L I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 8>2.3 
 
 \i . 
 
 I 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 -^ ^OYEi, 
 
 Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Street, London, 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/donaldmonteithha01dave 
 
DONALD MONTEITH, 
 
 THE 
 
 HANDSOMEST MAN OF THE AGE. 
 
 IN FIVE VOLUMES. 
 
 By SELINA davenport, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 '^HE HYPOCRITE, OR THE MODERN JANUS ; THE SONS OF THE VISCOUNT 
 AND DAUGHTERS OF THE EARL, <5e. 
 
 " Hers are the pangs vi wounded pride, 
 Ot blasted hope, of wither'd joy : 
 
 Th'e prop she lean'd on pierc'd her side. 
 The flame she fed burns to destroy. 
 
 In vaiii does Memory renew 
 
 The scetits ot.ceting'd in transport's dye; 
 The SMd reverse soon starts to view. 
 
 And turns the pasi to at,'ony. 
 'Even conscioas Viitue cannot cure 
 
 The pangs to every feeling tlue!" 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 ilontron: 
 
 Printed at the Minerva Press far 
 
 A, K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADENHALt-STTl^^T* 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 X HE pliysician had no sooner quitted 
 
 .^iithe chamber of major Fitzroy, than it 
 
 ^ was entered by Mrs. Scorpion and her 
 
 daughter, who, each di'awing a chair near 
 
 to that of the invahd, hastily inquired if 
 
 doctor Crofts still advised a journey to 
 
 Bath, and whether their friend yet per- 
 
 .^ listed in refusing to try the efficacy of its 
 
 'waters? 
 
 *' His opinion is unchanged," replied 
 major Fitzroy, sighing deeply as he spoke. 
 " The worthy doctor imagines that my 
 shattered frame may receive new vigour 
 
 VOL- I. B 
 
^ DONALD 3I0XTEITH. 
 
 from the change of air, but / think other- 
 mse ; however, I will no longer oppose 
 the united wishes of those w^ho are kind 
 enough to feel interested for my recovery. 
 Life I could cheerfully resign, were it not 
 for the fear, the uncertainty of w^hat may 
 be the fate of my orphan niece, who, by 
 my death, w^ill be depnved of almost her 
 only natural protector." 
 
 " May Heaven long avert so heavy a 
 misfortune !" said Mrs. Scorpion, applying 
 a handkerchief to her eyes, with the well- 
 timed semblance of affliction. " i*Iaiy 
 would not be the only sufferer by such 
 a sad event. I have promised to be a 
 mother to her ; under my protection she 
 shall enjoy all those comforts to whicli 
 she has ever been accustomed; but who, 
 oj' what, can supply the void your loss 
 would occasion to me and Arabella?" 
 The sobs of both ladies visibly affected 
 the -enfeebled major ; he took a hand of 
 eacli, and pressed them alternately to his 
 parched lips. 
 
 " Dearest of womejii !" he replied, '* I 
 
t>ONALD MONTElTtt. § 
 
 liave not now to learn your worth ; nearly 
 isixteen years have we resided under the 
 same roof, during which time I havd 
 experienced from you and Arabella all 
 the tender assiduities of a wife and 
 slaughter; while, in return, I have en^ 
 -deavoured to fulfil thfe duties of a husband 
 ^nd a father, which the peculiarities of 
 your situation, and the circumstances tti 
 vv^hich you were left, alone prevented my 
 performing legally. Do not be thus agi- 
 tated, my dear woman ; Heaven may, iix 
 pity to your distress, spare me yet a little 
 longer ; but should it be ordained other* 
 v/ise, you will find'tliat I have not been 
 imgrateftil for the sacrifice you have mada 
 You and Arabella will possess the trifle t 
 Jiave to bestow, except a small annuity, id 
 prevent our Mary from being wholly de=- 
 pendant on your bounty." 
 
 The distress of the two ladies now be* 
 came so violent, that he gently requested 
 them to retire and compose themselves, and 
 send to him his orphan niece. As soon 
 
4 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 as the wish of her uncle was made known 
 to Miss Fitzroy, she hastened to his apart- 
 ment, and with a countenance in which 
 genuine affection and unconstrained feel- 
 ing was expressed, she bent over him to 
 listen to his commands, pressing at the 
 same time her soft lips to his forehead, 
 while in the sweetest voice she hoped 
 that he was better. 
 
 IMajor Fitzroy beheld the interesting 
 child of his deceased brother, with more 
 than self-reproach. He cast his eyes over 
 her face and form, which gave promise of 
 a beautiful woman, and felt a pang bor- 
 dering on agony, as he reflected that he 
 had so ill fulfilled the sacred trust reposed 
 in him by her father, and that his own 
 boundless extravagance had robbed her of 
 that liberal independence which otherwise 
 he would have been enabled to bestow. 
 A sigh of bitterness escaped him, perhaps 
 caused by the recollection that he had in- 
 volved himself in a connection which, how- 
 ever gratifying to his own private feehngs, 
 would now of necessity make his niece 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 5 
 
 dependant upon the will of one whom 
 he secretly feared was not so strongly at- 
 tached to her as she ought to have been. 
 
 " Ah, my dear uncle," said ^lary, who 
 had anxiously watched every movement 
 of his features, " I /ear you are in great 
 pain; shall I sing the song you praised 
 so much yesterday ?" 
 
 The major nodded his assent, and his 
 niece began to warble forth the ak in so 
 sweet a strain, that, had not his mind been 
 filled by what he now deemed his neglect 
 of her, she would have charmed away every 
 ungentle thought that could have arisen 
 to disturb his repose ; as it was, it only 
 added to his mental sufferings, and she 
 saw with feelings of disappointment the 
 failure of her attempt to amuse him. 
 
 " Thank you, my beloved Mary," cried 
 the invalid ; " you have sung most charm- 
 ingly; but I am too indisposed in mind 
 to be beguiled by your syren voice. Tell 
 me, my dearest girl, are you not dissa- 
 tisfied with the total seclusion in which 
 you have been brought up, and with the 
 
6 DONALD MONTEITIT. 
 
 want of those accomplishments, of which^ 
 by this time, you ought to have been 
 mistress ? Ah, Maiy ! I fear that when- 
 1 am dead, you will sadly reproach my 
 neglect of your education, and I shall 
 be remembered only as one v/ho possessed 
 an inestimable jewel, without knowing its 
 true value/' 
 
 The heart of IMary was too full for 
 utterance ; she turned aside lier head, to 
 conceal from her uncle her tears. 
 
 " I see, my dear girl, that you feel the 
 truth of what I have just said; but, dearest 
 Mary, do not hate the memory of your 
 poor misguided uncle ; if I live, you shall, 
 have masters to instruct you in all you. 
 desire to learn ; and if I die, Mrs. Scorpion 
 shall procure them for you. My jNIary 
 ^shall yet be all her aspiring genius desires."" 
 
 " Oh, my beloved uncle," replied the 
 jgobbing girl, " you mistake the cause of 
 my distress. I thought not of myself — 
 you spoke of dying, and could I da 
 otherwise than weep? Indeed, indeed I 
 ghall ever think of you with love, respect* 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 7 
 
 and gratitude." The major groaned. "Pray 
 believe me, uncle; I know I am a sad 
 thoughtless girl, but indeed it is quite 
 impossible for me to do any thing but love 
 you with my whole heart and soul ; and 
 ff JMrs. Scorpion has been telling tales of 
 me to you, uncle, she is very cruel." 
 
 " Mrs. Scorpion, my Mary, is one of 
 your best friends, and when I am no 
 more, will protect you from- every ill, 
 and watch over you with a mother's 
 tenderness. She has her peculiarities of 
 temper, but she is an excellent woman, 
 and I eould not entrust you to one more 
 worthy of all your respect and affection. 
 Under her care, you will cease to re- 
 member the home of your cliildhood ; 
 and it is not yet too late, my Mary, with 
 your talents, to acquire those ornamented 
 branches of education which have been 
 too long delayed. Tell me, my dear love, 
 with the natural sinceiity of your dispo- 
 sition, do you not in particular lament 
 your ignorance of that fascinating science 
 
8 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 for which you appear to have a heaven- 
 born talent?" 
 
 "Certainly, my dear uncle. But if I 
 have ventured to express to IMrs. Scorpion 
 my regret at not learning music, it arose 
 chiefly from my desire to become more 
 entertaining, more pleasing in your eyes." 
 
 " You shall learn it, ^lary," cried the 
 major, folding her to his bosom. " You 
 are a good, affectionate girl, and, if God 
 spares my hfe, I will make amends for 
 my neglect. But I sent for you, Mary, 
 to make known my intention of allowing 
 you to enjoy a gratification, of which I 
 would give a great deal to be a spectator. 
 I am informed that a respectable company 
 of comedians arrived yesterday in our 
 town, and that they design to perform 
 to-night a very excellent play. Go, ^lary, 
 to Mrs. Scorpion, and if she consents, you 
 shall accompany her and Arabella. Let 
 Thomas be sent early, to procure the best 
 places." 
 
 This unexpected indulgence operated 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 9 
 
 like magic on the frame of INIary; joy 
 ciimsoned her cheek, and added to the 
 lustre of her eyes ; yet she hesitated : — 
 " Oh my dear uncle," said she, " how good 
 you are ! how much I am obliged to you ! 
 but you are ill, and I would rather stay 
 at home and nurse you." 
 
 " No, no, my sweet child," replied the 
 major, visibly affected by her tenderness ; 
 " I can spare you to-night. Go and make 
 known my wishes to Mrs. Scorpion." 
 
 Mary's heart beat high with hope and 
 youthful delight, as she hastened to the 
 drawing-room, while that of her uncle 
 felt more depressed than usual. A variety 
 of painful recollections rushed into his 
 mind, and the stings of an accusing con- 
 science were even more keen, more hard 
 to bear, than those of his body. 
 
 Major Fitzroy was the second son of 
 Sir Charles Fitzroy. He had, together 
 with his eldest brother, entered early ii\to 
 the army, and during the American war 
 had greatly distinguished himself; but a. 
 
10 DONALD MONTEITtf. 
 
 period was soon put to his military glory; 
 he had the misfortune to lose his leg, in 
 the same engagemcjirHn v/hich his brother 
 had his right arm shot off; and both these 
 yoimg heroes returned to England, more 
 grieved at their inability to serve their 
 country, than dispirited at their own per- 
 jSonal deprivations. Their father received 
 them with additional tenderness, and 
 jstrove, by every possible art, to render 
 home more pleasing than usual. His 
 eldest son, shortly after his return, married 
 the proud, but beautiful daughter of lord 
 
 C , and, upon that occasion, quitted 
 
 once more his paternal roof to reside with 
 his bride's father. 
 
 The death of sir Charles, while it en- 
 riched his lieir, did not bereave the major 
 and his youngest brother of the comforts 
 which were ever to be found within the 
 walls of their old family mansion. The 
 young sir Charles preferred tlie pleasures 
 of a town residence, and seldom troubled 
 his Kentish estate with his presence, which 
 therefore contiimed to be the chief abode 
 
DOXALD ]\rONTEITH. II 
 
 of his brothers, until the youngest, and 
 the fatlier of Mary, quitted the peacefLil 
 scenes of his infancy for the dangerous 
 profession of the navy. Home then be- 
 came irksome and solitary to the major, 
 and he therefore accepted of an invitation 
 from sir Charles to join him in London. 
 It was then that he became acquainted 
 more fully with the ungenerous nature of 
 his noble sister-in-law — it was then that 
 he first learnt to despise her. 
 
 The steward belonging to sir Charles's 
 estate was a man of good connexions and 
 liberal education. Unforeseen misfortunes, 
 and a large and increasing family, made 
 him resolve to sacrifice his ov\'n private 
 feelings for the good of his children. He 
 preferred being dependant on the favour 
 of the late sir Charles Fitzroy, to that of 
 his own relations ; nor had he cause to 
 regret his choice, since in his employer he 
 found a man of honour and humanity, a 
 friend in the strictest sense of the word, 
 and who, in his last moments, did not 
 fbrget to reward the fidelity and rectitude 
 
12 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 of Mr. Seymour, by a valuable pecuniary 
 present. This gentleman's eldest daughter 
 was at once the object of adoration to both 
 the brothers of sir Charles; but the major, 
 diffident of success, from the fear that so 
 lovely a girl would not bestow herself on 
 a cripple for life, concealed the attachment 
 to which her beauty and modesty had 
 given birth ; while George, too open for 
 disguise, and too careless of the favour of 
 his right honourable sister, would not leave 
 England without the secret promise of 
 Miss Seymour to become his wife on his 
 return. 
 
 Some good-natured friend in the neigh- 
 bourhood had given lady Sarah informa- 
 tion of the young people's evident affection 
 for each other, and awakened all the pride 
 of her soul, which sickened at the idea of 
 so degrading an alliance. The major was 
 immediately applied to for all he knew on 
 the subject, and Mr. Seymour received a 
 severe letter from her ladyship, admonish- 
 ing him to keep a strict watch over his 
 daughter, lest she should hold any com- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 13 
 
 munication with her imprudent lover. Her 
 ladyship, however, condescended to say, 
 that she did not believe he was privy to 
 this attachment, which he must be well 
 aware, unless put a stop to, would end in 
 the ruin of her brother's prospects, and 
 considerably injure his own, and those of 
 his young family. 
 
 Mr. Seymour lost not a moment in re- 
 plying to this epistle. Every hne evinced 
 his wounded honour, and his ignorance of 
 the affair. He concluded by assuring her 
 ladyship, that nothing on his part should 
 be left undone, to prevent all further in- 
 tercourse between his daugliter ani Mr. 
 Fitzroy. Miss Seymour was accordingly, 
 conveyed to the house of a distant relation, 
 near London, to whom her father entrusted 
 the secret cause of her removal. 
 
 Vain, however, were the prudent pre- 
 cautions of Mr. Seymour, and the threat- 
 ened anger of lady Sarah. George was not 
 long in discovering the retreat of his be- 
 loved, and they were privately married 
 l?efore his second departure. Mr. Seymour, 
 
14 DONALD MONTEITH, 
 
 incensed at what he termed the meanness 
 of his daughter's spirit, in thus forcing 
 herself into a family that would never 
 acknowledge her, was the first to discover 
 it to sir Charles ; and the same post an- 
 nounced to the imprudent pair his firm 
 determinadon never to receive again his 
 disobedient cliild. This was followed up 
 by the signified hope of lady Sarah, that 
 the brother who had thus voluntarily dis- 
 graced himself, v. ould never presume to 
 attempt to introduce his v/ife into the 
 family circle w^hich he had thus degraded, 
 A short note from sir Charles betrayed 
 the perfect congeniality which subsisted 
 between his sentiments and those of his 
 lady. 
 
 George, witli all the fervor of a British 
 sailor, swore bitterly at the fancied great- 
 ness of lady Sarah, and the unbrotherly 
 weakness, and want of courag-e in his bro^ 
 ther, who lie knew Vv^as com.pletely go- 
 verned by his wife ; and after venthig his 
 anger, by cordially wishing her ladyship, 
 and all who resembled her, in the deserts 
 
DOXALD MONTEITH. 15 
 
 of Arabia, he flung himself on the couch 
 by the side of his weeping Mary. Taking 
 her in his arms, he tenderly kissed away 
 the trickling tears — "A'^^eep not, my svvxet 
 girl," said he; '"you have not lost, but gained 
 by this banishment. The haughty arro- 
 gance of lady Sarah would ill accord with 
 the liberality and sweetness of your dis- 
 position. If we are poor in pocket, we 
 are rich in love. I envy not the cringing 
 favourites of m.y proud sister; one smile 
 of tliine, one kiss of fond affection, repays 
 me for this estrangement from my brother's 
 house." 
 
 " Eut my flither ! my dear mother !" 
 sobbed the distressed Mary. 
 
 "They will soon relent, my beloved, and 
 restore ) ou to their favour ; while my un- 
 alterable affection shall beguile your present 
 mortification of half its sting. We have 
 yet a steady friend left us in the major." 
 
 This was tme. Deeply incensed at the 
 conduct of lady Sarah and her husband, 
 this good-natured man openly espoused 
 the cause of the exiled pair, and drew 
 
16 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 upon himself the displeasure of their proud 
 enemies. Disgusted, he left them, and 
 took up his abode with George and his 
 amiable wife ; nor did he ever after hold 
 any communication with sir Charles or her 
 ladyship, until circumstances compelled 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Seymour also remained inexorable: 
 yet his anger might admit of some excuse, 
 since his child, whom he had reared with 
 every parental care, whom he had rendered 
 worthy to adorn the most exalted station, 
 and whose mind he had stored with every 
 lesson of virtue and dignified pride, had 
 flown from his parental arms, had stolen 
 into a family who were incapable of ap- 
 preciating the value of real merit, and 
 who might, perhaps, imagine that he 
 basely connived at her conduct. This 
 painful supposition strengthened his re- 
 sentment, and steeled his bosom to all the 
 pleadings of his wife, and all the apphca- 
 tions of the lovely offender. 
 
 Mrs. Fitzroy was soon convinced that 
 she had nothing to hope, and that the sin 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 17 
 
 of disobedience brings with it its own 
 punishment. She soon gave birth to a 
 son, whose innocent smiles and resem- 
 blance to his father beguiled the tedious 
 hours of her temporary widowhood. Four 
 years after her marriage, the little Mary 
 was born. The joyful intelligence of this 
 event, which gave rapture to the heart of 
 her father, was soon converted into a 
 sorrow that knew no bounds. Mrs. Fitz- 
 roy only survived this second blessing 
 three months ; yet she hved long enough 
 to experience the happiness of placing her 
 little girl in the arms of its father, and of 
 breathing her last on his bosom. 
 
 The imperious duty of his profession 
 soon tore the distracted father from his 
 motherless infants. He left them with a 
 presentiment that he should never return. 
 " My noble brother," said he, as he wrung 
 the hand of the major at parting, " must 
 now become the sole protector of my 
 children : the French fleet is expected to 
 come out ; I feel that my days are num- 
 bered. When I am dead, Charles will not 
 
18 DO^'ALD MONTEITir. 
 
 refuse to assist in providing for my boy r 
 but never, never let the proud lady Sarah 
 have the power to instil into the mind of 
 my daughter her own detested arrogance. 
 To your tenderness I confide this treasure. 
 Should she survive tlie loss of both her 
 parents, she will not be sensible of it under 
 your protection. To you she will owe 
 every tiring,, and if she is like her mother, 
 yoa will be amply repaid hy her affec- 
 tionate attentions." 
 
 The major, in the fullness of his hearty 
 promised all that his brother desired. He 
 repc-ated his firm resolution never to enter 
 the married state himself, but to devote 
 his days to the welfare and happiness of 
 the little motherless infants. 
 
 Captain Fitzroy was destined too soon 
 to follow his beloved wife. He fell glo- 
 riously m the service of his king and 
 country, in a gallant action with the re- 
 publican French in 1794, bequeathing his 
 son as a legacy to sir Cliarles, Vvdth a hope 
 that he would be brought up to his own 
 pmfessron. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. IJ) 
 
 The sudden death of a brother still be- 
 loved — a brother who not only promised 
 to be an ornament to the service he had 
 engaged in, but to the family who had 
 thus cruelly neglected him, awakened all 
 tlie dormant affection of sir Charles, and 
 the vain regrets of lady Sarah, v/ho now 
 acknowledged that she had carried her 
 pride of ancestry too far. His orphan boy 
 was immediately sought for by her lady- 
 ship, who condescended to call herself on 
 the major, who, on his part, very unwil- 
 lingly resigned the child, in compliance 
 to the wishes of his brother, not those of 
 his own heai*t. To all the professions, 
 however, of renewed esteem, uttered by 
 lady Sarah, he paid a cold, though civil 
 attention, resisting, most firmly, her offers 
 of taking the little IMary, and bringing 
 her up with her own children. 
 
 The loss of his favourite brother, and 
 the amiable partner of his affections, was 
 severely felt by the major. He sought to 
 banish in society the remembrance of the 
 void it had occasioned, the melancholy 
 
W DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 blank it had made in his store of 
 comforts. He drank freely, gamed high, 
 and when his health was impaired, and 
 his fortune materially injured, found too 
 late that dissipation is not the road to 
 tranquillity and happiness. He resolved 
 to quit London, and, in the retirement of 
 the country, find what he had long sought 
 for, but in vain. Never had he wholly 
 forgiven sir Charles for his unkind treat- 
 ment of his deceased brother ; they met, 
 therefore, but seldom, and when they did, 
 more of politeness than affection vras ma^ 
 nifested by both. 
 
 When the major paid his farewell visit 
 to lady Sarah, he took with him his orphan 
 niece, more on account of her seeing her 
 brother, than out of compliment to her 
 aunt. Little JMary was then in her seventh 
 year, tall of her age, blooming as a cherub, 
 and full of grace and the most winning 
 vivacity. Her brother w^as three years 
 older ; he was dressed as a midshipman, 
 being on the eve of joining his sliip, under 
 the protection of a friend of his uncle's. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 21 
 
 The strong resemblance lie bore to his 
 deceased father brought tears into the eyes ^ 
 
 of the major, while the warmth with which 
 the young sailor embraced his sister, the 
 pride with which he seemed to compare 
 her uncultivated charms with those of his 
 fashionable cousins, secured to him for > 
 
 ever the good opinion of the major. /; 
 
 Little JMary was equally delighted with ] 
 
 her brother. Her eyes occasionally wan- 
 dered over the costly ornaments of the 
 drawing-room ; she longed to touch, to ex- 
 amine their different beauties ; she wished 
 to ask their names of Miss Fitzroy, but 
 the hauteur of her manners, the freezing 
 coldness of her looks, silenced the httle 
 inquisitive girl, and she again turned to 
 her brother, whose open countenance 
 beamed with animating tenderness, as he 
 continued to gaze on his interesting sister. 
 
 Lady Sarah beheld with vexation the 
 manifest superiority this child of nature 
 possessed over her own daughters, with 
 whom every pains had been taken, and on 
 
221 DONALD MONl^EITlt* 
 
 whom every expence had been lavished, 
 to render them, in short, models of affec- 
 tation, of pride, and deception. She there- 
 fore secretly rejoiced at the obstinate per- 
 severance of the major, who had withheld 
 from her family tills dangerous rival to 
 its peace. At parting, lady Sarah placed 
 round the snowy neck of her ioo beautiful 
 niece a rich gold chain, to which was sus- 
 pended a cross of six different jewels; then 
 tcoldly kissing her forehead, over wdiich 
 fell a profusion of dark brown ringlets, she 
 told her to wccir it for the sake of lady 
 Sarah Fitzroy. 
 
