanderer loves to linger here
While Hiſtory points to all your glory paft.
ALTHEA followed her conductreſs
into a high and vaulted room, of which
the greater part was in ruins, for the
coppers and other fixed utenſils of an-
cient hoſpitality had been torn away and
fold; and as the kitchen was no longer
uſed, no care had been taken to replace
the bricks, or repair the walls. Be-
yond it was the buttery -- and Mrs.
Moſely bade her remark how the hatch
was worn-
“ There,”
MARCHMONT.
287
There," ſaid ſhe, “ I have often,
though it was not indeed exactly my
buſineſs, given away the weekly dole to
folks who then wanted it bad enough,
but who ſince have got up in the world,
ſo that it makes one ſeem dreaming as it
were to think of it.-Yes! the very man
who has bought all the lower woodland
farm, and built that fine ſtaring great
houſe, that you might ſee as you came
along on the hill, a little beyond Shanſ-
brook corner, that very man was a
little ragged dirty boy, who has many a
time come for his family's dinner to this
very wicket. My good maſter took pity
upon him, and ſent him to ſchool
when he was big enough, he made him a
ſort of clerk, and took him into the
fteward's room to learn to keep ac-
counts, and after that got him fent out
to the Indies; and about five years ago
he came home worth ſuch a mint of
money, that they fay he could buy out
half the gentry of the country. Well!
I have

288
MARCHMONT.

I have heard, that when things got ſo
bad here, my miſtreſs, though ſhe could
not prevail on my maſter to do it, yet
wrote herſelf to this Sowden, to deſire
he would let them have a loan of three
thouſand pounds, which ſhe thought,
poor lady! would have put things to
rights; but he had the baſeneſs, the in-
gratitude to ſend her a rude denial.
He! that little dirty boy, that owed his
all to Mr. Marchmont's bounty! and
now he has had the impudence to buy
part of that eſtate that was ſold by the
aſſignees !”
Young as Althea was, there was no-
thing new to her in examples of the
worthleſſneſs and ingratitude of man-
kind. Her veteran Ciceroni, who had
feen ſo much more of the world, yet
ſeemed ſo keenly to feel this inſtance
of it, that Althea, ſorry to perceive her
emotion, wiſhed to turn her mind from
the indulgence of ſentiments ſo bitter;
and therefore, complaining that the place
they


MARCHMONT.
289
they ſtood in was very cold, ſhe deſired
her to paſs on.
· Before they went, however, Mrs.
Moſely bade her obſerve a place in
the lofty ceiling, which ſhe ſaid was a
ſort of trap door, communicating with
the private cloſet that belonged to the
apartments of the lady of the houſe;
who, in days when vigilant æconomy
fuperintended the folemn and regulated
hoſpitality of an ancient Engliſh kitchen,
was accuſtomed to overlook from thence
the proceedings of her domeftics. Re-
flecting on the different uſages and man-
ners of the preſent time, Althea followed
her infirm guide through thoſe parts of
the houſe ſhe had been uſed to, to
others which ſhe had never yet viſited.
The way was through a long paſſage,
now nearly dark; for the great window
at the end of it was boarded, and the
door that led from it to the principal
part of the houſe bricked up: this bad
been done, that the range of uninhabited
Vol. I.
rooms

290
MARCHMONT.
rooms might be conſidered as 'a ſeparate
houſe, and might not be liable to be
taxed for the windows; the ſame prudent
precaution, to avoid the window tax, had
nearly darkened the part of it inhabited
by Wansford. But on the oppoſite ſide
a door opened to the once-walled court, ,
and from thence they went round to the
porch, or great door, which, long unac-
cuſtomed to turn on its maffy hinges,
had been opened by Wansford for their
reception. Althea now found herſelf
in an immenſe hall—“ Here,” ſaid her
conductreſs, “at theſe long tables, which
though of oak are now ſo much de-
cayed, were daily aſſembled, during the
great Rebellion, above three hundred
armed men; they were diſciplined,
clothed, and fed by Sir Armyn March-
mont, who was knighted in the field by
King Charles the Firſt; and from hence
were led the fifty horſe, who juſt before
the battle of Braddock Down went out
againſt a party of Cromwell's army that
approached
MARCH MONT.
294
approached the houſe; and the brave
Edward Marchmont, the ſecond ſon of
the family, fell in his father's park.
His mother, who doted upon him, died
broken-hearted a few months after-
wards; and from that time they ſay Sir
Armyn himſelf never ſeemed to enjoy
life, though he lingered on for three or
four years, and continued to the laſt to
defend this place, and keep it as a gar-
riſon for the King."
Althea, while ſhe liſtened to this de-
tail, compared the paſt with the preferft
ſtate of the place in which ſhe ſtood.
No loyal and buſy crowds now wore the
ſtone pavement: it was hidden with
moſs. The two windows, which at one
end reached from the ceiling to within
three feet of the floor, were partly
boarded up; the ſame glaſs yet remain-
ed; but through the broken panes the
ivy, which luxuriantly mantled the ex-
terior of the building, had made its
way, and was advancing to line the
broken
02