 "Mary," said tlie major, "you may keep 
 it in remembrance of her ladyship's con- 
 descension, but it is too valuable for you 
 to wear in the sph^ere of life in which you 
 will henceforward move: the fortune 
 which I have to leave you will be too 
 ^mall to allow of your weariiig ornaments 
 so costly." 
 
 " l^ut, my dear sir," cried young Fitzroy 
 hastily, "' I hope to rise in my profession, 
 
DONALD MONTEITil-. 2 J 
 
 to gain prize-money, and to join with you 
 in providing for my sister. All that I 
 have shall he hers," 
 
 The major affectionately emhraced his 
 nephew, who cut off one of the shining 
 curls that hung over tlie rosy cheek of 
 Mary, and gave her a lock of his hair in 
 return, " When I see you Jiext, IMary," 
 said he, " I will give you a prettier pre- 
 sent ; hut keep this until Vv^e meet again* 
 When I return to England, and my first 
 respects are paid here, I vvill fly to your 
 retreat — I see hy my uncle's eyes I shall 
 be welcome." 
 
 Little IdsLiy shed tears at leaving her 
 brother ; but the promise of seeing him 
 speedily, and the vivacity of her own na- 
 ture, soon made her forget her first cause 
 of sorrow. The major was accompanied 
 in his retirement by the widow of a bro- 
 ther-officer, who was to officiate at the 
 head of his domestic concerns, and assist 
 in the education of his niece. This lady 
 had first become acquainted wdth him 
 through the medium of a well- written -ad- 
 
24 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 vertisement, which attracted tlie attention 
 of Mrs. Fitzroy, who was desirous of being 
 spared the trouble and expence of house- 
 keeping, during the absence of her hus- 
 band. The major first called on Mrs. 
 Scorpion, and was so well pleased with 
 her appearance, and the comforts her house 
 afforded, that he begged to become its 
 inmate, as well as his sister and her son. 
 The terms he proposed were too advan- 
 tageous to be refused by the lady; and 
 the major and his sister removed as soon 
 as possible to the residence of the agree^ 
 able widow. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion was then in the first year 
 of her widowhood : she was left with one 
 child, a girl about three years old, and 
 with a very small income, to support her- 
 self genteelly. As she was mistress of a 
 
DONALD MONTISITH. S5 
 
 house handsomely fitted up, she deter- 
 mined to make that contribute to her 
 necessities, and accordingly advertised for 
 a lady or two to board with her. For* 
 tunately for her, the style of the adver- 
 tisement (not, however, drawn up by her- 
 self) caught the eye of tlie major, and 
 thus she became acquainted with a man 
 whose life and fortune were ever after at 
 her service. 
 
 It had always been the painful belief of 
 major Fitzroy, that he was destined to 
 pass through life without enjoying the 
 raptures of connubial happiness. His mu- 
 tilated fonri, which compelled him to walk 
 on crutches, (for the ball had carried with 
 it part of the thigh, and thus precluded 
 the possibility of a false leg being resorted 
 to,) made him imagine that no female 
 heart, such as he should select for a com- 
 panion for life, would devote itself faith- 
 fully to him. Led away by this mistaken 
 notion, it was not to be supposed that he 
 could live under the same roof v/ith a 
 
 VOL. L C 
 
5:0 DONALD MONTEITII, 
 
 young^ and handsome woman, "who evi- 
 dently made it her study to anticipate his 
 ^visiles, and to conduce by every means to 
 Ids comforts, without feehng and testify- 
 ing his grateful sense of her kindness. 
 
 Gratitude, in a bosom like that of the 
 3najor, soon ripened into a warmer senti- 
 jusnt, and jMrs. Scorpion perceived with 
 delight tliat her prey was secure. The 
 major would have married her, but that 
 was not her aim. By this she would lose 
 licr aimuit}^ and be subject once again to 
 tlie commands of a husband, who might 
 become her tyrant, notwithstanding he 
 l)ore no aifmity to such a creature. JMrs. 
 Scorpion was indeed by no means in- 
 clined to exchange her present freedom 
 for the chains of matrimony, even should 
 they be silken ones; she therefore 77?06^(?^% 
 declined the offer of his hand, at the same 
 time assvmng him, that she felt for him all 
 the tenderness of a sister, and so highly 
 did she think of his honour, that notwith- 
 standing tlie avowal of his passion, she 
 should not scruple to continue as usual 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 27 
 
 her tender attentions to his health and 
 welfare. 
 
 The major, though disappointed in liis 
 matrimonial speculations, found, in the 
 increasing kindness of her manners, some 
 alleviation to his chagrin. He soon, how- 
 ever, ceased to feel mortified at his rejec- 
 tion, and there were those who occasionally 
 visited at Mrs. Scoi^ion's, who smiled sig- 
 nificantly at the Plato7\ic affection which 
 subsisted between that lady and himself; 
 -wliile otliers, more open in their reflections, 
 jiesitated not to pass the severest censure 
 on the artful coiiduct of the fair widov.-. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion liad gained by lier btuuity 
 alone the heart of her late husband. She 
 .sprung from a family of hard-vv^orking 
 mechanics, known only in the village in 
 wliicli they had resided for several gene- 
 rations. Tiie sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, 
 and good figure of Mrs. Scorpion, made 
 her the reigning toast of tlie neighbour- 
 hood, and several of the gentlemen's sons 
 round the })lace became the avowed ad- 
 c *2 
 
28 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 mirers of her rustic charms. The glory of 
 possessing them was destined to lieutenant 
 Scorpion, who carried her off in triumph, 
 to the no small vexation of her numerous 
 lovers. Uneducated, vain, and artful to 
 excess, she had yet sufficient sense and 
 penetration to discover that the wife of a 
 gentleman should kiiow how to conduct 
 herself in society, without bringing the 
 blush on her husband's cheek ; Mrs. Scor- 
 pion, therefore, sedidously copied the man- 
 ners of those ladies who, as wives of the 
 officers in tlie same regiment with lieute- 
 nant Scorpion, good-naturedly made a 
 point of inviting her to join in their 
 friendly parties. 
 
 The loss of her husband, for whom she 
 entertained a real affection, and the very 
 laudable desire of providing handsomely 
 for his child, made her resort to all her 
 native cunning, on discovering the weak- 
 ness of major Fitzroy. Slie sought only 
 to increase the fortune of her daughter, 
 without giving up her own liberty. Her 
 interested feelings, and habitual dissimu- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 29 
 
 lation, made it an easy task for her to 
 render herself absolutely necessary to the 
 happiness of major Fitzroy, whose blind 
 partiality made him insensible to many 
 acts of selfish meanness, which now and 
 then were displayed by his chosen favourite. 
 
 The death of Mrs. Fitzroy and his bro- 
 ther placed the major more than ever in 
 her power; and he acknowledged that, 
 unless ]\Irs. Scorpion continued to be his 
 guardian angel, he could not outlive the 
 beloved relatives he had lost. Mrs. Scor- 
 pion accordingly became the adopted mo- 
 ther of the orphan daughter of captain 
 Fitzroy, and the bosom friend and coun- 
 sellor of the major, who felt for her a pas- 
 sion of which she w^as unw^orthy, and 
 openly declared that Arabella Scorpion 
 should share with IMary Fitzroy his for- 
 tune and his love. 
 
 His fortune, however, was considerably 
 injured by the unbounded extravagance 
 of this weak, yet worthy man. He lived 
 in a style far above his income; and though 
 Mrs. Scorpion made the servants fast, for 
 
^0 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 the feasting of their master, yet the major 
 soon found that it was necessaiy for liini 
 to retrench his expences, and retire into 
 the country, or prepare for inevitable ruin. 
 A house was fixed on to receive them in 
 his native county, not many miles distant 
 irom Dover ; and here the major for some 
 years continued to experience the pleasures 
 of a well-regulated family, and the grati- 
 fication of a few select friends, whose so- 
 ciety enlivened the sameness of his own 
 fireside. His chief vexation arose from the 
 account given him by Mrs. Scorpion of 
 the disposition of his niece. She repre- 
 sented IMary to be so perfectly wild, so 
 dreadfully thoughtless, that, in short, she 
 could do nothing with her ; she had not 
 sufficient steadiness to acquire any one 
 accomplishment, although she believed she 
 might have talents for all ; that, in fact, 
 she was a child that required to be kept 
 very strictly, and she was sorry to say, 
 that she feared her to be w^anting in na- 
 tural affection. The major liad too higli 
 an opinion of .Mrs. Scorpion to suspect the 
 
DONALB MOKTEITH. Si 
 
 triiln of what slie so frequently affirmed^ 
 even with tears in lier eyes : " for not« 
 withstanding all these faults, tlie child was 
 as dear to her as her own." 
 
 So said Mrs. Scoipion; but far other- 
 wise were her real feelings for the lovely 
 orphan. She saw, with the natural fear 
 and envy of a little mind, that IMary Fitz- 
 roy would grow up a dangerous rival to 
 the advancement of Arabella Scorpion — 
 she saw, with bitter vexation, the opening 
 beauty, the unstudied graces of the sv/eet 
 girl committed to her care ; she dreaded 
 also the influence she might possess over 
 Her uncle, and determined that she, at 
 least, should derive no advantage from a 
 polished education: while lier own daugh- 
 ter studied under some of the best masters, 
 and was sedulously brought forward upon 
 every occasion to shew forth her powers, 
 I^Iary was consigned to the care of a ser- 
 vant, or suffered to ramble over the ex- 
 tensive grounds of the house with her 
 dog, and whatever book she might secretly 
 purloin from the library. 
 
352! DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Tlie major felt severely this disappoint- 
 ment of his hopes, and regretted the un- 
 tameable levity of his niece, whose high 
 spirits, unchecked by the gentle voice of 
 maternal tenderness, too often confirmed 
 the ill-natured remarks of Mrs. Scorpion; 
 Arabella, therefore, more than ever, became 
 the pet of ma;ior Fitzroy, in proportion as 
 he believed that his niece was deficient in 
 all those amiable qualities which she ap- 
 peared to possess. 
 
 When ^lary was in her thirteenth year, 
 Mrs. Scorpion was compelled to pay a visit 
 to London, which she knew would detain 
 her several weeks. The major was labour- 
 ing under an attack of a liver complaint, 
 and unable to accompany her; Miss Scor- 
 pion was therefore obliged to remain, and 
 do the duties of both nurse and house- 
 keeper. It was now that the neglected 
 and calumniated ^lary fkst tasted the 
 sweets of her uncle's uncontrolled affec- 
 tion. She was constantly in his chamber, 
 beguiling the painful hours of his confine- 
 ment with her smiles and caresses ; even 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. SS 
 
 the presence of Arabella, whom she h«d 
 been taught to fear and revercact could 
 not restrain the overllo"'^ irg^' of her tier.rt. 
 She saw her uncle suffering under an acute 
 and dangerous malady ; she heard him 
 speak to her in the voice of alFectionate 
 praise ; she watched the languid smile of 
 grateful pleasure enliven his pale face, as 
 she strove by every art to amuse him, and 
 she felt repaid for all his past neglect. 
 ^Irs. Scorpion, her rigid, her ill-natiu'ed 
 monitress, was no longer there to chill the- 
 warmth of her words and actions. Her 
 imcle testified his satisfaction of her con- 
 duct, and the frowns of Arabella passed 
 unnoticed by Mary. 
 
 Major Fitzroy also had now leisure to* 
 observe the real character of his orphan: 
 niece; if he discovered some blameable 
 traits, they were soon effaced by the can- 
 dour, generosity, and exquisite tenderness 
 of her nature. He drew from the artless 
 Mary an open avowal of her dislike to the 
 tyranny exerted over her by IMrs. Scor- 
 pion; but on this subject, however, the 
 c3 
 
34 DONALD MONTEITII. 
 
 major would not suffer her to proceed. 
 Whatever were his own private opinions 
 on the conduct of tliat lady, he would not 
 suffer his niece to mention her name, with- 
 out those expressions of gratitude and 
 veneration wliich he conceived she was 
 entitled to fi'om her adopted daughter. 
 Mary, though but a child, was too candid 
 to utter sentiments she did not feel, and 
 therefore forebore ta speak, as much as 
 possible, of her absent friend. This did 
 not escape the observation of her uncle, 
 and it gave him no small share of concern 
 to perceive the rooted dislike of Mary to 
 the woman he prized so highly, and to 
 whose care he should consign her in case 
 of his death. 
 
 The sweetness of JMary's voice, which 
 he now for the first time became acquainted 
 with, made him anxious that she should 
 learn music, and he be^^io-ed Arabella to 
 teach her a little song, in order to siu'prise 
 JMrs. Scorpion on lier retin-n. Arabella 
 could not refuse ; indeed she had no incli- 
 nation to deny the request of the major^ 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. S5 
 
 as Mary would often have experienced licr 
 kindness, but for the commands of her 
 mother ; as it was, she sought every op- 
 portunity, during her absence, to convince 
 Mary that she was more attached to licr 
 at heart than she dared to shew openly. 
 Mary, young as she was, took every me- 
 thod of convincing Miss Scorpion that slie 
 was not unworthy her good opinion, and 
 that the unconquerable dislike she enter- 
 tained for her mother did not extend itself 
 towards the daughter, for whose sake she 
 was so unjustly deprived of the m_ost solid 
 advantages. Willing to oblige her uncle, 
 she paid great attention to the instructions 
 of Arabella, and soon gave proofs of pos- 
 sessing for ike science that natural talent 
 wliich lier good-natured teacher v\^as mi- 
 serably in ^vant of 
 
 The return of Mrs. Scoi-pion was the 
 signal of vexation and penance to the ser- 
 vants, and of fresh mortification to Mar^v'. 
 Arabella was oblio^ed to resume her usual 
 line of conduct, and iShiiy v/as seldom 
 admitted more than once a-dav to the' sick * 
 
36 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 chamber ol her uncle. The song she liad 
 learned to play, and to accompany with 
 her voice, was heard by Mrs. Scorpion 
 with the scowl of anger and chagTin. " It 
 was all very well ! she coiild see through 
 the art of Mary, who had merely learnt it 
 to deceive her uncle ; but she knew best 
 the disposition of the girl, and was certain 
 that she was by far too unsteady ever to 
 become mistress of any thing." 
 
 The major was now too unwell to ven- 
 ture at differing in opinion with one who 
 at least was perfect mistress over him. He 
 nevertheless determined, should his health 
 be re-established, that his niece should 
 have a fair opportunity of proving the 
 truth of Mrs. Scorpion's assertions. Mary, 
 as usual, was consigned to the care of a 
 servant, the chief part of the day, except 
 when Arabella good-naturedly stole to 
 her chamber, to give her some instructions 
 in dancing, &c. or when sent for by her 
 uncle, who now made a point of seeing 
 her in the course of the day. His health 
 continuing to grow worse, his physician 
 
1)0NALD MONTEITH. 37 
 
 advised him to try the effects of the Bath 
 waters, and he at last resolved to satisfy 
 the anxiety of his family, Jby attempting 
 the journey, while he had strength and 
 spirits left to perform it. The latter, how- 
 ever, were frequently depressed, even to 
 tears, when he reflected on the probabihty 
 of his own death depriving him of the 
 means of rectifying his errors, with respect 
 to his orphan niece, and his inability either 
 to provide for her as he ought to have 
 done, or to leave her under any other care 
 than that of Mrs. Scorpion. 
 
 Still strongly attached to that lady, the 
 major could not, however, deny that ^he 
 had allowed herself to be unjustly pre- 
 judiced against the innocent child of his 
 deceased brother, and could only attribute 
 her unkind conduct to the fear of her own 
 daughter being eclipsed by the superior 
 beauty and talents of his niece. The con* 
 viction that his blameable confidence, his 
 unsuspecting affection for Mrs. Scorpion, 
 had materially injured the orphan so sa- 
 credly given to his charge, contributed to 
 
3c^ DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 increase tlie illness of major Fitzroy ; even 
 tlie additional attentions of liis long-che- 
 rished friend swkI companion could not 
 restore him to his self-esteem ; and Mrs. 
 Scorpion, from motives of prudence, silently 
 consented to all the proposals in favour of 
 Mary, and to her joining in the necessary 
 care and attendance of her uncle. 
 
 She had contrived, by dint of the most 
 rigid economy, and by procuring for her- 
 self the hatred of the domestics, to lay by 
 something considerable, from the allow- 
 ance v/hich she received for the expences 
 of the house; and so well did she conceal 
 her meanness from the major, who was 
 himself the soul of liberality, tiiat he was 
 pleased with the idea that his servants 
 lived equally as well as themselves. Not- 
 withstanding this secret hoard, Mrs. Scor- 
 pion looked forward to something better, 
 and on this account she did not choose to 
 offend the mf>jor, lest in his last moments 
 he should bequeath to his niece tlie fortune 
 which she had long considered as her due. 
 On this account also, she cunningly gave 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 39 
 
 way to his future plans for the improve, 
 merit of jMary's education, and even be- 
 haved to her with less severity, allowing- 
 Arabella to become her companion, and 
 occasional instructress in her leisure hours, 
 and for the same reason did not oppose 
 the wish of major Fitzroy, that JMary 
 should enjoy the gratification of going to 
 the play. 
 
 Accordingly JVIrs. Scorpion dispatched 
 a servant to procure the best seats, and to 
 leave a note for JNIr. Forrester, who was 
 an intimate acquaintance, requesting him 
 to accompany them. This gentleman im- 
 mediately called at the major's, and made 
 an offer of his carriage to convey them to 
 the theatre, which, for a country one, v/as 
 by no means contemptible; he also assured 
 her that he doubted not but that she 
 would be well entertained, as the company 
 was strengthened by several good per- 
 formers from Drury-lane. Mrs. Scorpion 
 was not a little pleased at the prospect of 
 shewing off Arabella to the neighbouring 
 families, some of whom were of distinction, 
 
40 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 and under the auspices, too, of a man of 
 Mr. Forresters character and fortune. 
 Arabella was therefore dressed by her 
 ambitious mother with all possible care 
 and attention, as to what became her most. 
 Loaded with finery, and gHttering with 
 ornaments, she was a striking contrast to 
 !Mary, who, though now fourteen, and tall 
 of her age, wore a plain muslin frock, with 
 no other ornament than the chain and 
 cross given her by her aunt, the right 
 honourable lady Sat^ah Fitz7^oy. In her 
 bosom she placed a rose, which was her 
 favourite flower ; and thus simply attired, 
 glowing with health and opening beauty, 
 she followed her adopted mother to the 
 carriage, which conveyed them to the 
 theatre. 
 
 The arrival of the London performersr 
 had filled the house at an early hour, and 
 the box in which the major's servant was 
 keeping the fi'ont seats, was also full. IMr. 
 Forrester handed Mrs. Scorpion to her 
 place, and a gentleman, who had risen on 
 their entrance, offered his sei-vices to Ara- 
 bella and her young companion, and then 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 4^1 
 
 placed himself behind the latter. Mary, 
 to whom novelty made the scene appear 
 like fairy -land, could not refrain from ex- 
 pressing to Arabella her delight at all she 
 saw and heard. Her eyes eagerly ran 
 over every part of the house, and, at the 
 close of the first act, when Mrs. Scorpion 
 rose to speak to some one in the next box, 
 Mary, on turning her head, perceived that 
 she had fixed the attention of the gentle- 
 man that had conducted her to her seat. 
 His looks embarrassed her ; they called 
 the blush into her cheeks. Confused, she 
 sat down, played with her fan, nor ven- 
 tured to look again until the second act 
 was concluded. 
 
 The play was the Duenna, and Mar}% 
 who in reality was passionately fond of 
 music, and whose ear was extremely cor* 
 rect and fine, was enchanted witii some 
 of the songs; she inquired of Arabella if 
 she knew one in particular which had 
 cavight her attention? Miss Scorpion re- 
 plied in the negative. "You shall hear 
 me sing it to-morrow," said Mary ; ** I am 
 
4i2 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 sure I know it." Arabella smiled incre- 
 dulously. "You may believe me," con- 
 tinued Mary, turning round with quick- 
 ness, and encountering again the gaze of 
 the stranger; yet it did not distress her as 
 before ; the expression of his features was 
 «o mild, so tender, that she only thought 
 how much she should like to have such a 
 brother. 
 
 At the conclusion of the entertainment, 
 Mr. Forrcster quitted them to seek his 
 servants, and on his return, the stranger 
 boAving gracefiilly, requested to be allowed 
 the honour of conducting Miss Scorpion 
 and Mary to their carriage. JNIrs. Scorpion, 
 who instantly foresaw some noble lover 
 for her daughter, smiled encouragingly on 
 the gentleman, as she gave her consent, 
 v/hile Mary's face and neck crimsoned 
 with blushes, as she felt foi* the first time 
 her little soft hand pressed in that of the 
 stranger. She cast down her eyes, and 
 perceived at the same moment the rose 
 which she had worn in her bosom fall to 
 the ground. Her conductor hastily re- 
 
DONALD MONTEITII. 43 
 
 covered the invali able flower, and press- 
 ing it to liis lips, increased the confusion 
 of Miss Fitzroy, who felt ashamed to de- 
 mand its restoration. Mrs. Scorpion joined 
 with Mr. Forrester in offering him a seat 
 in the carriage, but the stranger pohtely 
 declined their civility, and casting a look 
 of tender respect on ]Mary, bade them 
 good-night 
 
 Mary's heart and head v/ere both full 
 of her evening's adventure. She stole 
 softly to the cham.ber of her sick uncle, to 
 receive his benediction, then hurried to 
 her own, to unbosom herself to the person 
 who had been placed over her by Mrs. 
 Scorpion. This servant was an Irishwo- 
 man, and by religion, if indeed she had 
 any, a Cathohc. She hated Mrs. Scorpion 
 and Arabella, as much as she loved the 
 major and his niece; yet so contrived to 
 conduct herself, that the former lady be- 
 lieved she had procured the fittest person 
 in the world to watch over the actions of 
 Miss Fitzroy. In this she was grossly 
 deceived. The morality of Judith was of 
 
44 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 as doubtful a kind as her religion. She 
 detested IMrs. Scory^ion for her meanness 
 towards her fellow-servants, disliked her 
 daughter for the ridiculous and blind fond- 
 ness of her mother, and made no scruple 
 in saying, that it was a sin for such a one 
 as Miss Mary to be under the control of 
 either of them, and that she hoped ere 
 long to see Mrs. Scorpion brush the dirt 
 off Miss Mary's shoes. 
 
 Judith had lived three years in the 
 family, and during that time had been in 
 the habit of hearing all the childish com- 
 plaints of Mary, whose situation precluded 
 her from the enjoyment of a friend and 
 adviser of her own rank in life. The 
 manners of Judith were by no means vul- 
 gar ; she dried the tears of the lovely or- 
 phan, amused her by some of her droll 
 stories, and taught her to look forward to 
 better days, when she would escape from 
 the persecuting harshness of Mrs. Scorpion, 
 and become her own mistress. To this 
 woman JMary now recounted the pleasure 
 she had experienced, and the polite atten- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 45 
 
 tions of the stranger, with the wonderful 
 condescension of Mrs. Scorpion, who had 
 invited him home. Judith Ustened with 
 joyful attention to the innocent remarks of 
 her young charge. She saw through the 
 conduct of her mistress, but secretly hoped 
 that the interesting stranger would be- 
 come the liberator of Miss Fitzroy, not 
 the husband of Arabella, and that she 
 should be enriched by the tokens of his 
 generosity. 
 
 Judith was an adept at intrigue; she 
 liad lived in several families where all her 
 talents had been called into action ; and 
 she now judged, tl^t if the stranger was 
 struck with the person of Miss Fitzroy, 
 he would make inquiries concerning her, 
 which, as well as the difficulty of access to 
 her, would only tend to increase his passion. 
 As often as she could be spared the next 
 day, she stole down into the garden, where, 
 at the end of a long shrubbery walk, was 
 a gate, which opened into some fields that 
 belonged to her master. Judith had craned 
 her neck in vain; the supper-bell had ceased 
 
46 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 to ring, and she was closing the door in 
 vexation, when, by the liglit of the rising 
 moon, she discovered a tall and eleo^ant 
 figure slowly and cautiously advancing. 
 She curtsied as he passed. The expression 
 of her features encouraged him to stop. 
 She curtsied again, and he paused ; then 
 taking her hand gaily, he asked if she be- 
 longed to the family of major Fitzroy? 
 Judith replied that she had the happiness 
 nO attend his niece, who, if she was not 
 mistaken, sat in the same box with him- 
 self last night at the theatre. 
 
 The gentleman was soon apprized of 
 the character of the person he had to deal 
 with ; giving her, therefore, an earnest of 
 his favour, he drew from her the whole 
 circumstances of the family, and the shame- 
 ful neglect of Mary, of which the stranger 
 required no stronger proof than herself 
 being placed about the person of so young 
 and lovely a girl. He was, however, too 
 sensible of the power of Judith to offend 
 her, and adopted a line of conduct which 
 was suited to such a woman. He promised 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 47 
 
 to reward her liberally, if she could pro- 
 cure him an interview with her young 
 lady. This she assured him she would ; 
 probably that night, if he liked to wait 
 imtil ten o'clock, when Miss Fitzroy re- 
 tired to bed. The stranger hesitated foj a 
 moment — looked at his watch; it was then 
 half past nine: the desire of again behold- 
 ing the interesting little girl who had 
 fascinated him so strongly at first sight, 
 overcame*his scruples, and he consented 
 to remain in tlie meadow until the ap- 
 pointed hour. 
 
 Mary had frequently indulged herself 
 in a walk by moonlight, after she had 
 taken leave of the family, and therefore 
 consented immediately to the proposal of 
 her maid, to enjoy the fineness of the 
 night, and listen to the song of her fa- 
 vourite bird. They had no sooner entered 
 the meadow, than the stranger approached, 
 to the no small terror and surprise of 
 Mary, who clung to the arm of Judith, 
 breathless with fear. The voice, and gentle 
 accents of the stranger, whom she now 
 
48 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 recognised to be the same as she had met 
 at the theatre, soon dissipated the un- 
 easiness his presence had occasioned : after 
 thanking him for the interest he expressed 
 in her welfare, she motioned to retire into 
 the garden. 
 
 The stranger respectfully took her hand, 
 and carried it to his lips. The moon shone 
 full on the blushing face of Mary, who, 
 trembling with emotions, the novelty of 
 v/hich confused and surprised her, now 
 appeared to the enamoured stranger as a 
 creature almost worthy of adoration. A 
 cottage bonnet, lined and trimmed with 
 pale blue satin, and a tippet of the same, 
 thrown carelessly over a bosom white and 
 pure as the snowdrop, partly concealed from 
 the eager gaze of the stranger a hoard of 
 countless charms. Again he pressed the 
 gloveless hand to his lips. A variety of 
 hopes and fears rushed into his mind, and 
 for a moment he was silent. He however 
 gently detained the unwilling girl, whose 
 situation became more painful, in propor- 
 tion as she felt the impropriety of her stay. 
 
BONALD MONTEITir. 49 
 
 Pitying her embarrassment, lie said in 
 the gentlest voice, ^'^Your present feelings, 
 lovely Miss Frtzroy, only increase my ad- 
 miration, while they convince me that 
 this is the first time you have ever been 
 placed in a similar situation ; but it must 
 not be the last ; you must promise to meet 
 me to-morrow evening: I have much to 
 say, much to communicate, which con- 
 cerns your future happiness." 
 
 *' Indeed I cannot, dare not," replied 
 Mary, endeavouring to liberate herself 
 from his hold. '• Pray, sir, let me go ; you 
 can have nothing to communicate that I 
 ought to listen to tlius clandestinely," 
 
 " For this once," continued the stranger, 
 " I beseech you to trust to the professions 
 of a man, who, charmed by the loveliness 
 of your first appearance, felt anxious to 
 know more of you. I am well aware, that 
 in thus urging you to meet me, I am 
 breaking tlirough my own rules of honour 
 and propriety ; yet how can I obtain an 
 interview, unless it is clandestinely? JMrs. 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
f DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Scorpion is too watchful, too self-interested^ 
 to allow me the privilege of addressing 
 you, unobserved by herself" 
 
 Mary raised her head with quickness — 
 "You are then acquainted with my adopted 
 mother— perhaps with my dear uncle ?" 
 
 " 111 does she deserve so sacred a name," 
 he replied with warmth ; " I am not per- 
 sonally acquainted with her, but her con- 
 duct towards yourself has not passed un- 
 noticed or uncensured. Your uncle I have 
 occasionally met in London. He is a 
 finished gentleman. I pity, though I 
 condemn, his weakness, since I fear that 
 you, my sweet girl, will be the sufferer. 
 I feel, perhaps, more deeply the danger of 
 your situation, from having a sister, who 
 is not much older than yourself, and who, 
 like you, is unfortunately deprived of that 
 best of friends, a tender mother." 
 
 " But perhaps," said Mary, bursting into 
 tears, *' your sister, sir, has not lost both 
 her parents, has not been consigned to the 
 care of a harsh, unfeehng woman, with full 
 power to act over her as she thinks proper?'* 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 51 
 
 " Ko, my dear young friend, for such 
 let me now call you," he replied ; '•' my 
 sister, tliank Heaven, is exempt from ali 
 the dangers and trials to which you are 
 exposed : yet let me hope that the voice 
 of friendship, of sacred, of disinterested 
 friendship, may, if attended to, save you 
 from many an impending evil." 
 
 JMary turned on him her bright eyes, 
 still humid with tears — " And where, oh 
 where," she cried, "can an orphan Hke 
 myself expect to find the generous moni- 
 tor you describe ?" 
 
 " He is before you," hastily replied the 
 stranger. " The beauty of your person first 
 captivated my senses, the unprotectedness 
 of your situation has determined my future 
 conduct. Meet me, therefore, dearest Miss 
 Fitzroy, without any dread of my proving 
 undeserving your confidence. As a friend^ 
 a brother, I demand this favour." 
 
 Mary's' grateful nature knew not well 
 how to excuse herself from granting the 
 request of the stranger, who professed sd 
 D 2 
 
 UBRARV 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF JLUNU 
 
52 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 much interest and regard for her welfare ; 
 yet she hesitated, more from timidity and 
 bashfulness, than from any fear respectiiig 
 his probity. Judith, with her usual bold- 
 ness, promised for her; but the stranger, 
 looking beseechingly in her downcast face, 
 would not give her freedom, until he had 
 heard from her own mouth the confirma- 
 tion of his wishes. 
 
 IMary np sooner regained her chamber, 
 than she expressed her uneasiness at the 
 promise she had so recently made; but 
 Judith overcame her scruples, congratu- 
 lated her on the attainment of so accom- 
 plished an admirer, and concluded by say- 
 ing that she should not wonder if he was 
 some nobleman, he was so generous. ISIary 
 did not notice this last word of Judith's ; 
 she felt that slie had done wrong, and for 
 the first time in her life, went to bed dis- 
 contejited with herself. The ^dea of a 
 lover never entered the mind of Mary. It 
 is true, that she had read a great deal for 
 her age, and was possessed of a warm ima- 
 gination, and a tender heart ; yet her pur- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 53 
 
 suits and amusements were all perfectly 
 innocent, and adapted to her years. The 
 manners and figure of the stranger bespoke 
 the man of fashion. His features were 
 not handsome, but their expression was 
 well calculated to please^ and the affec- 
 tionate interest he displayed for the fate 
 of Mary could not fail to gain the gratitude 
 of ilie lovely orphan. 
 
 Tlie next nigiit, at the appointed hour, 
 Mary reluctiintly accom^panied Judith to 
 the meadow, where they were immediately 
 joined by the unknown.. "Thank you, 
 my amiable little friend," said he, " for this 
 comidence in my honour, but beware how 
 you extend it to another. Allow me to 
 attach som.e merit to myself, and to be- 
 lieve that you would not have been equally 
 considerate to the request of any man." 
 Before she could reply, he changed the 
 subject to that of her own education, cau- 
 tioned her against indiscriminate reading, 
 and promised to make out a hst of such 
 books as would contribute to form her 
 jtnmd and manners. 
 
M DOXALB M0:J^TEITH. 
 
 ** I have brought you," said lie, '' a shoil 
 story, which I think will suit yoiu* taste. 
 It is from the pen of an elegant writer, 
 and the heroine strongly reminds me of 
 yourself" He then drew from his pocket 
 a beautiful bound book, which he told her 
 was intended as a present to his sister, but 
 if she approved of the work, she Vv^ould, 
 by accepting it, confer on him a favour. 
 Miss Fitzroy opened the volume : it was 
 entitled " Mary de Chfford." She had read 
 it before, and knew ail the poems by heart. 
 The stranger hy degrees di-ew her from 
 her reserve, and it was then that he dis- 
 covered she possessed a mind Vv^hich only 
 wanted proper cultivation to render it the 
 most exalted, the most refined. Ketaking 
 the novel from her hand, he expressed his 
 delight at her fondness for poetry, and 
 opening it at one of the poems, he read it 
 in a voice so exquisitely^ tender, and in so 
 marked a manner, that JMary felt that at 
 that moment herself occupied his mind. 
 It was the one which begins — 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 55. 
 
 *' Where art thou, Mary, pure as tair. 
 And fragrant as the bahny an-. 
 That, passing, steals upon its wing 
 The varied perfumes of the spring; 
 With tender bosom, white as snow, 
 V/ith auburn locks that freely flow 
 Upon thy marble neck; with cheeks. 
 On which the blush of morning breaks ; 
 iives, in wdiose pure and heavenly beams 
 The radiance of ejichantment seems; 
 A voice, whose melting tones would still 
 Ttie madness of revenge from ill; 
 A form of such a graceful mould, 
 We scarce an earthly shape behold; 
 A mind of so divine a fire, 
 
 The conclusion seemed to affect liim 
 forcibly. 
 
 " Oh ! Mary, Mary, let the tale 
 Of luckier votaries prevail. 
 And happier, happier days be thine ! 
 But woes and frenzy must be mine." 
 
 He paused, and passed> his hand across 
 his eyes, then turned them on the listen- 
 ing maid, with all a Woodville's tenderness. 
 Recovering himself from his temporary 
 .agitation, he pressed her to accept the 
 book ; but.^he declined it, saying that it 
 
56 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 would only expose her to the anger of 
 Mrs. Scorpion, from whose penetration she 
 could not conceal any thing. He seemed 
 satisfied with this excvise. 
 
 During this, and two following inter- 
 views, the stranger not only wrote out a 
 list of hooks for her perusal, but with all 
 the generous attention of a brother, laid 
 down some general rules for her conduct. 
 He cautioned her strongly against repos- 
 ing the slightest confidence in the person 
 who had thus voluntarily placed her in 
 his power, assuring her that Judith was a 
 woman of the most improper kind, and 
 one whose example and morality were 
 highly dangerous to youth. Mary paid 
 the most implicit attention to all he uttered. 
 She tliought him the most noble, the most 
 godlike of men; yet her heart was a 
 stranger to those ardent feelings, which, 
 in spite of himself, the unknown occa- 
 sionally betrayed. 
 
 A cold and slight fever, caught by re- 
 maining out later than usual, confined 
 Miss Fitzroy for two days to her chamber. 
 
BONALD MONTEITH. 57 
 
 During tliis time, she received several 
 letters from the stranger, through the 
 hands of Judith, who was his warm ad- 
 vocate, for a very good reason, because he 
 paid hberally for her services. In terms 
 of pohshed eloquence, he deplored the 
 unfortunate indisposition which deprived 
 him of the happiness he had enjoyed in 
 the society of his little friend; continued 
 his advice upon the regulation of her con- 
 duct in hfe; and expressed a fear that he 
 should soon be summoned to London, 
 where his family were daily expectedo 
 On the third evening, Judith, who had 
 been on the watch, hastily returned to her 
 young lady, and besought her to grant the 
 generous stranger an interview, if only for 
 half an hour. lie was so urgent, that she 
 feared something was the matter. She did 
 not, however, think proper to add, that 
 2ie was evidently in a shght degree in- 
 ttoxicated, lest «he should awaken the timi- 
 dity of Mary, and prevent their meeting. 
 Tlie stranger no sooner heard her light 
 D3 
 
58 BOi^xri) Mo^^TEITH. 
 
 footstep, than he rushed forward, and 
 catching her passionately in his arms, ex- 
 claimed, " Beloved Mary ! all my fears are 
 reahzed, all my romantic di-eams of bliss 
 are at an end ! This morning I received 
 letters from London, where circumstances 
 require my immediate presence. Perhaps 
 this is the last time of our meeting, and I 
 shall be forgotteri, or remembered only as 
 one who suffered the most blissful mo- 
 ments of his life to pass away, without 
 making the attempt to secure to him elf 
 a heart spotless and pure from the con- 
 taminating influence of the world." 
 
 Mary, alarmed at the warmth and free- 
 dom of hiis actions, endeavoured to free 
 herself from his grasp, but she trembled 
 so violently, that it excited the notice of 
 her companion, and Judith advised him 
 to lead h T into the garden, lest the heavy 
 dew of the night should increase her cold, 
 promising to watch during their conference. 
 
 The stranger carried the almost fainting 
 girl into a small summer-house, where he 
 scon reyived her confidence, by tlie re- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 59 
 
 spectful delicacy of his attentions. Left 
 to themselves, he struggled to regain the 
 ascendancy over his feelings, and once 
 more warned her against the person to 
 whom IMrs. Scorpion had thought fit to 
 entrust her. He represented the fatal con- 
 sequences which might arise from her 
 possessing so base and sordid an attendant, 
 and drew from the innocent girl a solemn 
 promise that she would never again Hsten 
 to any proposal of a clandestine corres- 
 pondence. 
 
 " In quitting you," said he, " I inflict 
 on myself the severest penance. As yet 
 you are ignorant of those feelings, of that 
 idolatrous affection, which, if uncontrolled 
 by honour and justice, would impel me to 
 sacrifice my fame, nay, fife, to your service. 
 Yet my foreboding heart misgives me that 
 you, even you, my sweetest Mary, are 
 born to experience those feelings at a fu- 
 ture time." 
 
 " I hope not," replied Mary, with en- 
 chanting simplicity. " But are you indeed 
 serious ? must you indeed leave me ? and 
 
60 DONALD MOKTEItH. 
 
 liave I only known the blessings of friend- 
 ship to lament more keenly its depriva- 
 tion? oh, how severely shall I now feel 
 the unkindness of Mrs. Scorpion, and the 
 illness of my uncle, since I shall now have 
 HO friend to sooth and console me under 
 my increasing aiflictions !" 
 
 The stranger pressed her soft w^hite hand 
 in his. "Angelic Mary," he exclaimed, 
 ''and have I indeed succeeded in render- 
 ing myself amiable in your estimation ? 
 Oh how glorious, how enviable would be 
 my destiny, were I permitted to attempt 
 inspiring yon with a softer, dearer senti- 
 ment than that of friendship ! Confident 
 that under my present circumstances this 
 would be dishonourable, I have only en- 
 deavoured to guard you against falling a 
 victim to the profligacy of some of my sex, 
 w!io, inflamed by your beauty, and -en- 
 couraged by the unprotectedness of your 
 situation, would make a merit in taking 
 advantage of such an opportunity as the 
 present. Let me, at least, quit you Avdth 
 the delightful assurance, that neither my- 
 
DO^^ALD MONTEITH. 61 
 
 -self nor my precepts will be forgotten; 
 ;^nd that, when years have matured the 
 opening beauties of yom' form, your un- 
 known friend will still be remembered 
 with esteem." 
 
 Mary could not retrain her tears ; they 
 fell on the hand which grasped her own. 
 "Precious drops!" continued the stranger, 
 drawing her gently to his bosom ; " they 
 tell me that the impression I have made 
 will not easily be effaced. Tell me, my 
 sweet Mary, am I not right?" 
 " " Yes," replied the artless girl, affected 
 deeply at the idea of perhaps never again 
 beholding her disinterested adviser, "yes, 
 you are right. The gratitude I feel for your 
 generous admonitions, the respect and ve- 
 neration you have inspired me with, can 
 never 'be obliterated from my heart. What- 
 ever misfortunes, insults, or mortifications, 
 I may be fated to endure, I shall ever 
 treasure in my remembrance my first and^ 
 earliest friend; nor will I ceiase to pray 
 that Heaven will at one time or other re- 
 store me to his acquaintance." 
 
62 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 The unknown was not proof against 
 this innocent avowal. He folded her in 
 his arms, and gently pressing his lips to 
 hers, felt a transport,- a bliss, till then un- 
 known. " Lovely little creature," he cried^ 
 in a voice trembling with tenderness, " and 
 can I then quit you, without avowing the 
 love which fills my soul. Sweetest Mary ! 
 I adore you. It is in vain that duty and 
 strong necessity oppose my passion, and 
 bar our union. Yet, were I sure of ulti- 
 mately possessing your heart, what sacrifice 
 would be too great? I%Iary, my beloved 
 Mary, even now it may not be too late to 
 call you mine. Speak, enchanting girl, 
 does the man who has thus far succeeded 
 in securing your good opinion, your con- 
 fidence, possess those exterior qualities, 
 those mental acquirements, which would 
 in time awaken your fondest affections ? 
 could you Jove me, Mary, with heart and 
 soul? could you prefer me to all the world? 
 speak, dearest Mary ! Hank, power, wealth, 
 and the tenderest of husbands, may yet be 
 voiu's. Mv carriage with four horses is 
 
DONALD MOl^TEITH. 63 
 
 in waiting. This very night I will convey 
 you to a place where the priest shall make 
 us one." 
 
 Mary, faint and trembling with tlie 
 novelty of her situation, sunk upon his 
 shoulder; his arms encircled her slender 
 form, jet the most delicate tenderness 
 regulated his mind. " Will you be mine, 
 sweetest Mary ? will you fly from the unjust 
 and cruel tyranny of those whose duty it 
 is to shield you from even the approach 
 -cf danger and temptation, and take shelter 
 within my faithful arms? speak, Mary^ 
 this moment decides my fate, perhaps 
 your own." 
 
 Mary at length recovered her courage 
 and presence of mind, liaising her head 
 from the shoulder of the unknown, and 
 fixing her exprebsive eyes on his anxious 
 countenance, she said, " How little did I 
 expect such a proposal from .my best friend ! 
 Is it he who now counsels me to abandon 
 my home, to enter clandestinely a family 
 who may, perhaps, be fur my superior in 
 rank, and who may therefore look down 
 
04 DONALD MOXTEITII.. 
 
 upon me v/ith that contempt my rashness 
 a lid folly deserves ? 'No, sh', no, I cannot 
 consent to your request. I feel the im- 
 propriety now of my conduct, which alone 
 has subjected me to such an offer." 
 
 " ^rly destiny is then fixed," replied the 
 stranger ; " but let me not suffer, dearest 
 Mary, in your esteem, for having been 
 hurried away by the weakness of human 
 nature. Youhave rejected my hand. It does 
 you credit. You have disappointed my 
 only hope of ever calling you mine ; yet it 
 proves that the lessons I have given were 
 not lost upon you. Let my last sink deep 
 into your mind, since /, your friend and 
 counsellor, have convinced you of the dan- 
 ger of a clandestine connexion, and proved 
 the fallibility of all human resolutions. 
 Had you thoughtlessly complied with my 
 request, you would have secured to your- 
 self the entire possession of a heart which 
 beats but for you; but you would have 
 had to encounter the frowns and reproaches 
 of hereditary pride, rendered more formi- 
 dable from its being ^appointed in its 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. ^65 
 
 long-cherished expectations. I quit you, 
 beloved Mary, with feelings which border 
 on agony. To Heaven I confide you ; to 
 that God who watches over the pure and 
 innocent of heart, and who will not ne- 
 glect to succour and protect one of its fairest 
 works." 
 
 • The tears of the stranger fell on the 
 cheek of Mary, and mingled v/ith her own. 
 Kissing them away, he inquired, in a fal- 
 tering voice, if she had any relations in 
 the army or navy, for whom she felt in- 
 terested? 
 
 " I have a brother," she replied, " a brave 
 and noble youth, on board the Antiopa ; 
 he has already distinguished himself, and 
 proved worthy of our dear father, who fell 
 in the defence ^f his country's glory." 
 
 The strajiger took out his pocket-book, 
 and wrote down the name and address of 
 George Fitzroy. " It may be in my power 
 to serve him," said he; "you say he is but 
 seventeen? When you hear that he is 
 raised to be a lieutenant, think of your 
 unknown friend. For your sakelwi}! 
 
f 6* DONALD MONTEITII. 
 
 be his secret protector. This rosebud,' 
 wliich once decorated the spotless bosoni 
 of Ills sister, is all that I possess to remind 
 me of our stolen interviews ; but in my 
 heart she reigns triumphant, notwithstand- 
 ing the cruel bar that occasions our sepa- 
 jation," 
 
 Judith now came running towards them, 
 visibly alarmed. ''Quit the summer-house," 
 said she, "and hide behind the trees; Mrs. 
 Scorpion is coming down the walk m search 
 ^f Miss Fitzroy." 
 