292
MARCHMONT.
broken walls. The chimney, over which
there was again a carving in oak of the
arms of the Marchmonts, was large,
even in proportion to the room. But
inſtead of blazing now with hoſpitable
fires, it was a receptacle for the ſtore of
turf and billets which Wansford had
provided for the end of winter; and in
feveral other parts of this great room
there were piles of peat put there to dry,
and of bavins and bruſh wood. No-
thing could give a ſtronger idea of de-
folation than this gloomy apartment;
with it, however, the adjoining rooms,
into which it opened, perfectly corre-
fponded. "Thelaft oftheſe, "Mrs. Mofely
faid, “was once called the council-room;
a name," added ſhe, “which it ſtill retain-
ed in my late honoured maſter's time,
who uſed to relate with pride and plea-
ſure, that here were held thoſe delibera-
tions by the ſucceſs of which the Queen
Henrietta Maria eſcaped from Exeter,
and got ſafely into France. And above
is
MARCHMONT.
293
is the room where her majeſty ſlept for
three nights. This houſe too had the
honour of receiving the Prince of
Wales; when, after the battle of Naſeby,
he was forced to fly to concealment in
the Scilly iſlands, beyond the coaſt of
Cornwall. That flight was planned, in
this council-room, by my maſter's an-
ceſtor and fome more of his faithful
fervants."
Nothing now remained in this cham-
ber but a very old heavy worm-eaten
oak table; filence and folitude had long
poſſeſſed it: and as Althea followed
Mrs. Moſely up the great ſtaircaſe, and
the looſe oak boards ſeemed to tremble
under their feet, the found ran along
theſe empty apartments, and was re-
turned in dull murmurs by the bare and
mouldering walls.
Oppoſite the top of the ſtaircaſe ap--
peared a large folding door, with a
heavy pediment of wood-work over it.

03
294
MARCHMONT.
It gave entrance into a room not very
inferior in its dimenſions to the hall.
“ This,” ſaid Mrs. Moſely, as ſhe
turned towards Althea with ſomething
of increaſed dejection in her counte-
nance, " this was uſed to be called the
banqueting room. I do not indeed
know why; for in my time the family
never ate in this room; but it was here
that they uſed to receive their company;
for once it was very richly furniſhed,
though indeed the furniture was even
then very old faſhioned.”
Althea caſt her eyes around this ſcene
of former gaiety and iplendour, now
dreary and deſerted.
The ceiling had once been curiouſly
ſtuccoed in large copartments; but the
ſwallows had at preſent a colony among
the cornices, and great projecting roſes.
The room was wainſcoted, and orna-
mented with carving and gilding; now
much defaced and broken. Around the
chimney had been rich and maſſy feftoons,
of
MARCHMONT.
295
of which enough was left to ſhew that
they had originally been ſplendid and
expenſive. Of the furniture little re-
mained: in one corner fome heavy
pi&ture frames were piled together; and
in a ſingle frame which ſtood againſt
the wall was a damaged picture, repre-
fenting a lady in the coſtume of the
court of Charles the Second. The coun-
tenance was remarkably pleaſing, but
penſive, and even dejected.
“ It is the pi&ture,” ſaid Mrs. Moſely,
“ of the grandmother of my late maſter,
who was a great beauty in her time; and
it was done by ſome famous painter of
that day, as I have heard: but my me-
mory is not ſo good as it was--I have
forgotten his name. It was going with
the reſt of the pictures ; but the men
who took them down tore it, ſo that the
dealer from London who bought them
left it behind. If troubles had not come
fo faſt on the family,” added ſhe, “ my
dear young mafter meant to have ſent
04
the