 JMary, almost fainting with terror, en- 
 deavoured to rise, but her trembling limbs 
 denied their v/onted aid, and she involun- 
 tarily clung for support to the arm of the 
 stranger, w ho, soothing her v/ith the ten- 
 derest accents, refused to quit her, until 
 he had seen Mrs. Scorpion, and tried to 
 soften her resentment. 
 
 That lady now entered the summer- 
 house, bursting with anger, which was 
 considerably increased by the sight of the 
 noble strano'er, whom she had set down as 
 an admii'er of her deai' Arabella. Ip a voice 
 
DONALD MONTEITTI. 67 
 
 oF passion and envy sl^e ordered Mary im- 
 Jiiediately to her chamber, assuring Judith 
 that she should not stay another night in 
 the family. The unknown, tenderly press- 
 ing the hand of the terrified JMary, advised 
 her to obey, and leave him to allay the 
 coming storm. The weakness of the timid 
 girl, ho-wever, prevented her from goings 
 and he therefore requested leave to assist 
 her to the liouse, promising to satisfy all 
 the prudent and maternal fears of Mrs. 
 Scorpion. To this she consented, and 
 Mary w^as accordingly supported, or rather 
 carried home by her unknown friend, who 
 e\^ery now and then encouraged^ her to 
 liope that tliis unfortunate discovery might 
 perhaps ultimately prove for her good, at 
 least it v.^ould relieve her from the pre- 
 sence of Judith, for wliom he entertained 
 a cordial aversion. 
 
 Mary retired to her cliamber, and flinging 
 herself on the bed, refused to be imdressed, 
 or to accept of the offers of Judith, who 
 jcounseiled her seriously to run away from 
 
68 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 her tormentor, and Hy to the protection of 
 the generous unknown. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The distress of Mary did not arise from 
 any selfish feeling of per-^onal punishmerS:. 
 She felt certain, from the known willing- 
 ness of Mrs. Scorpion to calumniate her 
 to her uncle^ that, now she had indeed 
 given her just cause of complaint, she 
 could not expect any shew of )enity. The 
 pain the knowledge of her imprudence 
 must necessarily inflict on the mind of her 
 uncle, called forth all her self-reproaches, 
 and she was found hy JMrs. Scorpion still 
 undressed, and weeping most bitterly. 
 
 With a stern -voice, Judith was ordered 
 to leave the room; then, seating herself 
 hy the side of the afflicted girl, she took 
 her hand, and, in accents far different to 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 69 
 
 ihose she had ever been accustomed to 
 from INIrs. Scorpion, that lady desired her 
 to moderate her grief; and, on condition 
 that she would consent in future to be 
 guided solely by her wishes, promised not 
 to tell her uncle, who, she was certain, 
 would inflict some heavy punishment on 
 so flagrant a breach of dxity and female 
 decorum. 
 
 "It is not the punishment I dread," 
 said Mary, rising hastily from the bed ; 
 " it is the fear of the effect such a com- 
 munication may have on the weak nerves 
 of my dear uncle." 
 
 " Be a good child, then, JNIaiy," replied 
 Mrs. Scoi^ion, " and I will never let him 
 know how imprudently you have acted. 
 You are still but a mere baby, and my 
 wonder is, how a man of his sense and 
 discernment could ever be so silly as to 
 talk nonsense to such a girl. I will, how- 
 ever, spare you the reproaches of your 
 uncle, and hope that my forbearance will 
 not be thrown away upon an ungrateful 
 object." 2 
 
70 nONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Mary, in the warmth of the moment, 
 flung herself at the feet of Mrs. Scorpion. 
 " Fear not," she cried, " my dear madam, 
 that I shall ever be insensible to this act 
 of kindness. I acknowledge my error, and 
 am willing to atone for it by any depri- 
 vation you thinlv proper to inflict." 
 
 " You will lose your treacherous con- 
 fidant," said IMrs. Scorpion, trying to keep 
 do\YTL her natural severity of voice and 
 manners. " She has proved unworthy the 
 charge I entrusted to her, and hence- 
 forward, Mary, I shall have you more im- 
 mediately under my own eye. It will be 
 my fault if such a circumstance should 
 ever again occur. Now, go to bed ; the 
 stranger has satisfied all my doubts, ha5r an- 
 swered all my inquiries. You must forget, 
 IMary, that you ever met, since it is next 
 to impossible that a man like him should 
 think seriously of such a little creature as 
 yourself. In two days we set off' for Bath ; 
 you vf ill prepare for the journey. It wa^ 
 to inform you of this that I came to youF 
 chamber so opportunely to discover your 
 
DOXAI.D MONTE ITH. 71 
 
 «ecret assignations : liowever, JMary, keep 
 a guard over your looks, and I v* ill not 
 betray your indiscretion." 
 
 " Do you know, madam, the name of 
 tlie stranger ?" inquired ]>Iary,. in a con- 
 fused and iiesitating voice. 
 
 " I do," replied Mrs. Scorpion,^ with a 
 malicious smile; " but that, T^Iary, is a 
 secret of too much importance for you 
 ever to be informed of" 
 
 jMary at that moment thought only of 
 her uncle, and of the generous forbearance 
 of Mrs. Scorpion ; yet she could not help 
 secretly attributing such unexpected good- 
 ness to the persu8;sive eloquence of the 
 amiable stranger. ** Shall I never know the 
 name of my early friend?" thought Mary; 
 " am I indeed destined to pass through life 
 without ever enjoying the delights of his 
 enlightened conversation, the sweets of his 
 disinterested friendship ? what can be the 
 bar he talked of, which has obliged him 
 to abandon the unhappy orphan, for whom 
 he avowed so much regard ? Oh, let me 
 hope that we shall one day meet,' and that 
 
7^ DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 he may find in tlie maturity of woman- 
 hood all the virtues which he wished to 
 see centered in the little girl of his choice ["* 
 
 Although the heart of Mary was yet a 
 novice to the emotions of love, yet it felt 
 a mournful void, occasioned hy his loss. 
 She had known him only one short week, 
 yet in their interviews he had contrived 
 to awaken in her bosom the desire of ac- 
 quiring all those mental accomplisliments, 
 which would render her a desirable com- 
 panion for life, and which also would en- 
 able her to derive from herself a fund of 
 inexpressible amusements. 
 
 She now became anxious to attend 
 closely to her studies, pleasing herself with 
 the idea that she should yet be able to con- 
 vince her first friend that his lessons had 
 not been thrown away. In this, however, 
 she was disappointed. The dangerous ill- 
 ness of major Fitzroy, which seemed to 
 have increased since his arrival at Bath, 
 claimed all her attention, and that of the 
 Scorpions. His physician could no longer 
 conceal from him the feeble hopes he en« 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 73 
 
 tertained of his recovery; and his death, 
 shortly after, threw the whole family into 
 the deepest affliction. 
 
 In his last moments, he called the weep- 
 ing INIary to his bedside, and joining her 
 hand with that of Mrs. Scorpion, conjured 
 her to respect that lady, as if she were 
 really her mother. " It is to her, my dearest 
 Mary, that you will now have to look up 
 for support and protection. The trifle 
 which I have to leaveyou will only suffice 
 to procure you the necessaries of life. She 
 has promised to perfect your education, to 
 study your interests and happiness ; and 
 you, in return, must obey implicitly all 
 her commands. I will not conceal from 
 you, my beloved child, that you have no- 
 thing to expect fi'om your aunt, lady Sarah ; 
 she has a family, chiefly girls, and there 
 may, and does, I fear, exist a solid reason 
 why she may not choose to mtroduce you 
 to the notice of her son and heir, or to the 
 possibiUty of your outrivalling her dc;u!^h- 
 ters in personal attractions. Let Mrs., 
 
 VOL. I. E 
 
74 BONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Scorpion^ therefore, be your guardian ancT 
 counsellor; take no decisive step without 
 first asking her advice. She will soon be 
 your only friend." His voice faltered, and 
 Mary, overcome by her strong emotions,^ 
 was conveyed to her chamber almost in a 
 state of insensibility. 
 
 When the will of the major was opened, 
 it was found that he had disposed of all 
 his property to Mrs. Scorpion and her 
 daughter, except a legacy to George 
 Fitzroy, and an annuity of a hundred a- 
 year to Mary. Mrs. Scorpion could not 
 conceal her exultation, though it was ru- 
 moured by one of her female acquaintance 
 that she thought the major had been too 
 liberal towards his niece, as it was well 
 known that he v/ished her to be entirely 
 dependant on her love. 
 
 The country now had no charms for 
 Mrs. Scorpion, who thought, that by re- 
 siding in London, Arabella would have a 
 greater chance of marrying well. Accord- 
 ingly, as soon as decency permitted, they 
 quitted Kent, and removed to a small but 
 
DONALD BIONTEITH. 75 
 
 elegant house in town^ where Mrs. Scor- 
 pion was soon visited by several highly- 
 respectable families, who gratified the fond 
 pride of a mother by appearing to set a 
 just value on the person and accomphsh- 
 ments of Arabella. 
 
 All her ambitious hopes were awakened 
 by receiving a letter from lady Sarah Fitz- 
 roy, requesting the favour of a visit, as her 
 ladyship wished to confer with her on 
 some private business. These hopes were, 
 however, soon bhghted. Her ladyship 
 merely wanted to inquire concerning the 
 pecuniary affairs of her niece, and to learn 
 the temper and inchnations of the lovely 
 orphan. Mrs. Scorpion could not deny 
 that Mary was a girl whose beauty and 
 aspiring mind rendered her an improper 
 companion for her cousins. Before they 
 parted, the two ladies perfectly understood 
 each other ; but lady Sarah did not inti- 
 mate any intention of honouring her visitor 
 by a second invitation. 
 
 That the world might not judge too 
 ESI -o;) 
 
76 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 harshly of Mrs. Scorpion's conduct, Maiy 
 was sent to school, with a few gentle hints 
 to the governess, to watch narrowly the 
 actions of her pupil, and to check, as much 
 as possible, her excessive spirits. These 
 were, however, considerably lessened by 
 the affliction she yet felt for the loss of 
 her uncle, and the consciousness of her 
 own dependancy upon the will of Mrs. 
 Scorpion. The enlivening vivacity of her 
 young and happy companions, the kind- 
 ness of her governess, notwithstanding the 
 maternal hints of Mrs. Scorpion, never- 
 theless restored the lovely orphan to all 
 her usual cheerfulness, and she was only 
 sad when the vacation obliged her to re- 
 turn to her disagreeable home. 
 
 Mary had reached her fifteentli year, 
 when she received the joyful intelligence 
 of the arrival of the frigate in which was 
 her brother. She had seen him twice, 
 since their interview at lady Sarah's ; but 
 now that she had lost her uncle, he ap- 
 peared her only natural protector, and she 
 could not refi'ain from bursting into tears, 
 
tUONALD MONTEITH. 77 
 
 as she found herself fondly pressed to his 
 afFectionate bosom. Mrs. Scorpion received 
 him with fawning civility ; the best bed, 
 the best room, vv ere immediately got ready 
 for his reception ; and Mary was her dear 
 child, her sweet girl, her second daughter ; 
 while Arabella studied as much as her 
 .mother, though irom different motives, to 
 appear amiable in the eyes of the handsome 
 sailor. George returned their attentions 
 with equal politeness, but he saw only his 
 sister ; he read in the expressive language 
 of her fin^ eyes that she was not a stranger 
 .to secret »1 • sec r> tent ; nor* could he conceal 
 his indignrtion when he learnt the total 
 neglect she experienced from lady Sarah 
 I and sir Charles Fitzroy. With all the 
 fi^enerous feelings of a noble soul, he de- 
 clared that he would ne^^er enter a house 
 that did not open its doors willingly to 
 receive his orphan sister. 
 
 It was in vain that IMrs. Scorpion gently 
 ventured to remind him of the obligr.tions 
 ,he was under to his uncle, and of the seri- 
 vous effect it. might have on his future pre- 
 
78 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 ferment, if he offended them. Thanking 
 her for the kindness of her advice, he 
 however persisted in his resolution, and 
 accordingly called on lady Sarah, to seek 
 iin explanation of her ungenerous behaviour 
 towards one who, more than himself, stood 
 in need of her countenance. The interview 
 produced a mutual coldness between them. 
 George, proud, independent, and high- 
 spirited, took up his abode under the same 
 roof as his sister, vv^armly declaring that 
 he would acknowledge no relation who 
 would not feel proud in affording her 
 every assistance in their power. Mary 
 was too noble to complain of the neglect 
 she had experienced from Mrs. Scorpion. 
 Not a murmur escaped her lips, and she 
 even tried to find excuses for her own de- 
 ficiency, in the attainment of those accom- 
 plishments, her want of which her bro- 
 ther's quickness soon discovered. ^'You 
 are a wild girl, I fear, Mary," said he, one 
 morning on his return from the Admiralt}^; 
 "but you shall not want for the cash to pay 
 the different masters, if jou will only be 
 
BCTNALD MONTEITH. 73 
 
 steady enough to attend to them. In spite 
 of lady Sarah's displeasure, I am made first 
 lieutenant of the Antiopa, in the room of 
 poor Bay ley, who fell almost in the begin- 
 ning of the engagement. Some unknown 
 friend must have done me this kindness ; 
 for though I fought desperately, and was 
 the first to board the prize, yet there were 
 others on the list before me." 
 
 Mary's cheek crimsoned with two-fold 
 pleasure. She remembered the promise 
 of her mysterious lover, and to him she 
 attributed the promotion of George. Mrs. 
 Scorpion and Arabella v^ere eager to tes- 
 tify their satisfaction at this agreeable in- 
 telligence, and Mary, animated with ten- 
 derness for her brother, and the hope of 
 still being remembered by the unloiown, 
 went to the piano, and, as if inspired, ran 
 over the keys with the touch of a self- 
 taught master ; then played and sung se- 
 veral beautiiiil airs, which she had leamt 
 herself while at scliool. Mrs. Scorpion was 
 surprised, as well as Arabel-a, but George 
 -flung his arms round his sister in an extasj 
 
80 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 of delight, exclaiming that he knew Mary 
 possessed the innate power of being every- 
 thing she pleased. 
 
 Unfortunately for Miss Fitzroy, the ac- 
 tive service her brother was engaged in soon 
 robbed her of his society. She returned to 
 school, and to her usual avocations; but she 
 wanted a spur to her exertions : the voice 
 of praise, the smile of pleasure, or the kiss 
 of affection, was the charm which she re- 
 quired to call into action her dormant 
 talents. At sixteen she quitted school, 
 and bade adieu to her young companions, 
 whose acquahitance she was not permitted 
 to cultivate, and returned to what in future 
 was to be her home. Her brother was one 
 of the blockading squadron, and might be 
 thus situated for a considerable length of 
 time; she had, therefore, no hope of being 
 cheered by his presence, or relieved from 
 the double watchfulness of Mrs. Scorpion, 
 who, unable -any longer to conceal the 
 treasure she possessed, was obliged to 
 allow of Mary's being introduced to the 
 circle of her acquaintance. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 81 
 
 Arabella had not yet succeeded in se- 
 curing to herself a permanent admirer, 
 and when placed by the side of Miss 
 Fitzroy, she seemed still less hkely to 
 attain the long wished-for object. Mary 
 viewed with indifference the young men 
 who occasionally resorted to the house of 
 her adopted mother ; they all sunk in her 
 estimation, when compared to her brother, 
 or to the friend of her childhood. She 
 listened, however, with good-nature, to 
 their praises on her beauty, yet, while they 
 gratified her pride, they failed to interest 
 her heart, and-she at length obtained the 
 epithet of "the beautiful insensible/' 
 
 Ignorant indeed must they have been 
 who could view the person of Mary Fitz-^ 
 roy, and suppose her insensible either to 
 friendship or to love. The coldness they 
 complained of proceeded from their own 
 want of merit, not from any apathy in hero 
 Within her bosom dwelt the embers of so 
 fierce a flame, that neither timenor treachery 
 f could extinguish its ardour ; and the hour 
 e5 
 
was now arriv-ed when diary's imagined 
 insensibility was to be put to the test. 
 
 Arabella Scorpion, her mother, and Miss 
 Fitzroy, had been mvited by a female 
 friend, to ficcompany her to the house of 
 a tradesman in St. James's-street, in order 
 to see the nobility go to court on the 
 birthday of the king. The possibility of 
 once more beholding the unknown, made 
 Mary more than usually attentive to her 
 dress. Ever avers^e to the extremes of 
 fashion, which Arabella slavishly went 
 into, she studied only what most became 
 her, and always appeared, from her tasteful 
 elegance, a striking coTxtrast to the gaudy 
 finery of her companion, who, on this oc- 
 casion, seemed determined to load herself 
 with flowers, ribbons, and chains. 
 
 Mrs. Scoi^ion stood with rapturous de- 
 light to view the attractions of Arabella, 
 who quitted with reluctance the contem- 
 plation of her own charms, to adjust a 
 feather in the head of her mother. At 
 length Mary was summoned to join in the 
 ^parent's praise, who exultingly exclaimed^ 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 83 
 
 that she felt a presentiment that this day 
 would ensure to Arabella a husband worthy 
 her acceptance. Mary's good-nature and 
 good-breeding alone prevented -her from 
 smiling at the tawdry figure, who was thus 
 to be exhibited for the declared intention 
 of making an eligible conquest. 
 
 It was the sultry month of June, the 
 weather even warmer than usual, yet Ara- 
 bella had arrayed herself in a robe of rose- 
 coloured satin, trimmed with gold shell- 
 work ; her head was ornamented with se- 
 veral gold combs, and a wreath composed 
 of yellow and damask roses was drawn 
 through her hair, which her mother pro- 
 nounced a fine auburn, but which her ac- 
 quaintances ill-naturedly declared to be 
 carrotty. Her neck and arms were loaded 
 with coral beads and gold chains, and her 
 bosom V7as but ill concealed from the pry» 
 ing eyes of curiosity, by a nosegay of roses^ 
 geranium, and pinks. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion had put on her best green 
 velvet robe, embroidered with scarlet 
 flowers ; a cap of the same, with red and 
 
84. DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 green ostrich feathers, decorated her head; 
 her flaxen wig had been new curled, and a 
 quantity of carmine gave to her eyes some 
 portion of their youthful fire ; while the 
 innate satisfaction she felt on viewing her 
 darling Arabella thus becomingly dressed, 
 gave an expression of good-nature to her 
 features, v»^hich still were liandsome. 
 
 Mary experienced the genial influence 
 of her happy mood; she even condescended 
 to smile on her most graciously ; so per- 
 fectly was she assured in her own mind 
 of the proud superiority and powerful 
 attractions of Arabella over the simple 
 elegance of her young charge. A coach 
 was called, and they proceeded to the 
 house of the lady, Avho coMdu.cted them 
 to that of her tradesman. 
 
 The bustle and liveliness of the scene, 
 tlie glitter of the carriages, and the military 
 which lined the street, the grandeur of the 
 court dresses, and the assembled blaze of 
 beauties which every balcony displayed, 
 so completely occupied the attention of 
 jVlary, that she did not perceive that the 
 S 
 
DONALD MONTEITH, 85 
 
 €yes of most of the gentlemen who were 
 passing were directed to the windo^.vs of 
 the drawino'-room in Vv^hich slie vv^as seated. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion w^as ahiiost wild with joy. 
 It 'must be Arabella, her dear and adored 
 Arabella, that had thus become the magnet 
 of attraction. Maiy was dressed too plain, 
 and looked too delicate. It must be, and 
 was, Arabella alone that the gentlemen so 
 evidently admired. 
 
 Miss S.corpion wt^s indeed a - striking 
 contrast to her conipanion, by whose side 
 ■she was placed. The deep tint on her 
 cheek, increased by the glare of the rose- 
 coloured satin and damask flowers, the 
 forward stare of her bold black eyes, and 
 the ungraceful fulness of her person, w^hich 
 she took little pains to conceal, served to 
 shew off to still greater advantage the 
 slender and elegant form of Mary, who no 
 sooner observed the gaze of admiration 
 directed to the window in w^hich she now 
 stood, than she shrunk back, abashed and 
 i)lushing, behind her friend. 
 
 .Mary had this day attired herself 4» 
 
$6 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 what slie thought she looked best in ; 
 wishing to appear as pl^easing as she could, 
 in case that chance might once more dis- 
 cover to her the amiable unknown. She 
 wore a robe of black silk, shot witli white, 
 and tastefully trimmed with broad lace, 
 which formed a screen to the gentle swell 
 of her fair and beautiful hosom. The luxu- 
 riance of lier rich brown liair was partly 
 hid by a small hat of white satin, turned 
 up in the front, with a plume of short 
 white feathers ; a single tow of large pearls, 
 which had belonged to her mother, seemed 
 to vie with the snowy hue of the fair neck 
 they entwined ; one solitary moss rose-bud . 
 was placed in her bosom, and this more 
 from the remembrance of the one she had 
 lost on the night of her first seeing lier 
 early friend. The simplicity of her dress, 
 the easy freedom of her movements, the 
 graceful, yet unstudied elegance of her 
 attitudes, the successive blushes which 
 heightened her natural loveliness, and the 
 intelhgeiit mind which beamed fi^om her 
 blue eyes, rendered JMary an object weU 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 87 
 
 Tcalculated to inspire love and admiration : 
 yet of this she was unconscious. Arabella 
 ^liad always been held up to lier view as 
 the standard of female beauty, and if Mary 
 in secret differed from the opinion of Mrs. 
 Scorpion, she attributed it in general to 
 her ovm imiorance and v/ ant of taste. 
 
 Amoug the company assembled in the 
 same room v/ith Mary was an elderly lady, 
 -of the most lively and agreeable person 
 and behaviour. She had attached her- 
 self to Miss Fitzroy upon her first -coming 
 in, and contributed gTeatly to her amuse- 
 ment, by informing her of the names of 
 all who passed, and by Tepeating occa- 
 sionally some little anecdote of them or 
 their family. This lady Mrs. Scorpion 
 imagined must "be some one of conse- 
 quence, by her apparent knowledge of 
 those who drove by, and whispered to 
 Arabella to pay her nil possible respect. 
 
 A carriage now stopped opposite their 
 house. It was new and splendid; the 
 reins were of white ribbon, and the hats 
 of the servants were decorated with large 
 
88 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Tavours. " Look," said Mary's entertaining 
 
 -companion, " that pretty little woman on 
 
 .the right is kdy Victoria A^olatile ; she is 
 going to be ]>resented, on her marriage to 
 general Volatile, who is old enough to be 
 
 .her father, but immensely rich. She bears 
 a most amiable character, and I hope will 
 
 Jbe happy, though that is harc^ly to be ex- 
 pected in so unequal a match," 
 
 Mary felt a sentiment of pity steal into 
 her heart, as she beheld the youthful bride, 
 
 .glittering with a .profusion of diamonds, 
 and blushing deeply at the eager gaze of 
 the crowd who were assembled round the 
 door of her carriage. At length it moved 
 
 -forward. " Could I be happy," thought 
 Mary, "were I situated as lady Victoria? 
 would riches and splendor make amends 
 for the sacrifice of my heart's tenderest 
 
 .affections ?" It was the first time Mary 
 had ever asked herself tlie question, or 
 even allowed herself to define what were 
 the tenderest affections of her heart. 
 
 Some chairs were now passing under 
 the window, "There goes lady Sarah 
 
DONALD TMONTEITH. 89 
 
 Fitzroy," said the same old lady, "and in 
 the next chair is her eldest daughter. A 
 prouder woman cannot exist : she is mj 
 aversion." Mary eagerly hung over tlie 
 balcony to take a full view of her sunt 
 and cousin— of those relations who had so 
 ungenerously renounced all intercourse 
 with an innocent and unprotected orphan, 
 merely because her mother was not their 
 equal in rank, 
 
 " Ah ! go along !" continued the strange 
 lady, as the chairs moved towards the 
 Palace; "with all your jewels and costly 
 habiliments, neither you nor your daughter 
 are worth}/ to be cornpared to the sister- 
 in-law you despised." 
 
 ,Mary turned hastily round ; a tear trem- 
 bled in her eye ; pressing the hand of the 
 imknown speaker in her own, she said, 
 "Dear madam! did you know the late 
 Mrs. Fitzroy ?" 
 
 "We were bosom friends till her un- 
 fortmiate marriage," replied the lady ; 
 " but why, my sweet girl, are you thus 
 ■ agitated?" 
 
90 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Mary burst into tears, and sunk on the 
 shoulder of Arabella, who gladly resigned 
 her to the arms of the lady, trembling lest 
 •any p^.rt of her dress should be discom- 
 posed by this accident. Mrs. Scorpion 
 helped to convey Miss Fitzroy to a sofa, 
 where a glass of cold w^ater soon revived 
 her, and she experienced the • tenderest 
 caresses from the stranger, v/ho was now 
 informed of her name and family. 
 
 Mary once more took her station at the 
 windo¥/, and listened with affectionate re- 
 spect to all that fell from the lips of her 
 motlier's bosom-friend — that mother vf hose 
 ^early loss she had so frequentl}' deplored, 
 and whose place had been so ill supplied 
 by the confidaitt of her uncle. The chairs 
 of lady Sarah and her daughter w^ere now 
 returning, and JMary could not avoid feel- 
 ing a momentary pang, as she contrasted 
 -her own situation with that of her smiling 
 cousin. She felt disappointed also that 
 she had not seen any thing of her firvSt 
 friend ; a something, she knew not what, 
 had led her to believe that some important 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 91 
 
 Circumstance was to take place on that 
 day ; slie seemed to feel that it was in- 
 timately connected with the futm-e wel- 
 fare of her life. True, she had met with 
 a friend of her deceased mother, and one 
 w^ho seemed to entertain an instantaneous 
 regard for her ; yet the heart of Mary feit 
 a void, an uneasy depression. Her eye 
 wandered restlessly over the crowd beneath 
 her, and she unconsciously drew !rom her 
 bosom the rose-bud, which now drooped 
 as if in sympathy with the feelings of the 
 lovely owner. JMany of the carriages were 
 now returning, and Mary thought she 
 beheld in one of them the object of her 
 earliest friendship : the rose dropped from 
 her hand ; it fell on the shoulder of an 
 officer, who was attentively gazing on the 
 window where she stood, and who ap- 
 peared most willingly to accept of the 
 invitation of Mrs. Scoa-pion's friend to join 
 them in the drawing-room. 
 
 Every lady present cast a glance at her 
 •own dress, v^^hen she was informed tliat 
 •the o:^cer was captain Monteith, vrlio was 
 
r^2 BONALD IVIONTEITK. 
 
 allowed to be the handsomest man of the 
 age. Marv still leaned against the rails of 
 the balcony. She heard the opening of 
 ^the door, and th.e sound of Mrs. Scorpion^s 
 voice, who in a few minutes made a pre- 
 tence to call her daughter, that she might 
 be introduced to the handsomest man of 
 the age. 
 
 Arabella, on her return to Mary, whis- 
 pered her admiration; but she was silenced 
 by the approach of the object, who, to the 
 great joy of Mrs. Scorpion, and the gra- 
 tified vanity of her daughter, immediately 
 'began a conversation with tlie latter. Mary, 
 although cramped by the position she was 
 in, yet continued with her face tmiied the 
 same way ; at length she was compelled 
 to move round, as Arabella requested her 
 to clasp her bracelet : without venturing 
 to raise her head, she proceeded to obey 
 her Mend. The bracelet, however, v/as 
 diiHcult to fasten, and she was obhged to 
 . drav*^ off her gloves to effect it. 
 
 The wliite and gracefid arm thus un- 
 .wiliingly exposed to vievv% was seen and 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. ^3': 
 
 admired by the young officer, who, in the^ 
 true spirit of gallantry, begged that he 
 might be permitted to hold them. In a 
 voice musically soft, the tones of which 
 sunk deep into the soul of JMaiy, he said^ 
 " I am the fortunate possessor of a rose, 
 which was thrown from this window by 
 one of you young ladies ; may I inquire 
 which it was ?" 
 
 "It is yours, my dear Miss Fitzroy, is 
 ft not ?" said her new friend. 
 
 Mary coloured, and in a low accent re- 
 plied in the affirmative. 
 
 "Perhaps," said the officer, addressing 
 himself to- Mary, "you will do me the 
 favour to make an exchange: yours, I be- 
 lieve, was fided." He then presented her 
 with a fresh bud, v/hich she, howsver, 
 hesitated to accept. 
 
 " Take it, Mary," cried Miss Scorpion, 
 laughing heartily at her embarrassment; 
 "I am ashamed of you; how can you look 
 so silly?" 
 
 jNIary trembling, and still more confused, 
 accepted the offered flower, and placed it 
 
B4i DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 in her heaving bosom. The person of the^ 
 house now came to request the visitors 
 that remained, who were about eight in 
 number, to do him the honour of partak- 
 ing of a dinner, T^^iich was now on table. 
 The invitation was extended to captain 
 Monteith, who was obliged to decline it, 
 being already engaged. " But," said he, 
 turning to Mrs. Scorpion's acquaintance,. 
 " if you mean to see the illuminations, and 
 will suffer me to escort you, I shall feel 
 too happy in the permission not to join 
 you as early as I can." 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion and Arabella instantly 
 declared in favour of going, and captain 
 Monteith, much gratified, took his leave. 
 Mary, for the first time, now rai^^ed her 
 eyes, to snatch a look at the handsomest 
 man of the age, hoping to do so undis- 
 covered. But he, as if unwilling to quit 
 the room without one more glance of the 
 lovely little figure it contained, had turned 
 round at the same moment, to offer his 
 arm to ^Irs. Scorpion, who, with the rest of 
 the party, were descending to the parlour. 
 
DOXALD MONTEITH. 95 
 
 Tlieir eyes met: one feeling alone seemed 
 to beam from tliem, and Mary at that in- 
 stant felt the weight of her own presenti- 
 ments. Her fate was decided: she had now 
 seen the being on whom the happiness or 
 misery of her future life depended. It was 
 impossible that there should exist in the 
 world another man capable of inspiring 
 her with the same indescribable, the same 
 delicious emotions^ 
 
 It must be remembered that this fatal 
 and romantic weakness of Mary arose 
 from the circumstances in which, from her 
 childhood, she had been placed. A large 
 share of indiscriminate reading, a tender 
 and susceptible heart, whose affections were 
 too often chilled by neglect, or the frown 
 of envy and ill-humour, with the singularity 
 and mystery which hung over her intimacy 
 with her early friend, gave to her mind a 
 romantic turn, wdiich, if properly directed,, 
 would have only rendered her more ca- 
 pable of inspiring the noblest passions. 
 Left to form her own judgments, and to 
 follow, in part, her own inclinations — 
 
96 DONALD MONTEITII. 
 
 neglected by her relations, and looked on 
 wit] I envy and a jealous eye by those she 
 was compelled to reside with — deserted 
 even by tlie generous and unknown friend 
 of her childhood, Mary's heart was now 
 but too susceptible to the pre-eminent 
 attractions of voice, grace, dignity, and 
 glowing beauty of the Highland officer. 
 In his face was to be seen the sweetest 
 regularity of feature; his was the dark 
 blue eye, the black arched eyebrow, and 
 the long silken eyelash, whose sable co- 
 lour gave occasionally to the brilliant orb 
 it shaded a still darker hue, while its 
 lustre was increased by the natural carmine 
 which tinged his cheeks. His mouth, beau- 
 tifully perfect, was perhaps the most cap- 
 tivating feature in his face ; yet this re- 
 ceived an additional charm when he smil- 
 mgly discovered a set of teeth small, re- 
 gular, and snowy white. His form was 
 equally attractive; tall, athletic, and grace- 
 fully proportioned, he seemed born to 
 command the universal homage lie re- 
 ceived; while the dangerous softness of 
 
DONALD MONTEITir. 97 
 
 liis. voice and looks only rivetted more 
 firmly the fetters by which he first en- 
 slaved the admiring beholder. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 XoTWiTHSTANDiNG that a variety of de- 
 licacies Avere placed before her, jMary could 
 not partake of them. The handsome 
 Scotchman was the theme of general con- 
 versation, and her greedy ear dwelt with 
 dehght on the praises she heard bestowed 
 on the absent ISIonteith. Her inattention 
 and absence of mind, when the subject 
 was dropped, was but too visible, and she 
 was obliged to excuse herself under the 
 plea of fatigue. It afforded her, ho^,vever, 
 secret satisfaction to observe that JMrs. 
 Scorpion w^as highly pleased with his 
 attentions, and she therefore entertained 
 hopes that he would receive a general 
 invitation to her house. ^. 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
98 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 In this Mary^s wishes were realized. 
 Captain Monteith stole away from his 
 brother officers at an early hour, and 
 accompanied them in a coach to see the 
 principal illuminations, and then returned 
 with them to the house of JMrs. Scorpion 
 to supper. Although his eyes eloquently 
 betrayed his secret admiration, yet he 
 seldom addressed himself to INIary, but 
 sedulously endeavoured to cultivate the 
 good opinion of her protectress. Arabella 
 was desired to play and sing some of her 
 last new music, and every artifice was 
 resorted to by her mother to make her 
 shine to advantage. 
 
 Miss Scorpion played scientifically, and 
 had a tolerable voice, but slie wanted tlie 
 soul of music, taste and feeling; — her 
 fingers ran over tlie notes mechanically ; 
 and she sung, without shewing either by 
 her looks, or tbe variation of her tones, 
 the true spirit of the composer and the 
 poet. ^lary sat trembling lest she should 
 be asked^to take lier place, and felt over- 
 joyed at being agreeably disappointed. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 99 
 
 ]Miss Scorpion continued at the instrument, 
 and the dehghted mother could with difli- 
 culty restrain her transports, when captain 
 Monteith, who felt himself called upon to 
 applaud, praised her performance. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion pressed his hand at part- 
 ing, and gave him a general invitation to 
 call on her. Her pleasure was so great, tliat 
 she even kissed the cheek of JMary, her 
 neglected charge, on her retiring for tlie 
 night, and went to bed with her dear 
 Arabella, to dream of settlements, mar- 
 riage, and domestic bliss. 
 
 The next day the handsome officer called 
 to inquire after the health of his new ac- 
 quaintance. Miss Arabella was di-essed 
 purposely to receive him.. Her mother, 
 however, was gone to pay a visit to Turs. 
 Chnton, in order that she mxight gather 
 from her all the particulars concerning the 
 family and fortune of Captain JMonteith. 
 The son of this lady was also in the army, 
 and a professed admirer of Ivliss Fitzroy, 
 who viewed him with more complacency 
 
100 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 than any of tlie other visitors who fre- 
 quented the house, because he was less 
 presuming, less foppish, and always treated 
 her with brotherly kindness. 
 
 "When captain Monteith arrived, he 
 found. IMiss Scorpion alone in the dravvdng- 
 room. His penetration immediately dis- 
 covered the cause of her being dressed 
 with such exactness, and a smile, border- 
 ing on contempt, quivered on his lip. 
 After the first commonplace observations 
 tvere over, and she had requested him to 
 await the return of her mother, he ven- 
 tured to ask after her lovely friend. Ara- 
 bella, who v/as not by any means either 
 envious or ill-natured, immediately called 
 her from an adjoining chamber ; and JNIary, 
 Avho supposed it mjght be to meet the 
 friend of her deceased mother, quickly 
 appeared. Her mistake was not an un- 
 pleasing one, and when she recovered from 
 her first confusion, she endeavoured to 
 answer the tender inquiries of JNIonteith 
 wath ease and self-command. Dressed with 
 neatness in a plain robe of white mushn. 
 
DONALD MOXTEITH. 1 01 
 
 her long and shining ringlets confined by 
 a single comb, Mary looked the emblem 
 of innocence and bashful beauty; while 
 Arabella, loaded, as usual, with ornaments 
 and beads, strongly brought to the recollec- 
 tion of her visitor some servant girl attired 
 in the ill-assorted finery of her mistress. 
 
 The conversation turned on the amuse- 
 ments of the toivn. JMary w^as silent ; she 
 had seen but few; while Arabella, who 
 had been taken to all, gave her opinion on 
 their diliercnt merits with unblushing lo- 
 quacity. Books were next introduced: 
 here T^iary took the lead, and Monteith 
 exultingly discovered that timidity alone 
 restrained the knov/ledge she possessed, 
 and withheld her from displaying opinions 
 and sentiments which did her credit. 'Not- 
 v/ithstanding tlie alluring softness of his 
 voiccj and the dano:erous tenderness of liis 
 looks, Mary could not lay aside her na- 
 tural reserve. She longed, yet dared not 
 to examine features which to her appeared 
 the most beautiful in the world, and even 
 regretted that she possessed tliat painful 
 
102 DONALD MONTEITH, 
 
 sort of difiidence, which she feared wa^ 
 too often construed into mauvaise honte. 
 
 The entrance of Mrs. Scorpion gdve a 
 turn to the converGation, and IVIonteith 
 received an invitation to dinner the next 
 day, to meet the Clmtons, and a small 
 musical-party in tlie evening. 
 
 "Well, my dear i^iamma," cried Arabella, 
 the moment lie vas gore, "vbat nevs 
 have }^au heard ilom Mro. Clmton ? how 
 long has she known this cliarniing man?" 
 
 ** Her acquaintance is a very slender 
 one," replied I\Irs. Scorpion; ''clie li?.s m>et 
 captain JMonteith occaoionally v± \he Louse 
 of a friend, who informed her tbat he was 
 tlie son of a gentleman of goad fortune, 
 and allied to some of the first families in 
 Scotland. His father and sisters reside 
 there entirely. Mrs. Clinton's eagerness 
 to introduce us to so desirable an acquaint- 
 ance made her presume on the slight 
 knowledge she had of him, and I am de- 
 lighted to see that he seems very well 
 pleased with his new friends. Arabella, 
 my love, take iMary with you, and go to 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 1(10 
 
 Mrs. Tasteful in Bond-street ; I should Kke 
 you to have a tartan cap and body to 
 your white satin petticoat, and Mary may 
 order what she likes best for herself, only 
 that it must not be plaid, for that would 
 make poor Clinton jealous." 
 
 The two girls were just leaving the 
 house, w^ien the servant announced Mrs-. 
 Byron, and I^Iary hastily ran to welcome 
 the friend of her sainted mother, and to 
 conduct her to Mrs. Scorpion. The wit 
 and good-natured pleasantry of this lady 
 so highly entertained Mrs. Scorpion, that 
 she was also invited to make one of the 
 party next day, to which she readily as- 
 sented; upon which Miss Scorpion and 
 IMary proceeded on their walk. A cap of 
 crimson plaid, with body and sleeves to 
 match, were ordered to be sent home early 
 the next morning, and Mary smiled at the 
 earnestness v/ith which she begged that 
 the cap might be made to resemble, as 
 much as possible, that worn by the High- 
 land chiefs ; above all things, it must have 
 a profusion of feathers. 
 
104 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 " I thought," said Mary, still smiling at 
 the absurd weakness of Arabella, " that in 
 your heart, you felt attached to lieutenant 
 Clinton." 
 
 "Oh! do not mention him, child!" ex- 
 claimed her companion ; "captain Monteith 
 eclipses every human being that I have 
 hitherto seen; besides, you know, mamma 
 has some thoughts of giving you to Clin- 
 ton, and it would be ungenerous in me 
 to outrival my friend." 
 
 "How much I am obliged to you both!" 
 replied Mary, in a tone of voice too point- 
 ed to escape the observation of Arabella ; 
 " before you had seen captain Monteith, I 
 was charged not to encourage any little 
 attentions which J\ir. Clinton, out of po- 
 liteness, might shew me; he was then 
 thought an eligible match for yourself; 
 but now that a nobler object is in view, I 
 am told that he is designed for me ; and I 
 suppose, that should he now venture to 
 hand me a cliair, or present me with a 
 nosegay, I need not fear the sighs of Ara- 
 bella, or the frowns of her mother." 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 105 
 
 " Mary, you surprise me ! what would 
 mamma think if she heard you ?" 
 
 " Only the same as usual," replied Mary, 
 in a careless manner; "you are w^elcome to 
 tell her, if you please." 
 
 " Now you are unkind, Maiy ; you know 
 I never tell my mother any thing that can 
 excite her displeasure against you." 
 
 " Forgive me, I entreat," said JMary 
 hastily; '•'! cannot always check my feel- 
 ings; I cannot always remember that I 
 am poor and dependent." 
 
 " Come, come, Mary," rephed Arabella, 
 " do not harp eternally on the same string. 
 If I should be so fortunate as to marry 
 captain Monteith, you shall Uve with me, 
 and you know that I am not one of the 
 most ill-natured people in the world." 
 
 Miss Fitzroy gave a sudden start — 
 " MaiTy captain Monteith !" That idea w^ai^ 
 fraught with misery; it cast a gloom over 
 iier features, which remained in spite of 
 every effort to remove it; and upon Mrs, 
 Scoi-pion scolding her for not making some 
 F 3 
 
106 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 purchase to appear in next day, she felt- 
 glad of an excuse to shed tears. 
 
 Nothing, perhaps, could be more absurd 
 than the wliim of I\Irs. Scorpion to deco- 
 rate her daughter in plaid, out of compli- 
 ment to captain Monteith. Plad she wished 
 to point her out as an object of ridicule,, 
 t;lie could not have succeeded better. So 
 great was her rage for every thing that 
 was Scotch, that the gilt chains of the 
 bells were removed, and plaid ribbon sub- 
 stituted in their place; a knot of the 
 same was tied to the harp of Arabella ; 
 and Mary could not refrain from asking 
 if she might not put a piece round the 
 neck of Punch, the little French lapdog. 
 Mrs. Scoi^ion actually consented; and 
 Mary, almost convulsed with laughter, 
 proceeded to ornament the dog ; but he, 
 not being celebrated for his good-nature, 
 and disliking the rustle of the silk, soon 
 spoiled its beauty, and he was therefore 
 relieved from his troublesome finery before 
 the company arrived. 
 
 Notwithstanding the injunction of j\Irs. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 107 
 
 Scorpion, to dress herself jnost heco^iim^ It/. 
 or, in other words, to make herself linCy 
 Mary chose to disobey her ; but prudently 
 determined not to- encounter her anger, 
 until' slle was safe from its eifects,. by the 
 presence of tlieir visitors. At length she 
 was summoned to tlie dining-parlour, 
 where the plainness of her appearance, fo? 
 she wore only a clear muslin frock, white 
 sash, and' gold claws, seemed to petrify 
 jVlrs. Scorpion and her daughter. 
 
 Not willing to encounter the look&^ of 
 the former, Mary hastened to take the 
 extended hand of Mrs. Byron j who kissing 
 her cheek, said in a low voice, " Neat and 
 elegant, my dear girl, just like your poor 
 mother, and she was a perfect gentle- 
 woman." 
 
 Mary, gratified at this unexpected praise^, 
 pressed the hand of Mrs. Byron to her 
 lips, with a warmth of action natural to 
 her character. "Oh let me supply in your 
 heart," she said, "dear Mrs. Byron, the 
 place once held by my sainted mother! 
 Teach me to resemble her in every thing!" 
 
 With reciprocal energy the old lady re^ 
 
108 DONALD MOXTEITII. 
 
 plied, " You do, my s^veet girl ; my heart 
 adopted you, almost the first moment of 
 our meeting." 
 
 ^lary heard a gentle sigh; she turned, 
 and curtsied confusedly to captain Mon- 
 teith, who now inquired after her healtli, 
 in^ a tone of voice v/hich sliewed how 
 deeply he felt interested in the question. 
 
 Dinner being announced, young CMnton 
 came to conduct her to her chair, and 
 placing himself beside her, with difficulty 
 repressed his risibility. 
 
 "ForHeaven*s sake," he whispered, "my 
 dear IMiss Fitzroy, help me to uin-avel the 
 enigma I have just seen and heard, or 
 good-naturedly inform me if I am wise 
 enough to comprehend it myself I suspect 
 that Mrs. Scorpion has tricked out her 
 daughter in her tartan plaid to shew her 
 high respect for the handsome Monteith. 
 How can the silly woman suppose that a 
 man like him, who can choose where he 
 likes, and, if he pleases, call the noblest fair 
 his own, would ever cast a thought on 
 such a composition of " 
 
 " Hush !" cried Mary with archness, "or 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 109 
 
 I shall suspect, ]Mi\ Clinton, that you view 
 the tartan with a jealous eye." 
 
 " Lovely Mar}% you are not serious ; 
 you cannot believe it ; my conduct must 
 have convinced you that I pay my devo- 
 tions at a far different shrine. But to 
 return to the subject : I must now confess 
 my gratitude to Mrs. Scorpion, to w^iom 
 I am for ever obliged, since she graciously 
 condescended to request that I would 
 * take care of Mary.' Wonders, you see, 
 ISliss Fitzroy, will never end." 
 
 " I think not indeed," replied Mary, 
 with gaiety ; " but I believe, Mr. Clinton, 
 that you can have but one opinion of Mrs. 
 Scorpion's wonderful condescension." 
 
 He smiled expressively; while Mary, 
 who had ventured to cast a glance tow^ards 
 the side of the table where Arabella was 
 seated by captain Monteith, no sooner 
 observed that his eyes were anxiously fixed 
 on her, than she blushed, and became silent 
 during the rest of the repast. 
 