196
MARCHMONT.
the man the value of it, and to have had
it mended. — But now !-Ah! no!
there is no likelihood that he ſhould
ever have a houſe large enough to hang
up fuch a picture. He would have been
very glad, dear foul! to have purchaſed
the reſt of the family pieces, and ſome
others, that every body fet a great value
upon, particularly two ſmall oval pic-
tures, one of Lord Falkland, and an-
other of Sir Charles Lucas, both famous
men, and one of them the boſom friend
of Sir Armyn Marchmont: but when
my poor young maſter talked of re-
ſerving of them-Oh! Madam, if you had
feen the brutality with which that auc,
tioneer man treated him!-But ſo it is !
Such upſtart creatures may be rich, but
they are never gentlemen-nor know
how to behave as ſuch,"
To this natural remark Althea very
heartily aſſented; and having gazed a
moment on the faded repreſentation of
forgotten beauty, ſhe turned to follow
her



MARCH MONT.
297
her guide through the long ſuite of un-
explored rooms. In the firſt, a ſmall
anti-room, were the broken remains
of a large theorbo, which was former-
ly a faſhionable inſtrument: the other
rooms, originally bed-rooms, were en-
tirely deſtitute of even the remains of
furniture, ſave only that a fragment of
tapeſtry yet hung againſt the walls of one
of them, and repreſented a group of
grim and ghaſtly heads. Mrs. Moſely
related, that many of the rooms had
been ornamented with curious hangings,
woven with hiſtory pieces; “ and it
was,” faid ſhe, “ ſuch old-faſhioned
ſtuff, that it was not worth the taking
by the vultures that plundered every
thing elſe: but after the family went
away, the farmer that took to the farm
for Sir Audley Dacres came to live for
a while in the houſe; and he choſe, for-
ſooth! to pull down all the arras to
make horſe-cloths of, and to hang againſt
the flable windows."
Althea