 The real characters of Mrs. Scorpion and 
 hex daughter were now perfectly under- 
 
110 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 stood by Monteitli ; and he perceived 
 with sorrow and indignation, that the 
 lovely orphan was but ill protected under 
 the roof of her adopted mother. The few 
 moments that he could snatch from the 
 troublesome civilities of one or other of 
 the Scorpions, he conversed with Mrs. 
 Byron, for whom he felt a regard, in pro- 
 portion to that which she evinced for ]Miss 
 Fitzroy. From her he learnt the untimely 
 death of those dear relations, v/hose loss 
 had thus unfortunately consigned their 
 child to no happy home: but Mrs. Byron 
 knew nothing with respect to the present 
 situation of Mary ; she however dishked 
 the persons and manners of the Scorpions, 
 and in lier own mind felt dissatisfit?d at 
 the connexion. 
 
 Captain JMonteith was called to by Mrs. 
 Scorpion, who wished his opinion on some 
 music which Arabella was preparing to 
 play ; and Mary took his vacant seat by 
 the side of Mrs. Byron. Tlie matcrjial 
 solicitude which this lady expressed for 
 Mary was most grateful to her feelings^ 
 
DONALD MOXTEITH. Ill 
 
 and more than once called the tear into 
 her eye. Mrs. B}'ron saw it, and promising 
 to ask leave for her to spend a day or two 
 with her at Brompton, inquired if she did 
 not mean to become aperformer that night ?► 
 Mary replied, that she did not understand 
 sufficient of music, and that for the Httk 
 she knew, she was principally indebted to 
 herself. 
 
 *" You sing then ? I am anxious to hear 
 if your voice is as good as your mother's." 
 
 ** I will sing to you some other time," 
 said INIary ; " pray do not ask me now ; I 
 never sing in company." 
 
 " Well, my dear child, I will not press 
 you ; but I shall be strongly mistaken if I 
 do not find that your timidity is the only 
 bar to your excelling that poor misguided 
 young woman, who I really pity, and so, 
 I am sure, must every one present." 
 
 Arabella had just finished a very diffi- 
 cult duet, which her mother had often 
 told her she sung divinely, but which, 
 unfortunately for her, was not suited either 
 io her taste or voice. It talked, however, 
 
112 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 of love, and Arabella endeavoured to throw 
 into lier eyes all the tenderness they were 
 capable of expressing, and every now and 
 then she cast an enamoured glance on 
 Monteitli, who stood opposite. 
 
 " Will not Miss Fitzroy relieve you ?'* 
 inquired the soldier; "I am sure you must 
 be fatigued." He was at least. 
 
 " Mary never plays before any body,'' 
 said Miss Scorpion, giving him her hand 
 to conduct her to a coucii, where she ex- 
 ultingly received the forced praises her 
 guests felt themselves called on to bestow. 
 Monteith now ventured to inqviire if Miss 
 Fitzroy did not sing? Arabella replied in 
 the affirmative ; and young Clinton imme- 
 diately went towards where she was still 
 conversing with Mrs. Byron. Unmoved 
 by his entreaties, she continued to excuse 
 herself, till ordered by J^Irs. Scorpion to 
 do the best she could. That lady was 
 highly offended at her daring to disregard 
 her positive commands with respect to her 
 dress, and now determined to mortify her 
 for her disobedience. Mary again excused , 
 
DONALD MOKTEITH. 113 
 
 herself; but Mrs. Scorpion was positive, 
 and insisted that she should oblige ]\Ir. 
 Clinton. 
 
 Mary, stung to the soul at being thus 
 obliged to expose her want of science be- 
 fore Mm who above all others she Vvdshed 
 to please, could not restrain the starting- 
 tear. Mrs. Byron pressed her hand, and 
 rising with her, came forward to the in- 
 strument. 
 
 " What, madam, is it your pleasure that 
 I should sing?" inquired Mary, with a 
 blush of anger, too well comprehending 
 the invidious meaning of her adopted 
 mother. 
 
 " The Bird song in the Cabinet," replied 
 Mrs. Scoi-pion. 
 
 " May Arabella play, if I sing ?" 
 
 " No, Miss, I wish to hear if you can 
 accomplish it yourself" 
 
 IMary checked the rising sigh. 
 
 " Never mind the old cat," cried young 
 Clinton ; " I could almost strangle her for 
 making you uneasy. Take courage, my 
 
114 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 sweet girl; you will soon make her repent 
 her obstinacy." 
 
 Mary sat down to the instrument, cheered 
 by the hope that Monteith, who was talk- 
 ing to Mrs. Scorpion and Arabella, would 
 not be able to hear her voice from the 
 loudness of theirs. This hope gave her 
 spirits, and she succeeded beyond her ex- 
 pectation. Whatever w^ant of skill she 
 might display in her knowledge of the 
 art, it was amply made up by the rich 
 melody of her voice, and she rose more 
 confused by the general praise she received,, 
 than she would have been by their criti- 
 cism. 
 
 Monteith and his two tormentors alone 
 were silent; but from very opposite feelings^ 
 yet Mary felt pained that his poUteness 
 had not drawn forth one v/ord of some- 
 thing like approbation. To get rid of the 
 disagreeable importunities of INIrs. Scor- 
 pion, he was at length compelled to prove 
 himself a master in that dehghtful science. 
 Seating himself on the music-stool, just 
 
IDONALD MONTEITH. 115 
 
 vacated by Mary, who stood pensively 
 leaning on the instrument, lie touched the 
 keys with ciich magical eifcct, th.at she 
 had not p ov/er to remove ; and when he 
 began the beautiful ballad of " Ch Nannie, 
 wilt thou gang with me ?" she felt as if 
 spell-bound. The exquisite tenderness with 
 which he did justice td the poet's leeiings, 
 ai^d the real beauty of the poetry, aiiected 
 J^Iary even to tears. Afraid of betraying 
 herself^ she chrunk bchiiid Lirs. Eyron, 
 but not before she had caught a glance of 
 the handsome features of Ivlcnteith, soft- 
 ened by his own private emotions, and 
 read in his eyes, v/hich were feed on her- 
 self, the untranslateable language of no 
 common passion. 
 
 JMary trembled and still retreated, till 
 at length she sunk on a seat, almost over- 
 come by the birth of an affection which 
 now engrossed her whole soul. Oh how 
 joyfully would she follow him, according 
 to the words of the song! hov/ rapturously 
 would she attend him through every diffi- 
 culty, every danger, and glory in being 
 
116 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 allowed to partake of them with him ! 
 But the thought of his being wounded, 
 of that beautiful form being disfigured, of 
 its turning to corruption, of its becoming 
 dust, was more than her nerves could sus- 
 tain, and she sobbed aloud, forgetful of 
 every thing but that which thus alarmed 
 her. 
 
 Fortunately for her, all were too busy 
 in bestov/ing their applause to notice her 
 distress — all but young Clinton, who had 
 followed her unobserved. Attributino; it 
 to the conduct of Mrs. Scorpion, he very 
 charitably wished her in her gTave, assur- 
 ing Mary that no one who possessed a 
 grain of real taste but would prefer her 
 enchanting wild notes to the acquired 
 knowledge of Miss Scorpion. The situa- 
 tion of Mary rendered her most keenly 
 alive to the semblance of kindness ; she 
 could not, therefore, refrain from testifying 
 her gratitude at the generous good-nature 
 of young Clinton, who thus, by every 
 means in his power, endeavoured to in- 
 spire her with confidence in herself. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 117 
 
 *• I know the old toad is mortified," said 
 lie, " that you acquitted yourself so well : 
 now do, IMiss Fitzroy, increase her vexa- 
 tion, by singing a duet with the hand- 
 somest man of the age — a title whicli, 
 upon my scul, IMonteith well deserves. 
 Shall I propose it?" 
 
 **Not for the universe!" exclaimed Mary 
 in affright ; ** pray sit still, or I shall be 
 obliged to leave the room." 
 
 Clinton looked a little siu'prised, but 
 obeyed. Monteith, in a few minutes, passed 
 the couch on which they were sitting. He 
 stopped, as if wishing to speak, but Mrs. 
 Scorpion, who disliked the tender expres- 
 sion of his countenance, hurried him for- 
 ward. Let vis not disturb them, captain 
 JMonteith; they appear to be talking on a 
 subject too interesting for the presence of 
 a third person. You see I am not one of 
 those old women who forget that they 
 have once been young themselves." 
 
 Monteith felt as if all the blood in his 
 body had rushed into his face, and then 
 
118 DONALD MONTEITIL 
 
 receded to his heart. "Is Miss Fitzroy 
 then engaged to IVIr. Chnton ?" 
 
 " I think it will be a match," replied 
 Mrs. Scorpion, " and a very eligible one 
 for a girl of no fortune. Her uncle, poor 
 dear man! left her to my care, and, I may 
 say, almost dependent on my kindness. 
 I have had her from an infant, and not- 
 withstanding she has many faults, I love 
 her as if she was my own child." 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion did not, however, tell 
 captain Monteith that the uncle of JNIary 
 had, in his blind confidence, enriched her 
 with what would have made his orphan 
 niece independent for life; nor, indeed, 
 had she, would Monteith have heard her. 
 A gloom overspread his fine features, and 
 he found all his politeness necessary to 
 make him bear the fulsome attentions of 
 Mrs. Scorpion and her daughter; while 
 the idea of Mary, the lovely, the unpro- 
 tected orphan, obliged, perhaps, to obey 
 the commands of her duenna, rather than 
 the wishes of her own heart, haunted hi:i 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 119 
 
 mind for the rest of the evening. His 
 eyes constantly wandered to where she 
 sat, and he would have given up a part of 
 his existence to have been able to enjoy, 
 unobserved, a few minutes conversation. 
 
 Despairing of ever being able to accom- 
 plish this in the presence of Mrs. Scorpion, 
 he asked whether she would permit him 
 to escort her daughter and Miss Fitzroy 
 to the Exhibition the next day, having 
 previously heard that the old lady was 
 engaged. To this Mrs. Scorpion consented, 
 not willing to shew any reluctance to 
 grant a request of his, though she was 
 not best pleased at Mary's being of the 
 party. His object attained, captain Mon- 
 teith took his leave soon after supper, 
 glad of the excuse of protecting Mrs. Byron 
 home, whose manners had pleased him, as 
 much as he felt disgusted at those of her 
 new acquaintance. 
 
120 DONALD MONTEITli 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Una WED by the watchful eyes of IMrs. 
 Scorpion, Maiy and Arabella accompanied 
 Monteith to Somerset House. This again 
 was a new scene to the former, who felt 
 enchanted at the variety of beautiful ob- 
 jects now before her. Arabella, in obe- 
 dience to the lessons received from her 
 mother, talked loud, laughed often, and 
 stared more at the company than tiie 
 pictures; but IMary, eager to make the 
 most of the present moment, thought only 
 of examining the fine specimens of Engli,sh 
 talent then before her. Yet at times her 
 mind wandered, and her eye rested mo- 
 destly on the animated beauty on v/hose 
 arm she leaned; while he, indifferent to 
 the gaze of many a brilliant orb that darted 
 on him its melting glance, attended solely 
 to the questions v/hich IMary every now 
 and then with diffidence put to him. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 1^1 
 
 On walking a second time round the 
 room, Arabella quitted them, on pretence 
 of speaking to a lady of her acquaintance, 
 but in reality to take a nearer view of 
 some pictures, which Monteith had pur- 
 posely avoided. Thus left alone, in pos- 
 session of his wishes, Monteith inquired 
 if his fair companion was fond of paintings? 
 
 She replied in the affirmative. 
 
 " Do you draw ?'* 
 
 " A little," said she hesitating ; " I have 
 been a sad thoughtless girl, and have not 
 paid that attention to my studies which I 
 ought, and would now most willingly, 
 were I able." 
 
 "How happy should I be to become 
 yovir instructor !" replied Monteith ; " but 
 that, I fear, would not meet with the ap- 
 probation of Mrs. Scorpion. It was with 
 extreme difficulty that I last night re- 
 pressed my chagrin at witnessing your dis- 
 tress : believe me, however, that you had 
 little occasion for your fears; you displayed 
 every requisite to become mistress of music, 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
12^ DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 and only want, for a short time, the assist- 
 ance of a good master, to make yo\a excel 
 in that heavenly art." 
 
 " You are fond of music? but why do 
 I ask that question," said Mary, " when 
 your touch and voice produced the effect 
 of enchantment on all your hearers." 
 
 "And yet," replied Monteith, gently 
 pressing her hand, "there was but one 
 present, except Mrs. Byron, whose ap- 
 plause would have been pleasing to me — 
 but one capable of appreciating the ex- 
 quisite pathos of the air, or of entering 
 into the feeHngs of the poet; that one 
 was yourself" 
 
 Mary scarce believed her senses. ]\Ion- 
 teith felt the trembling of her slender form, 
 and saw the successive blush of pleasure 
 crimson her fair cheek. Again he pressed 
 her soft hand in his, and again INIary's 
 trembling increased, while a faintness, aris- 
 ing from the sudden rush of hope, of hap- 
 piness, made the room turn round. She 
 soon, however, recovered; for Monteith 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 123 
 
 once more addressed her — " I have dared 
 to hazard your displeasure, dear Miss 
 Fitzroy, by the candid exposure of my 
 sentiments ; yet I cannot recede, although 
 Mr. Chnton, who I beUeve is a very worthy 
 young man, was present. Do you forgive 
 me ?" 
 
 "In what have you offended?" ti- 
 midly inquired Mary, "or how can your 
 opinion of Mr. Clinton excite my dis- 
 pleasure ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Scorpion is deceived then," said 
 Monteith. " Last night she hinted at an 
 engagement which must necessarily make 
 you deeply interested in all that concerns 
 that gentleman." 
 
 " Mrs. Scorpion," exclaimed Mary, in a 
 voice of resentment, "seems born to be 
 my eternal tormentor! yet, considering 
 her own private views, perhaps in this 
 instance she is excusable." 
 
 " It is untrue then?" said Monteith ex- 
 ultingly. 
 
 " Perfectly so, I assure you ; though I 
 
 G 2 
 
l^4f DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 shall ever feel grateful to that person for 
 his good opinion, which was shewn too 
 at a time when Mrs. Scorpion was not 
 quite so favourable to the pohte attentions 
 I have always received from him." 
 
 Arabella now joined them ; her curio- 
 sity had been gratified at the expence of 
 her delicacy, and they proceeded to the 
 apartment allotted to miniatures. Among 
 many others pointed out to her by Mon- 
 teith, Mary's attention was called to those 
 of lady Sarah Fitzoy, and her four daugh- 
 ters. The countenance of the youngest 
 exhibited no trait of that hauteur which 
 was visible on her sisters, and Mary gazed 
 on it with interest, as the mildness of its 
 looks seemed to assure her of the friendly 
 disposition of the original. Monteith in- 
 quired if she was related to them ? 
 
 " Hush !" said Mary, forcing a smile ; 
 " should any of the family be present, they 
 will think themselves disgraced if I should 
 claim them as 7?iy relations." 
 
 ** Rather say," replied Monteith, "that 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 125 
 
 they ought to feel proud in being able to 
 call you cousin." 
 
 " You forget, my dear sir," cried Ara- 
 bella thoughtlessly, " that lady Sarah is an 
 earl's daughter, and that she could never 
 be brought to forgive the father of Mary, 
 for marrying one who she thought her 
 inferior." 
 
 " In the presence of her niece," replied 
 the soldier v/ith warmth, " I must forget 
 «very thing but those beauties and merits 
 v/hich would add a lustre to the noblest 
 house." 
 
 Mary, greatly embaiTassed, saw surprise 
 and vexation pictured on the face of Ara- 
 bella, who felt but little satisfied at the 
 voluntary pi-aise the handsomest man of 
 the age thus bestowed on the orphan. 
 Monteith saw it also, and, for the sake of 
 that friendless orphan, he took the hand 
 of the frowning Arabella. 
 
 " Good nature such as yours, my dear 
 Miss Scorpion, must, I am convinced, join 
 witli me m condemning the narrow and 
 
1S6 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 illiberal mind of lady Sarah. I am certain 
 you would act more nobly were you in 
 her situation." 
 
 The brow of Arabella immediately 
 cleared, and thus was harmony restored 
 by the well-timed though innocent hypo- 
 crisy of captain Monteith, whose real sen- 
 timents but ill accorded with the words he 
 had just uttered. 
 
 Mary, modest and unassuming, lovely 
 yet diffident, possessing a genius and talent 
 as yet uncultivated, and a mind and taste 
 far superior to those she had associated 
 with from infancy, now resolved at least 
 to deserve the encomiums passed on her 
 ^y Monteith. She felt an innate consci- 
 ousness that she had power to become 
 something more than she now was, and, 
 with such a stimulus as the one in view, 
 :it was impossible she should not succeed. 
 She determined to ask Mrs. Scoi-pion's 
 leave to devote part of her pocket-money 
 rto the purpose of finishing her studies. 
 
 "And who, Miss, has been teUing yoii 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 127 
 
 that this is necessary ?" asked Mrs. Scor- 
 jaion, in no very gentle tone of voice; 
 "**one would really imagine, Mary, that 
 you were in the expectation of receiving 
 a large fortune, instead of possessing only 
 enough to find yourself in clothes and 
 other requisites." 
 
 ** But surely, madam, it might be of 
 use for me to perfect myself in those ac- 
 complishments, which one day or other 
 may enable me to increase the little pro- 
 perty left me by my uncle ; it was his wish, 
 also, that I should endeavour to make 
 amends for the time I had lost." 
 
 ** Your uncle did not know you as well 
 as I do," replied Mrs. Scorpion, " or he 
 would have been convinced that it was 
 useless to throw away his money. I have 
 no objection to your learning all that Ara- 
 bella has leisure to teach you, but I shall 
 certainly not consent to your engaging 
 any masters. You cannot, Tvlary, expect 
 to many as well as my dear daughter, who 
 has paid every attention to her studies. 
 
128 BGNALD MONTEITH. 
 
 and who is perfect mistress of all which is 
 necessary to form the woman of fashion. 
 Be obedient to my desires, and grateful to 
 Arabella for her instructions, and as soon 
 as she is well settled in life, I will see 
 what I can do for you, notwithstanding, 
 Mary, that you have always given me 
 double the trouble and vexation that my 
 own child has done." 
 
 « I regret it even more than you do, 
 madam, I assure you," replied MissFitzroy, , 
 stung to the quick by the refusal she had 
 met with; "perhaps, were I permitted to 
 follow my present inclinations, I might be 
 able to relieve you from your unpleasant 
 guardianship: I might go as governess to 
 some one younger than myself, and then 
 you would get rid of a being who has 
 neyei' looked or spoken but to offend." 
 
 "At your old tricks, Mary, of com- 
 plaining ; but I will not put myself in a 
 passion ; I will be calm, very calm ; I will 
 remember the dying charge of your poor 
 dear uncle, who little thought the ingra- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 129 
 
 titiide I should meet with, for my wish to 
 become a mother to his niece. Oh this 
 •spirit, this unhappy spirit of yours, wliich 
 I could never tame, though I am sure I 
 did my best to break it ! But you were 
 always unti'actable ; never like my dear 
 Arabella, who I could regulate by my 
 looks. I will be calm, quite calm," she 
 continued, bursting with passion all the 
 while ; " mercy on me, what will this world 
 come to, when a girl of sixteen dares to 
 insult a woman near fifty !" 
 
 " Pardon me, madam, I had no such 
 intention ; I merely expressed a wish." 
 
 *' Which you knew I would not grant 
 No, Miss, I will not suffer you to fool 
 ■away yoiu' money ; this fit of improve- 
 ment will not last long, and Arabella, I 
 know, if she has time, will give you any 
 instructions you may want. But that yon 
 may not §ay I deny you every thing, you 
 have my permission to spend a couple of 
 days with JMrs. Byron, who will call to- 
 snorrow to fetch you : your own conduct 
 
 G3 
 
.'115G BONALD MONTEITH, 
 
 ^,vili decide whether I shall e^^er suffer yoti 
 to go there again." 
 
 Tliis intelligence softened in some de- 
 gree the disappointment which IMary had 
 just received. Sh.e had now no hope, ex- 
 -cept from her ov/n exertions, as she knew 
 that AraheUa was generally too much oc- 
 cupied in attending to herself to dedicate 
 ■any considerable portion of her time to 
 her iraprGYement. She had no alternative 
 ^but patience a^d perseverance, and with 
 this conviction, endeavoured to fortify 
 her mind against those mortifications 
 which she had long been compelled t© 
 endur©. 
 
 At Mrs. Byron's she experienced that 
 maternal tenderness, that aifectionate at- 
 tention, which the soul of JMary knew well 
 •how to appreciate, and was so capable of 
 returning; and Mary, whose sensibihty 
 was keenly awakened by a conduct so 
 'congenial to ^her own feelings, could not 
 help ^expressiifg herself warmly on the 
 •sub] ect. Mrs, By rors soon discovered the 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 131 
 
 painful situation her young favourite was 
 placed in. She not only loved, but pitied 
 her ; while Mary, won by the kindness of 
 her manners, in the openness of her heart 
 related to her all that had passed since she 
 rras old enough to remember. This con- 
 iideijce was repaid by a firm and lasting 
 attachment on the part of Mrs. Byron, 
 which continued unshaken during her ex- 
 istence. She saw at once the miseries of 
 such a home, amd the dangers that might 
 arise from one so young and so lovely 
 being thus continually exposed to the low 
 malice and illiberal envy of such ^ woman 
 as Mrs. Scorpion. Nevertheless, she pru- 
 dently cautioned Miss Fitzroy not to in- 
 crease the dislike of her adopted mother, 
 lest she should withhold from her that 
 countenance and protection necessary to 
 her fu ture establishment. 
 
 " With what pride, my dear child, would 
 I receive you under my care !" said tliis 
 amiable woman; **with what delight shouH 
 I watch ovei* and improve your talents. 
 
IBS , trcr^AiLj) ivro:N^TErTK. 
 
 did I not feel that the limited state of 
 my finances, and the solitary life I lead^ 
 would deprive joii of those advantages 
 and little comforts your present home 
 affords ! Yet of this at least be assured, 
 my dear Mary, that while I exist, you 
 shall never want a friend ; and should cir- 
 cumstances occur to increase your repug- 
 nance to Mrs. Scorpion, who, I am sorry 
 to say, has iU indeed performed a parent's 
 duty, my cottage, such as it is, is yours. 
 My little income will perhaps suffice for 
 the wants of two beings whose minds and 
 liearts are in unison with each other." 
 