05
298
MARCHMONT.
Althea thought there was leſs to re-
gret in this than in any other inſtance
of the dilapidations the houſe had ſuf-
fered; and as only naked walls and
diſmantled window ſhutters preſented
themſelves, ſhe thought her examination
of this half-ruined edifice nearly finiſh-
ed: but two of the wings were yet to be
ſurveyed.-In one of them, with a ſort
of mournful pride, Mrs. Moſely pointed
out the room which had once afforded
a temporary ſhelter to fugitive royalty :
a circumſtance that ſeemed to create
great reverence for that apartment in
the mind of the old fervant, but it
had not now even the remains of fur-
niture. The impreſlion the whole ſur-
vey had made on the mind of Althea
was fo melancholy, that ſhe wiſhed it
over; but her conductreſs, moving ſlowly
back through the apartments ſhe had
already traverſed, led the way acroſs the
top of the ſtair-caſe, towards what might
rather be called a narrow gallery than
a paſſage,
2
MARCHMONT.
299
a paſſage, into which ſeveral rooms
opened.
Here,” ſaid ſhe, entering one of
them, “here languiſhed, and at laſt died
of his wounds, the only brother of Sir
Armyn, who was ſhot through the ſhoul-
der at the battle of Stratton. All the
.
range of rooms on this ſide were inha-
bited by the family. That at the end
has been nailed up for many many years,
till it was opened by the bailiffs with
their execution. I wonder they were
not aſhamed of themſelves! But it was
all one to them! Down came the bed,
the flowered damaſk hangings, and all,
all the furniture—though it could be
worth hardly any thing, becauſe the room
was ſo damp from having been ſo long
unopened.”
“ And why was it locked up?” ſaid
Althea.
Only, Madam, becauſe it had been
reckoned unlucky to the family time
out of mind almoſt; and my lady uſed
06
to
300
MARCHMONT.
to ſay, that there were rooms enough in
the houſe, and ſhe did not like to be the
firſt to open this. This apartment was
that belonging to the only daughter of
Sir Armyn; one of the fineſt young
ladies that could be ſeen. Her father,
her mother, and her three brothers, al-
moſt worſhipped the ground ſhe trod
upon! She had lovers enough; and if
ſhe was like her picture, which was
among thoſe that were carried away, ſhe
muſt have been quite an angel. When
fhe was about ſeventeen, juſt before the
breaking out of the troubles, ſhe was
engaged to be married to a young gen-
tleman, one Mr. Eſtcourt; he was the
only ſon of a rich family, now all gone
and diſperſed. That houſe all ſo new
and ſtaring at Hooper's common is built
upon a part of their ground, but the old
manſion has been pulled down a long
while. The young lady and he loved
one another very truly; when, alas! the
Rebellion broke out, and this gentleman's
father,
MARCH MONT.
301
father, himſelf, and all his relations took
part with the parliament againſt the
king; whereupon Sir Armyn command-
ed his daughter to think no more of her
lover. But, poor ſoul! that was, as they
fay, eaſier ſaid than done. She wrote a
letter to him, and entreated him, if he
would not break her heart, to quit the
party of thoſe wicked men-but he ſent
her word he would die with pleaſure for
her, but could not conſent to loſe his
honour, or to ſerve a tyrant; for ſo he
had learned to call his rightful king.
This letter, as ill-fortune would have it,
fell into the hands of the lady's father,
who thereby came to know that his
daughter had written to her lover. He
was more angry than ever, and declared
to the poor girl that he never would for-
give her if ever ſhe attempted to ſend a
line to him again. She promiſed the
would not, and kept her word; but
from that time ſhe became quite dejected,
and ſeldom ſpoke to any body, unleſs it
was
302
MARCHMONT.
was to her favourite brother Edward,
he who was killed in the park. That
very morning before he went out, the
poor young lady, as if ſhe had foreſeen
what was to happen, hung about him
weeping for many minutes.
many minutes. Indeed the
enemy were ſo near, that there was
reaſon enough to be frightened: but ſhe,
unhappy girl! knew that Mr. Eſtcourt's
houſe was a garriſon for the parliament
troops, as this was for the king; and
that very likely her lover was among the
foldiers her brother was going out to
Her brother, though he loved
her very dearly, would not ſeem to un-
derſtand, that, as well as ſhe dared, ſhe
begged him to ſpare Eſtcourt if he met
him: but ſhe was as much afraid of Eſt-
court's killing her brother as of her
brother's killing him. She neither ſpoke
or ate that whole day; but when the
dead body of Mr. Edward was brought
home, ſhe inſiſted upon having it carried
into her room, where, as it was foon
known
meet.
MARCHMONT.
303
known that he was quite gone (for a
bullet had paſſed through his heart), ſhe
ſat by him till he was buried, taking no
more nouriſhment than juſt enough to
keep her alive; and then, without a
murmur, or a complaint, ſhe took to her
bed in the fame room, and grew worſe
and worſe, till in about a fortnight ſhe
died. They ſay, that when her father
knew that ſhe was in ſuch danger, he re-
pented that he had been ſo harſh, and
offered to ſend to Mr. Eſtcourt, who
had not it ſeems been in the attack where
Mr. Edward Marchmont was killed;
but the poor young creature.ſaid it was
then too late, and that ſhe would not
have the unfortunate youth come only
to ſee her die. After he knew ſhe was
dead he became quite diſtracted ; and,
ſeeking to die alſo, he fell covered with
a hundred wounds at the fight of Landf-
down. His father, whoſe only ſon he
was, did not outlive him long, and the
whole houſe and family went to decay.
So
304
MARCHMONT.
So the ſervants that lived here, and the
country folks, fancied that the ſpirits of
all thi ſe unfortunate people uſed to meet
in that room on certain evenings of the
year, there to lament themſelves; and
I have heard ſome of theſe notions were
cauſed by the Cavaliers, who, when their
party was quite ruined, were hid about
in different places till they could make
their eſcape out of the kingdom. How-
ever that was, from one thing to an-
other ſuch ſtories got about, that one
would not inhabit the room, and an-
other would not, till at laſt it was quite
deſerted and ſhut up.”
Althea, whoſe heart funk as this fad
narrative was concluded, felt no incli-
nation to violate again this abode of
traditionary forrow, but followed her
conductreſs into another room, which
Mrs. Moſely told her had been the bed-
chamber of the late Mr. Marchmont.
“ Here,” faid ſhe, “ I attended him
in that long illneſs, which, though it did
not
MARCHMONT.
305
not end in his death then, yet he never
knew an hour's health afterwards. Ah!
how well I remember the look, the voice
of his excellent fon, who uſed to remain
by him whole hours trying to raiſe his
ſpirits and comfort him! Then, when
the ſad proſpect was too much for him-
ſelf, and he could not hide his fears that
his father would be dragged away, ſick
as he was, to priſon, he would go, Ma-
dam, into this cloſet to conceal his tears,
and bade me to tell his father he was
writing to this friend and that friend,
who he was ſure would aſſiſt them; but
he was ſometimes quite loft and bewile
dered, as it were, in thinking of all the
difficulties and troubles that ſurrounded
his family. He would lay down his pen,
and, croſſing his arms upon an old wal-
nut-tree writing deſk that ſtood juſt here,
would remain quite like a ftatue, till
he thought his father might want him:
then try to recover himſelf, would go
again
306
MARCHMONT.
again to the bed-ſide with a cheerful
countenance.”
The figure of Marchmont was at this
moment fo preſent to the memory of
Althea, that ſhe thought ſhe really faw
him leaning dejectedly on his deſk.
The place ſeemed fan&tified by the for-
titude and filial piety of its former inha-
bitant; and not deterred by the duſt and
cobwebs with which they were covered,
ſhe ſtooped and took up one of the five
or fix torn and mouldy books that lay
in a corner. One was a Greek tefta-
ment, which from the date and name had
evidently ſerved Marchmont at ſchool.
Another was part of a dictionary that
appeared alſo to have been of that juve-
nile party; and the laſt, a manuſcript
book, with ſome tranſlations and fen-
tences from the French, Latin, and Ita-
lian, which ſeemed to be in the ſame
hand-writing as the name written in the
book. The reſt were only old acts of
parliament,