 Mary, surprised at this unexpected and 
 generous proposal, flung herself into the 
 arms of ]\te. Byron, who, embracing her 
 tenderly, now clianged tlie subject to that 
 of her own life. " Perhaps," said she, *' you 
 may not suspect, by my activity, and 
 constant flow of spirits, that I am in my 
 Mxty-fifth year." 
 
 " Impossible, my dear madam !" cried 
 Mary, with a look of incredulity ; *'I should 
 
DONxVLD MOXTEITH, 133 
 
 not have supposed that you were near 
 fifty." 
 
 '' Many tliink the same," replied Mrs. 
 Byron ; " but I assure yon what I affirm 
 is true ; yet I feel myself still able to go 
 ^own a dance with ease and pleasure to 
 myself, nor have I as yet one symptom of 
 »old age. I have seen a great deal of the 
 world, have ti'avelled over the best part of 
 Europe, and liave not escaped without my 
 -share of personal suffering : my health and 
 spirits are unimpaired, and I may be able, 
 ,perhaps, to afford you some entertainment 
 by the narration of circumstances which 
 I have met with during my occasional 
 intercourse with society, Mrs, Scorpion, 
 fortunatefy for me, seems inclined to cul- 
 tivate my acquaintance, and I shall there- 
 fore have many opportunities of enjoying 
 your company, and of affording you all 
 the instruction I am able." 
 
 As Mrs. Byron had, from her years and 
 -experience, acquired a perfect knowledge 
 of human nature, she in an instant saw 
 
134 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 tiiroi^gli tlie conduct of Mrs. Scorpion, and 
 comprehended the selfish motives which 
 induced her to pay such pointed attention 
 to captain Monteith, The short time he 
 had conversed with herself, and the interest 
 he seemed to feel in the fate of Mary, con- 
 vinced Mrs. Byron that JMrs. Scorpion had 
 mistaken his character, and that he was far 
 more inclined to attach himself to the un- 
 protected orphan under her care, than 
 to the tricked-out and affected would-be 
 woDian of fashion, her daughtei*. This, 
 however, only held out a fresh sliare of 
 humiliation for her favourite, as Mrs. Scor- 
 pion, of course, would never forgive the 
 innocent -Mary, should she outrival Ara- 
 bella. 
 
 Mary passed the two days of her visit 
 so agreeabl)^ that she would have regretted 
 its termination, but for the idea of behold- 
 ing Monteith. This ga\^e her spirits to 
 encounter afresh the ill nature of Mrs. 
 Bcor»7*.nt, who, however, received her on 
 ^her return with rather more :kindness 
 
BONALD MONTEITH. 1S5 
 
 fhan usual, and Arabella volunteered to 
 teach her some new steps she had just 
 learnt of her master, preparatory to an in- 
 tended dance, which her mother meant to 
 give that day week, Mary, v/ho had no 
 real dislike to Arabella, was sorry to iind 
 that her mother's vanity had thus led her to 
 expose the want of grace, and want of skill, 
 of her daughter. Dancing was what Ara- 
 bella shone least in; her full person, and 
 want of ease in her movements, made her 
 efforts appear painful ; and Mary, who did 
 not doubt but that the handsome Monteith 
 would be her partner, good-naturedly felt 
 a regret that she should be thus placed in 
 a point of view calculated to excite dis- 
 gust and ridicule. She thanked her for 
 her offer, and determined:^ to profit by the 
 •proposal of Miss Scorpion, that she should 
 •be in the room during her lessons. Mrs. 
 Scorpion also gave her consent, declaring 
 that it would save money, and if Mary 
 was a good girl, and made the most of the 
 ^opportunity, she should receive her quar- 
 lei-'s .allowance to spend as she. pleased. 
 
IM BONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 To do Mrs. Scorpion justice, she had 
 never dreamed of appropriating to herself 
 any part of the money left to Miss Fitzroy 
 by her uncle ; neither did she feel any re- 
 luctance to Mary's being indebted to her 
 for her board and lodging. She had passed 
 her sacred word to the major, always to 
 afford his niece an asylum, as long as she 
 remained single, and this promise, at least, 
 ^he kept faithfully. Her exti'avagant fond- 
 ness for her own daughter, and her fear 
 lest the major should become too tenderly 
 attached to his niece, to the injury of Ara- 
 bella's fortune, first made her look with a 
 jealous eye upon tlie innocent orphan, who 
 ^lone stood between her and the entire 
 possession of the major's property. At 
 lenofth it became habitual to her to ne- 
 gleet and calumniate the lovely girl en- 
 trusted to her care ; and a secret dread 
 lest she should prove superior to Arabella, 
 determined her to prevent as much as 
 possible the advancement of her education, 
 and the improvement of those talents 
 which were occasionally displayed by the 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 137 
 
 wild and high-spirited child of captain 
 Fitzroy. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion, now that her uncle was 
 no more, felt herself accountable, in some 
 degree, to George Fitzroy for the fate of 
 his sister. Arabella once eligibly disposed 
 of, she would then have time enough to 
 make amends for her neglect and want of 
 kindness to her fair charge. This was the 
 serious intention of Mrs. Scorpion, who 
 herself entertained little doubt but that: 
 captain Monteith liad actually become en- 
 amoured of her daughter's numerous per- 
 fections, and would declare himself at no 
 very distant period. Mary should tlien, 
 and not tiU then, have full power to render 
 herself e5[uany as attractive, and equally 
 as fortunate as her darling Arabella. 
 
 Tlie next day, upon Miss Scorpion's in- 
 forming ker mother that Mary had sur- 
 prised her by her quickness at learning 
 what she found to be difficult steps, Mrs. 
 Scorpion called her a good girl, and imme- 
 diately gave her the sum she had promised,. 
 
138 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 telling her, that if she laid it out to ad- 
 vantage, she should, in future, receive it 
 quarterly. " You kno¥//' said she, " that 
 I like, Mary, to see you well dressed, and 
 do not expect that you will serve me such 
 a trick as you did at my dinner-party." 
 
 Mary had never received so large a surn 
 at once. She was perplexed how to dis- 
 pose of it, and how to shew her gratitude 
 to Mrs. Scorpion, who had thus, at least, 
 shewn confidence in her discretion. Mary 
 was only sixteen, and to her, who, before 
 now, had never possessed more than a 
 guinea or two at one time, for pocket- 
 money, the sum of five-and-twenty pounds 
 appeared a little fortune ; it actually kept 
 Jier awake the whole of the first night. At 
 last she resolved to put by what she did 
 not want for present use, hoping that a 
 something might occur to enable her to 
 dispose of it in the way ^he at first pro- 
 posed. Still anxious to improve herself in 
 what appeared the favourite amusement of 
 i^Ionteith, she rose several hours before 
 
DONALD MOISTTEITH. 139 
 
 .Arabella, and practised those songs she 
 ^thought would suit his taste. Yet her 
 rperformance did not keep pace with her 
 wishes, and she frequently flung away the 
 books, vexed and dissatisfied at her own 
 want of scientific knowledge. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion had now scarce a moment 
 to spare ; every hour was devoted to beau- 
 tifying her house, and preparing for the 
 dance, to which she had invited every 
 person of her acquaintance. The partition 
 was taken down which divided the two 
 drawing-rooms, and by this means she 
 obtained a handsome apartment for the 
 ball. No expence was spared to render it 
 pleasing to the senses. Her florist was 
 ordered to provide her with the choicest 
 flowers, which w^ere to be stationed in 
 -different parts of the chamber, the stair- 
 case, and the hall. Still anxious to con- 
 rvince Monteith of her high esteem, and to 
 compliment him upon every occasion, she 
 had the floor of the ball-room chalked Vvitli 
 fanciful devices, among which the thistle 
 
140 BOXALD MONTEITH. 
 
 was the most conspicuous ; and Mary was 
 desired to pay great attention to the Scotch 
 steps, as she wished her and Arabella to 
 dance several reels with captain Monteith. 
 
 " I intend," said she, "to dress myself 
 entirely in the plaid worn as the uniform 
 of his: regiment, and have requested as a 
 favour, that all the young men of our ac- 
 quaintance who are in the army, will wear 
 their regimentals, that the coup d'oeil of 
 our little party may be more striking; 
 and as captain JMonteith has promised to 
 oblige me, all our friends will be made 
 acquamted at once, by our di'ess, of my 
 opinion, and my intentions, concerning 
 him and Arabella." 
 
 Mary raised her eyes from a purse which 
 she was netting for her brother, and fixed 
 them on the face of ]Mrs. Scorpion, doubt- 
 ing if what she had heard could be true. 
 
 "What is the matter. Miss? what have 
 I said to excite your surprise? I dare say 
 now, in your ov/n mind, that you think 
 me an old fool : but I don't care for that :^ 
 
I>ONALD MOXTEITH, 141 
 
 I will have every thing arranged to my 
 own satisfaction, even to tlie clothes you 
 are to wear, for that night ; you shall 
 di-ess to please me, and no one else." 
 
 "Dear mamma," said Arabella, "I wish 
 you would not be so hasty ; Mary has not 
 opened her lips, and yet you are quite in 
 a passion." 
 
 " If she has not opened her lips," replied 
 Mrs. Scorpion, "she has opened her eyes; 
 and I am too well acquainted with the 
 meaning of her looks not to know when 
 she treats me with silent contempt. How- 
 ever, I will have my own way, though I 
 dare say that she will have the assurance 
 to find fault with the dress I shall chuse 
 her to wear." 
 
 " I dare say she will not, mamma, if you 
 mean it to be the same as mine." 
 
 " Then I certainly do," said Mrs. Scor- 
 pion ; " Mary is my adopted daughter, and 
 if I had fifty, they should all for that night 
 wear the tartan." 
 
 •* Dearest madam," cried Mary, rising in 
 
142 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 alarm, " let me beseech of you to excuse- 
 me this once; I shall die with confusion; 
 indeed I shall. What will captain Mon- 
 teith think, what will he say, at seeing me* 
 also join in a conduct so pointed ? If he 
 were our brother indeed — " 
 
 "Did I not tell you, Arabella, that this 
 perverse girl would try to thwart me? but 
 I will not be opposed ; I have set my heart 
 upon this public avowal of my intentions, 
 and I insist. Miss, upon your obeying my 
 orders, and that without any tears or dis- 
 contented looks. I have no doubt but 
 that the captain will see my meaning, and 
 shortly declare himself. He is not rich, it 
 is true, but his connexions are great, and 
 Arabella may, perhaps, bring him a few 
 hundreds more than it is supposed she will 
 possess. — Arabella, I commission you to 
 see that this tiresome girl is provided with 
 all that you know will gratify my pride/' 
 
 She then quitted their apartment, leav- 
 ing Mary shocked at the idea of being 
 forced into an appearance of such glaring 
 
DOKALD MONTEITH. 14S 
 
 indelicacy. Tears of anger and of shame 
 rolled down her cheeks, and so completely 
 was she mortified at the bare supposition 
 of being the object of .IMonteith's ridicule, 
 that she scarce heard the voice of Arabella, 
 who good-naturedly advised her to submit, 
 without murmuring, to what her mother 
 had decreed. 
 
 " I cannot submit tamely," said Mary, 
 ^ to be thus exposed to the notice of cap- 
 tain Monteitli. What opinion will he have 
 of my dehcacy, when he sees me arrayed 
 in the costume of his country — in the same 
 plaid as that he will himself w^ear? He 
 may attribute it to my vanity, to my desire 
 of attracting his attentions^ Oh, I neither 
 can nor will consent to hazard his good 
 opinion ! I will not be seen at the dance, 
 if I am to be thus disgraced." 
 
 ",I don't know what you mean, Mary ; 
 I believe that you don't know yourself; 
 but let me advise you to obey my mother 
 quietly, for I am certain that she will 
 listen to no denial." 
 
IM DONATED MONTEITH. 
 
 " If you were engaged, Arabella, to 
 captain Monteith, the?!, indeed, there 
 would be less indelicacy in this arrange- 
 ment ; but thus to force ourselves on his 
 notice, to compel him, in fact, to despise 
 us." 
 
 "• Lord, Mary, hold your nonsense ! all 
 the good your reading so much has done 
 you has been to turn your brain, and 
 make you talk and act quite different from 
 other people. Why, if I am not actually 
 engaged to captain Monteith, I soon shall 
 be. Mamma knows better than you or I, 
 and she says that slie is quite positive that 
 he is in love with me ; she no sooner asked 
 him to come to the dance, than he imme- 
 diately requested the honou?^ of my hand 
 to open the ball ; and why should he de- 
 spise us, and all such folly, merely because 
 we are willing to shew how dearly we love 
 him? Come, Mary, you will only spoil your 
 fiyes, and then, you know, Clinton will be 
 at a loss to write verses on their beauty.'* 
 
 ** DoB't talk to me about Clinton, or 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 145 
 
 any body else," replied Maiy sobbing; "if 
 be lias a grain of sense, he will despise me 
 also." 
 
 " Well, you are certainly very perverse, 
 ISIary, and have the oddest ideas of any 
 person I know. But leave off crying, and 
 let us go to Archers and choose the silk 
 for our dresses." 
 
 "Pray excuse me," replied Mary, *'I 
 shall not be able to recover myself for 
 some time; and in the temper I am now 
 in, I shall prove a very disagreeable com- 
 panion." 
 
 " Impossible!" exclaimed a voice, which 
 they knew to be Monteitlfs. "Miss Fitz* 
 Toy can never be otherwise than fascinat- 
 ing." 
 
 JMary would have flown, but he detained 
 her. The smile, which had illumined his 
 <?ountenance, vanished as he discovered 
 the tears of increased mortification on her 
 cheek. Tenderly pressing her hand, he 
 inquired in the softest tone if she was 
 imwell. 
 
 VOL, lo H 
 
146 DONALD MONTETTH. 
 
 " She is a silly girl," said Miss Scorpion, 
 " and chooses to fret, merely because mam- 
 ma has asked her to dress differently from 
 what she herself intended at the ball." 
 
 *' This is ungenerous, Arabella," <ex- 
 claimed Mary; "you ought not to have 
 betrayed the cause of my uneasiness to cap- 
 tain IMonteith : such trifles cannot interest 
 him, and can only add to my vexation." 
 
 INIonteith cast a reproachful glance on 
 IMary ; then, taking both their hands, he 
 said, " Every thing that concerns any part 
 of this family, from whom I have received 
 such marked attentions, cannot fail .to be 
 interesting to me; tell me then, dear Miss 
 Scorpion, the cause of your friend's distress. 
 Let me become the mediator between you." 
 
 " I shall not easily forgive you, Arabella, 
 if you do," said Mary in alarm. 
 
 " Will you promise then to obey mamma, 
 and go with me to Archer's ?" 
 
 " Hard conditions !" replied IMary, en- 
 
 , deavouring to force a smile ; " but, rather 
 
 than captain INIonteith should be enter- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 14? 
 
 tallied with the recital of such noHsense, I 
 consent, though I fear witli a very bad 
 grace.'* 
 
 Arabella of course was satisfied; but 
 INIonteith felt anxious to learn tiie real 
 cause of Marj^'s tears. He could not sup- 
 pose that she possessed a mind so weak as 
 to be seriously distressed about any article 
 of apparel ; yet Miss Scorpion had affirmed 
 that it was in consequence of some an-ange- 
 ments respecting her dress ; he therefore 
 concluded very justly, that there must be 
 a something connected with the dress in- 
 tended to be worn at the dance, and not 
 the dress itself, which annoyed th^ feelings 
 of Maiy. 
 
 Under this idea he waited with impa- 
 tienc€ for the arrival of the evening, whicli 
 w^ould satisfy his curiosity. But no sooner 
 did he behold the blushing Mary habited 
 in a silken robe, of the same plaid as that 
 he wore, than he instantly comprehended 
 tlie delicate feehngs which led her to object 
 to so striking a di'ess. In the opinion of 
 H JS 
 
148 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 Monteitli slie looked more lovely than 
 usual, as the colour deepened on her cheek 
 at his approach. He took her liand, his 
 own ti-embled, and he ventured to inquire 
 if she would favour him by becoming his 
 partner after the first dances were over. 
 This re'quest revived the sinking spirits of 
 Mary, who dreaded to meet his glance 
 lest it should confirm her fears. Raising 
 her eyes with modest pleasure from the 
 ground, she replied, " that she could have 
 no objection, provided that Mrs. Scorpion 
 consented." Monteith bowed, and quitted 
 lier to join that lady and her daughter. 
 
 The universal whisper, which ran through 
 the room, was by no means flattering to 
 the delicacy of these ladies, (had they pos- 
 sessed any), or the private sentiments of 
 captain Monteith. He saw the finger of. 
 ridicule pointed at the obtruding thistk, 
 and the keen smile of contempt give a 
 curve to the lip of censure. He saw and 
 acknowledged the gross impropriety of the 
 fulsome compliment thus expressed ; and 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 149 
 
 Tie lamented that Mary -had become an 
 unwilling actress in the farce. He now 
 knew the line of conduct which he ought 
 to pursue, yet, out of tenderness to her, 
 who in reality engrossed his soul, he resolv- 
 ed to suffer the imprudent vanity of Mrs. 
 Scorpion, and her misguided daughter, to 
 take its own course, and to bring with it 
 its own punishment. 
 
 IMrs. Scorpion could not refuse the re- 
 quest of Monteith, though she did not 
 much like the thought of his fixing on 
 Mary to succeed Arabella ; yet he so con- 
 trived to propose it, that it seemed Hke an. 
 intended compliment to herself: besides,, 
 he looked and spoke so divinely, that, old 
 as she was, it had the effect of immediately 
 composing every uneasy sensation. 
 
 The noble and graceful form of Mon- 
 teith requu'ed no art to increase its sym- 
 metiy, or bring to light its beautiful pro- 
 portions ; yet, certain it is, that he looked^ 
 in his Highland uniform, a man whom, 
 Is^ature, in. one of her happiest moods, had 
 
150 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 made expressly to excite, in every bosom - 
 that beheld him, but one sentiment, and 
 that was love. Was it then to be won- 
 dered at, that the simple heart of Mary 
 Fitzroy should yield to an exterior seldom 
 to be seen, and, with all the romantic ten- 
 derness of her age and peculiar feelmgs, at 
 once devote itself to Donald Monteith, the 
 handsomest man of the age ? 
 
 To the keen and sensible remarks of 
 young Clinton, Mary found herself per- 
 plexed to reply. Her mind, as well as her 
 eyes, wandered to where JNIonteith, with^ 
 his ill-matched partner, were placed ; and 
 when in the movements of the dance hi^ 
 hand touched hers, the crimson of her 
 cheek betrayed her secret emotion. At 
 length the moment amved when he came 
 to claim her promise. She trembled so 
 excessively, that Monteitli, pitying her 
 confusion, sat down by her side, and de- 
 licately attributed it to fatigue. '' Shall we 
 remain until this dance is over ?" said he, 
 ** you will then be sufficiently rested." 
 
BCTNALD KrO^^TEITII. 151 
 
 •^•No, thank you," replied INIary, rismg, 
 ^ that would displease ]M$s. Scorpion." 
 
 IMonteith took her hand. " How lovely 
 you appear!" said he, "how much this 
 dress becomes you ! To me it is sacred. It 
 revives ideas at once pleasing and painful." 
 A sudden gloom overspread his features, 
 but soon recovering he continued — " This 
 then is the dress that caused your un- 
 easiness. Dearest IVIiss Fitzroy ! let me 
 hope that it did not proceed from any 
 pei-sonal dislike to Scotland, or her sons*:* 
 if I thought so, I should be seriously un- 
 happy." 
 
 " Ko, indeed," cried Mary, with quick- 
 ness, "my distress arose from a far different 
 feeling — from a fear — a dread — " 
 
 " Sweet girl !" said he, pressing her hand 
 with tenderness, " I was not miistaken. 
 The delicacy of your mind m^ist be innate, 
 you have not acquired it from those you 
 live with." 
 
 Their convei:sation was now interrupted 
 by Mrs. Scorpion, who, tapping Mary on 
 
152 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 the shoulder, desired her to talk less, and 
 pay more attention to the dance. She was 
 really ashamed that captain Monteith 
 should have so careless a partner, but Ara- 
 bella would be ready for hiiiir when this 
 was ended. Then, without waiting for a 
 reply, she stalked away in her tartan plaid, 
 with her head almost bending beneath the 
 weight of feathers and beads. 
 
 The starting tear fell on the burning 
 cheek of Mary. Monteith bit his under^ 
 lip; a frown obscured the beauty of his 
 brow, but it cleared the moment he caught 
 the looks of IMary. The tenderness his 
 featuyas betrayed, the softness of his voice, 
 while it assured her that the ill-natin-ed 
 remarks of Mrs. Scorpion were unfounded,, 
 and that he only regretted the necessity 
 which obliged him to relinquish a partner 
 so perfectly suited to his taste, more than 
 rewarded her for the insult she had expe- 
 rienced. 
 
 " I see," said he, " dear IMiss Fitzroy, 
 that it will be dangerous to your peace. 
 
DONALD MOXTEITH. 153^: 
 
 sBould I continue to act in consonance 
 with my own wishes : I must smother my 
 real sentiments, and disguise those feeHngs 
 ivhich I burn to avow. Chance may be 
 favourable to my wishes, and 'Mrs. Scor- 
 pion's precautions will then be useless ; if, 
 therefore, I appear insensible to your me- 
 rits, attribute it solely, I conjure you, to 
 my desire of screening you from the anger • 
 of your adopted mother." 
 
 "You are very good," replied Mary, ih^ 
 a trembling voice ; "I shiall sit down after 
 this dance is over, or perhaps retire; surely 
 then I cannot excite the displeasure of 
 Mrs.- Scoipion." 
 
 "For my sake do not quit the room,'*^ 
 said Monteith ; " I shall never be able to 
 endure the fatigue of her daughter's con- 
 versation, unless enlivened and invigorated 
 by your presence." 
 
 The bright blue eyes of IMary betrayed ' 
 
 the inward pleasure she felt at this request; 
 
 and though she declined to mingle any 
 
 more in the festivities of the scene, yet she 
 
 h3 
 
154 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 was happy in tlie cheering conversation 
 of Mrs. Byron, and the stolen glances of 
 JMonteitli, which were at every oppor- 
 tnnity directed to where she sat. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion approved of her resolu- 
 tion, and she was therefore excused from 
 joining in a reel ; but though Mary did 
 not dance with JNIonteith, yet her tor- 
 mentor could not prevent the admiration 
 visible in her eyes, as they followed him 
 in all his gracefid movements. Under 
 pretence of addressing INIrs. Byron, he 
 occasionally snatched the opportunity of 
 saying a few words to jNIaiy, or of gently 
 pressing her hand, while his looks con- 
 veyed to her the meaning of those woi*ds 
 his tongue was restrained from uttering. 
 