MARCH MONT.
307
parliament, and a few leaves of the
Eîkon Bafilike.
Althea felt an irreſiſtible deſire to
poffeſs herſelf of theſe books, and eager-
ly enquired whether ſhe might not take
them to her apartment.
“ Aye, ſure!” replied Mrs. Moſely:
“ but they are ſad duſty old things, and
good for nothing, I ſuppoſe, or they
would not be left here: and they are in
fome foreign tongue.
But perhaps,
Ma’am, you can underſtand them.”
Althea, without accounting even to
herſelf for the motives which made them
appear fo deſirable an acquiſition, col-
lected them in her lap, and expreſſed a
wiſh to end her view of the houſe here.
Indeed there was nothing more to ſee,
if there had been light for her farther ex-
amination; for though the military man
and the antiquary might have found in
many of the lower rooms ſubjects for
their enquiry, Althea had heard nearly
all that moſt intereſted her; and the little
mournful

308
MARCHMONT.
mournful narrative of the unfortunate
Eſtcourt and his intended wife, fimply
as it was told, was to her more affecting
than any relations of the progreſs of a
fiege, or a plan of defence. Warlike
details always exciting ſomething of a
terror mingled with diſguſt; but the
name of Marchmont carried with it par-
ticular intereft. Every memorial round
the houſe was a proof of honourable
reſiſtance of his anceſtors againſt what
they conſidered as the uſurped power of
rebellious demagogues. To theſe, there-
fore, Althea liſtened with untired atten-
tion; though ſhe would on any other oc-
fion have ſhrunk from details of hoftile
operations, which, however diſguiſed by
circumſtances or motives, are ſtill but
details of horror.
During her incomplete ſurvey, how-
ever, the attention the bad ſhewn, and
her ſweet and eaſy manners, had quite
engaged the affections of her new ac-
quaintance Mrs. Moſely, to whom ſhe
gaye

MARCHMONT.
309
gave every refreſhment ſhe would accept
and made her a preſent much above her
expectations. It then became time to
take her leave; but the poor old woman
could hardly prevail upon herſelf to de-
part. It was long ſince ſhe had heard
the voice of kindneſs-it was long ſince
a being reſembling thoſe ſhe had been
uſed to ſee had liſtened to her ſorrows,
and relieved her wants; and to her
Althea appeared rather an angel than a
human creature, when with the moſt
humane conſideration ſhe aſſured her,
that the next fair day ſhe would viſit her
folitary cottage; and that while ſhe was
in that neighbourhood it ſhould want
none of thoſe ſmall comforts which, far
as ſhe was from being affluent, ſhe had
yet the power to beſtow.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.














A 882,973
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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