 Young Clinton was most terribly dis- 
 ix)nce.ited at the determination of JMary to 
 remain a spectator. He entreated her, over 
 and over again, to relinquish it in favour 
 of himself; but IVIary was firm. " All," 
 said he gaily, *' I see that you are under 
 (Orders, ^nd must not move, unless by the 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 155 
 
 desire of your commanding officer ; IMon- 
 teith's attentions have awakened the old 
 cat's fears. Jkit beware, my sweet friend, 
 how you hsten to the honied voice of the 
 handsomest man of the age. It may be 
 said of him^ 
 
 *^ Monteith has that prevailing gentle art,. 
 
 lie can with a resistless ease impart 
 
 The warmest wishes to the chastest heart." 
 
 Mary smiled,, but it was forced". The 
 constant watchfulness displayed by Mrs. 
 Scorpion during the vv^hole of the night, 
 the restlessness she discovered if JMonteith 
 approachal the place where she was seated, 
 poisoned the pleasure she w^ould otherwise 
 have felt in the evening's amusements 
 Monteith, placed by the side of Arabella 
 at the supper- table, both looked and felt 
 uncomfortable, from the marked attentions 
 he received ; and Mary, dreading the re- 
 sentment of Mrs. Scorpion, should she dis- 
 cover on whom his eyes were so frequently 
 turned, prudently retired to her. chamhet 
 
156 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 as soon as the company had returned to 
 tlie ball-room. 
 
 CHAPTEH VI. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion had, unfortunately for her 
 fair charge, caught a view of the fine fea- 
 tures of captain Monteith, at a moment 
 when they were melting with tenderness 
 and generous pity at her own illiberal 
 conduct towards Miss Fitzroy. It excited 
 in her mind the most alarming suspicions; 
 and the next morning at breakfast, she 
 angrily demanded of Mary, what had been 
 the subject of Monteith's conversation the 
 preceding evening ? 
 
 " It is my duty," said she, " as your 
 adopted parent, to inquire strictly into 
 what could occasion your blushes, and to 
 warn you not to believe that all you hear 
 is trvie, A man alwiiys takes an oppor- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 157 
 
 tunity to flatter a girl that is any tliing^ 
 like pretty, especially if the forwardness 
 of her conduct gives him leave to imagine 
 that she is struck by his person; and 
 certainly, Mary, I must say that no one 
 in the room could avoid seeing that you 
 sought his attentions. Such conduct is^ 
 highly blameable in a girl of your age, 
 who should never be able to tell what is 
 the colour of a man's eyes, while you, I 
 dare say, know every feature of captain 
 Monteith's face. I have not patience with 
 the boldness of the age ; when I was a 
 3^oung w^oman, giiis never ventured to 
 look a man in the face until they were 
 married to him ; but now, indeed, it is far 
 otherwise ; and we see daily instances of 
 mere babies becoming wives before they 
 have thrown off their pinbefores. But you. 
 Miss, shaU not again have the opportunity 
 of exposing yourself as you did last night." 
 This new and unexpected accusation of 
 boldness came with a veiy ill grace from 
 Mi'S. Scoi-pion, who, w^hatever might have 
 
158 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 been her virgin baslifalness, (and that was^ 
 even doubtful), had certainly, of late years, 
 evinced no traces of that unfasbionable^ 
 commodity. 
 
 " You are silent. Miss ; I hope it pro- 
 ceeds from a conviction of your error. I 
 shall take care in future to prevent the 
 possibility of captain Monteith's making 
 you an object to shew off his unmeaning 
 gallantry. Go to your chamber; and let 
 your mornings be devoted to a portion of 
 those studies which you seem so sudd en hj 
 to have taken a rage for acquiring." 
 
 Mary obeyed in silence, yet her eyes 
 darted forth the just indignation of a 
 wounded spirit ; and Mrs.. Scorpion was 
 with difficulty withheld by Arabella from 
 inflicting on her a severe personal chastise- 
 ment. True to her intention, she kept 
 IVIary engaged every morning for upwards 
 of a fortnight. Sl\e had just discovered^ 
 that all the household linen wanted look- 
 iiig over and repairing; and JMary co-uld^ 
 not do better than assist the housemaid 
 
/ DONALD MOXTEITH, 159 
 
 in tills necessary avocition. Tlie baclv- 
 parloiu- was lier temporary prison, and she 
 was studiously kept from the sight of 
 Blonteith, while the Clintons and Mrs. 
 Eyron were admitted into her apartment, 
 and bestowed their praises on her industry; 
 little supposing that in this instance no 
 merit was due to poor JNIary. 
 
 IMonteith, meanwhile, endured consider- 
 able vexation at the sudden disappearance 
 of IMar}^ He purposely called at different 
 hoiu's, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, 
 but liis hopes were vain ; and to all his 
 inquii-ies concerning her, Mrs. Scorpion 
 and. Arabella retui-ned a cold and distant 
 reply. It was now that IMonteith became 
 perfectly acquainted with the state of his 
 own heart; it was now that he discovered 
 the complete and entire possession which 
 Mary held of his affections. The fear of 
 having incTcased, by his recent attentions, 
 the ill-nature of her adopted mother, and 
 of her suffering still gTeater mortifications 
 on tliis account, called forth all the ten- 
 
160 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 derness of his nature, and he longed to 
 see her, to assure lier of his sincere sorrow, 
 should he in any way have vmfortunately 
 contributed to tli^ disagreeableness of her 
 painful situation. 
 
 Almost liopeless of beholding the im- 
 prisoned Mar}^ and feverish with iinpa« 
 tience to learn where she was, jMonteith 
 called in despair once more on Mrs. Scor- 
 pion. It was evening. They were from, 
 home, but had left a message, requesting 
 him to wait their return. J^iary had taken 
 the opportunity of their absence to practise 
 a new song ; she had heard the rap at the 
 vStreet-door, and was hurrying down as 
 jMonteith ascended. The delight of thus 
 unexpectedly meeting with her, made liim 
 spring forward with joyful animation ; 
 catching her little soft hand in his, Mon^ 
 teith, for the first time, imprinted on it a 
 kiss — a kiss, the fervour of which ran 
 through the frame of JNIaiy, and crimsoned 
 her fair cheek with blushes. She suffered 
 him to lead her into the drawing-room. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 1 61 
 
 where, seating himself by her side, he 
 asked fifty questions in a breath, not al- 
 lowing her to reply, had she been able, 
 Eut ISIary, so little accustomed to the 
 voice of tenderness, felt its full force wheiit 
 coming from a man like JMonteith, Re- 
 membering her situation, and the dreaded 
 displeasure of Mrs. Scoi-pion, should she 
 return and find her there, she thanked 
 him, in a faltering tone, for his friendly 
 solicitude, but begged him to allow her to 
 retire to the chamber w^here she w^as em- 
 ployed. 
 
 "Dearest Miss Fitzroy !" cried Mosteitli 
 eagerly, " and is it possible that you have 
 been in this house all the time that I have 
 been so anxious to learn where you were? 
 what can be tho views of Mrs. Scorpion 
 in thus secreting you from her acquaint- 
 ance? Tell me, dearest Miss Fitzroy, 1 
 beseech you, ho\v^ long you are to be hid 
 from our sight?" 
 
 "Indeed I know not," replied JNIary; 
 " but should she return, and find out my 
 
162r DONALD MOXTEITir. 
 
 disobedience, and that I have seen you; it 
 is likely that my confinement may be of 
 much longer duration." 
 
 Monteith's eyes flashed fire, then soft- 
 ened into an expression of tenderness so 
 exquisite, that IMary thought herself now 
 able to bear all the anger of her adopted 
 mother ; nay, even to die, if but rewarded 
 witli such another look. 
 
 " Lovely angel !" he exclaimed, gazing 
 on her with the chastest affection, " and 
 have I been the cause of calling forth the 
 too ready malice of Mrs. Scorpion ? of in- 
 flicting on thee one moment's pain ? Oli 
 let me seize the present opportunity of 
 assuring you how deeply I sympathize 
 with you respecting the disagreeables you 
 encounter; how much I regret that so 
 much innocence, so much intellectual 
 worth, is consigned to the care of envy 
 and illiberality. Oh that it had pleased 
 Heaven to bestow on me the power of 
 lightening your vexations, of chasing away 
 the teaj' of wounded pride, of making It 
 
BONALD MONTEITH, 165 
 
 tlie study of my whole life to prove my 
 eternal devotion to your service." He 
 paused, trembling with the ardency of his 
 feelings, while Mary, overcome by sur- 
 prise and the sweetest rapture of sensa- 
 tions, as novel as they Avere exquisite, 
 attempted not to witlidraw her hand, or 
 to interrupt the harmonious accents of a 
 voice on which she felt her happiness 
 depend. 
 
 Monteith was just turned of three-and- 
 twenty ; the beauty of his form and fea- 
 tures, the variety of his accomplishments, 
 and the profession he had chosen, all con- 
 spired to throw him frequently into the 
 society of females, whose high birth and 
 sacred duties were not even sufficient to 
 secure them from the attractions Avhich 
 centered in JSlonteith. He had been long 
 accustomed to witness the glances of invi- 
 tation dart from many a brilliant eye, to 
 see the snowy bosom heave with tender- 
 ness at his approach, and to observe aU the 
 alluring artifices of enamoured lovehness » 
 yet his heart had withstood such repeated 
 
164 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 attacks, had passed the fiery ordeal, nor 
 felt itself in any serious danger until he 
 was introduced to a young and artless girl 
 of sixteen, whose situation was dependent, 
 education neglected, and who, in shorty 
 laboured under disadvantages which only 
 seemed to render her more dear to the 
 soul of Monteith. Well versed in the 
 changeful looks of woman, he saw with 
 exultation, in the trembling and bkishing 
 confusion of Mary, the first dawning of a* 
 passion equal to his own. The transports 
 of love alone filled his mind; his family,, 
 his own peculiar situation, its duties, thouglr 
 by liim renounced and unowned, were all for- 
 gotten. At that moment the world and all 
 his future prospects faded before his eyes; 
 and he saw only Mary, the neglected and 
 ill-treated child of a brother officer. In the 
 impulse of the moment he flung himself 
 on one knee before her, and pressing both 
 her hands in his, besought her to consider 
 that all the future felicity of his life now 
 hung on one little word.. 
 
 "-' Oh sweetest JMary !" he cried ; " why 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. l6& 
 
 sliould I conceal any longer a love which 
 you only could inspire? why hesitate to 
 feespeak your gentlest reception of my 
 vows? accept then, I conjure you, a heart 
 entirely your own. Let me snatch you 
 from the designing cruelty of Mrs. Scor- 
 pion, the ignorant affectation of her daugh- 
 ter; let me be the being favoured by 
 Heav^i to lead you to love and peace ; 
 let me, oh dearest, dearest Mary ! be your 
 •protector, guardian, and guide, tlirough 
 the snares that encompass you ; tell me 
 but that you accept my tenderness, that 
 you will one day be mine, and my whole 
 life shall be too short to evince my grati- 
 tude." 
 
 Mary would have spoken, but she could 
 not ; a film overspread her sight, and 
 IMonteith caught her to his bosom as she 
 was sinking to the ground. The touch of 
 his lips, which he now ventured to press 
 to hers, recalled her fleeting spirits, and 
 she opened her eyes, which too well assur- 
 ed him of her mutual attachment. Leaning 
 
166 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 against his shoulder, she burst into tears. 
 They were the first of rapture which Mmy 
 had ever shed, and Monteith, who felt her 
 delicate bosom throb against his, flung his 
 arms round her graceful form, and laid his 
 cheek close to hers, lest a word of what 
 she wished to utter should escape his ear. 
 Again he urged her to confirm his hopes ; 
 and Mary, a little recovered, owned, in a 
 tremulous voice, that all her prospects of 
 happiness in this world rested on the 
 fidelity of his protestations. 
 
 " Angel of purity !" he exclaimed, press- 
 ing her still closer to his heart, " may the 
 bliss of this rapturous moment be the 
 -dawn of our future felicity ! Trust to my 
 w^ord, that at least tlu'ough life the soul 
 of INIonteith is thine." 
 
 " Living or dead, I am yours," replied 
 jMary with romantic fervour. 
 
 Monteith could only bestow a parting 
 kiss, as a loud rap at the door announced 
 the return of Mrs. Scorpion; and jNIary 
 flew to lier bed-room, her countenance 
 
©OXALD MONTEITIT. 1G7 
 
 glistening with tears of delight, and her 
 spirits strengthened by the conviction of 
 being dear to IMonteith. *' Oh," said she, 
 " can it be possible that I am indeed the 
 object destined to become the wife of 
 Donald Monteith? can such exquisite hap- 
 piness be in store for me, and I, ingrate 
 that I am, how often have I dared to 
 murmur at my situation ! how often have 
 I thought that from my cradle I was the 
 child of misfortune ! Pardon, oh Heaven ! 
 the rashness of my complahiings. To be 
 the beloved of IMonteith is to be the hap- 
 piest of my sex. His smile, his tenderness, 
 will repay me for my long estrangement 
 firom the sweet ties of love and friendship. 
 Ail my past vexations will fleet away like 
 a painful vision, and while my head re- 
 poses on his arm, I shall be able to brave 
 every affliction but his loss." 
 
 Such were the secret thoughts of IMary, 
 who no longer deemed herself the sport 
 of fortune. IVIonteith had acknowledged 
 that he loved her, and Heaven could not 
 
168 DONALD MOOTEITH. 
 
 T^estow a dearer blessing ; yet if she might 
 now dare to breathe a wish, it would be 
 for the delightful interchange of female 
 •confidence, of a friend whose mind was 
 congenial with her own, to whom she 
 could talk for ever of him who now en- 
 grossed her whole soul. 
 
 ]Monteith's visit was shorter than usual; 
 the nature of his feelings not permitting 
 him to tolerate the frivolous conversation 
 of JNIrs. Scorpion, or the wearisome efforts 
 of Arabella to secure his attention to her- 
 self. Quitting, therefore, the society of 
 those for whom he had in reality a sove- 
 reign contempt, he determined to call on 
 ;^lrs. Byron, from whom he liad received 
 many pressing invitations ; but until this 
 evening he had been unable to avail him- 
 self of her prepossession in his favour. 
 
 How striking the conti-ast w^hich now 
 presented itself to the view of ]Monteith, 
 hi the unaffected ease and elegance of the 
 reception he met with from Mrs. Byron, 
 to that given him by the self-interested 
 
DONALD MOKTSlITSr. l6§ 
 
 Scorpions! In the former he beheld a 
 woman whose superior mind, agreeable 
 vivacity, and good-natured wit, made her 
 still an object of delight. Yet her chief 
 attraction lay in her affection for Mary, of 
 whom she spoke in terms that well ac- 
 corded with the secret sentiments of Mon- 
 teith. An hour had scarce elapsed before 
 Mrs. Byron became the confidant of Do- 
 nald, who, with feelings bordering on filial 
 affection, disclosed to her the occurrence 
 of the evening, and his prepossession in 
 favour of her young favourite at the very 
 first sight. 
 
 Mrs. Byron, who had conceived tha 
 most favourable opinion of the gallant sol- 
 dier, and who felt transpoiled at the pro- 
 spect of Mary's apparentgood fortune, could 
 not restrain her tears, as she embraced 
 him whom she now hoped would bo her 
 deliverer from the power of Mrs. Scorpion. 
 " May Heaven bless you both, and smile 
 upon your mutual tenderness !" said she ; 
 ** you know not, my dear friend, how your 
 
 VOL. L I 
 
170 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 confidence has relieved my mind, and 
 quieted my fears respecting that dear child's 
 future welfare. Ah, captain Monteith ! I 
 knew her mother well, she was just such 
 a fascin siting creature as Mary ; she was 
 my friend, and her orphan cannot but be 
 dear to mo. When I so providentially 
 met w^ith, and discovered into what hands 
 the misplaced eonfidence of major Fitzroy 
 Is ad placed his niece ; when I saw her un- 
 protected loveliness exposed to the dan- 
 gerous flattery of your sex, unaided by 
 maternal counsels, or even the admonitions 
 of friendship, to warn her of impending 
 evil, my heart bled when I reflected on 
 the possibility of her falling a victim to 
 her own sensibihty and inexperience. 
 Your tenderness, my dear Monteith, will 
 shield this fair blossom, which I now trust 
 is not ' born to blush unseen, or waste its 
 sweetness on tlie desert air.' In your 
 watchful love she will find a protector, a 
 gentle instructor, and a husband capable of 
 bestowing every earthly happiness. ^ly 
 
DONALD MONT$:iTH. 171 
 
 ,dear Mary • will no longer be a neglected 
 orphan, friendless and unhappy ; she will 
 become all that I wish her, she will be 
 'good and happy, and you will have the 
 delightful reflection of having been the 
 means by which her felicity Vv^as obtained." 
 
 A transient paleness overspread the 
 countenance of ]\ionteith, which, however, 
 passed unobserved by Mrs. Eyron, vA\o 
 only saw^ in imagination the orphan child 
 of lier deceased iiiend placed in a situa- 
 tion which proiliised to secure her from a 
 knowledge of those evils which her mother 
 had endured. 
 
 jMean while the object of Mrs. Byron's 
 solicitude was suffering all the mortifica- 
 tions which disappointed intrigue and low 
 cunning could suggest. jSIonteith had no 
 sooner quitted JMrs. Scorpion than she 
 sought for Mary, and angrily demanded 
 v/hether she had not seen captain Mon- 
 teith ? Mary, unaccustomed to equivocate, 
 frankly owned that she had, and mentioned 
 by what means the interview had been 
 I 2 
 
17S DONALD M-ONtElTlT-. 
 
 obtained. >To words can describe the rage 
 wliicli took possession of Mrs. Scorpion's 
 mindj her face was perfectly distorted, and 
 she for some minutes was obliged to be 
 silent, from inability alone to give utter- 
 ance to her words. 
 
 At length she began — ** Ungrateful little 
 wretch that you are ! how dared you to 
 leave the room to which, for my own 
 private reasons, I thought prudent to con- 
 fine you ? I will never believe that you 
 met captain Monteith accidentrJly. It is 
 some plan between you; and instead of his 
 marrying Arabella, I shall have him run 
 away with yoo. Miss Impudence ! Little 
 did I imaglDe that with all my care and 
 foresight it would come to this. Oh I 
 could beat you to death ! But you shall be 
 disappointed. Miss, you shall; I'll make you 
 remember your base ingratitude, in wish- 
 ing to supplant Arabella. Gracious Heaven! 
 if I thought it possible that he could think 
 seriously to neglect her, after all my favours^ 
 I should run mad with vexation." 
 
DONALD MONTEITH, 173 
 
 "Dear motlier, be calm," said Miss 
 Scorpion ; " what reason have you to sup- 
 pose that captain Monteith prefers Mary 
 to me ? such an idea v/ould never enter 
 my head, and I think you have done no 
 good by putting it into liers." 
 
 " What reason !" exclaimed the incensed 
 parent, " I have no reason to think that a 
 man of his taste and discrimination could 
 voluntarily make such a preference ; but 
 did I not notice to }'0u, ou the night of 
 my bail, the bold and forward conduct of 
 this tormenting girl, and his stolen glances, 
 which seemed to assure her that she need 
 not sigh in vain ? Oh, I knov/ her so well, 
 that she would not care if she married him 
 to-morrov/, providing that she mortified 
 me and outri vailed you." 
 
 ** What action of my life, madam, has 
 deserved from you this severe and unjust 
 reproach ?" said Mary, in a firm tone of 
 voice. 
 
 "All your actions, Miss Impudence. 
 Have you not always been a thorn in my 
 
174 DONALD MOXTEITH. 
 
 side? have you not always contradicted 
 me, disobeyed my commands, and given 
 me ten times more trouble than my own 
 daughter? But this last daring act of yours 
 shall not go vmpunislicd. I ^vill send you 
 away to some secure place till Arabella is 
 married ; I will not put it in your power 
 to disappoint me in what I have set my 
 whole heart and soul upon." 
 
 " Nay, mother, do not be too hasty; con- 
 sider that you promised the major " 
 
 At the name of her uncle, Mary's forti- 
 tude gave way, and she burst into tears. 
 "Ask my mothers pardon, Mary," said 
 Arabella, " and promise in future to obey 
 her. You should not have seen or spoken 
 to captain Monteith, after you kne^v^ it gave 
 her uneasiness." 
 
 "Ask pardon, Arabella," cried Mary 
 sobbing, "and for what? I know of no 
 fault I have committed. I said that my 
 seeing captain Monteitli was accidental, 
 and I am not in the habit of uttering 
 falsehoods." 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 175 
 
 " Oh ! let her high-spirited ladyship 
 alone," exclaimed Mrs. Scorpion ; " I am 
 not going to be duped in an affair of such 
 consequence to your peace. When she is 
 beyond the reach of captain JSIonteith, he 
 will see his error ; and when you are his 
 wife, Mary shall return." 
 
 " Eut, my dear mother, where can you 
 place her so secure as under your own 
 roof? Indeed I think all this caution and 
 alarm quite unnecessary ; I don't believe 
 that captain !Monteith has ever cast a 
 thought on JMary beyond common polite- 
 ness." 
 
 " You are deceived, my dearest Arabella, 
 grossly deceived ; I have not lived to these 
 years not to understand the language of 
 the eyes. I neither can nor will suppose 
 that he means any thing by his gallantry, 
 but it is essential to your happiness and 
 mine, that the object of it sliould be re- 
 moved out of his way as soon as possible. 
 1 will go early to-morrow to Mrs. Byron ; 
 she is a sensible woman, and can most 
 likely advise me what to do." 
 
1 76 BONAILD. MONTEITH. 
 
 " Accordin<?]y, the next morning, Mrs. 
 Scorpion, still biiriaing with resentment, 
 and tremblin':? with the force of her fears, 
 drove to the neat little residence of Mrs. 
 Eyron, to whom she imparted unreservedly 
 the cause of her visit and of her distress. 
 Mrs. Eyron heard her with an earnestness 
 to which the subject alone gave rise, yet 
 w^is unv/illing to volunteer her services, 
 lest ot a futiix^e time she might be accused 
 of hypocrisy. 
 
 "What shall I do, dear Mrs. Byron, 
 with tliis giddy girl ? If I had but any 
 friend to whom I could confide her, who 
 would take charge of her, until Arabella is 
 married." 
 
 " Eut do you actually believe, Mrs. 
 Scorpion, that it is the intention of cap- 
 tain Monteith to offer himself to Miss 
 Scorpion?" 
 
 " I have not a single doubt of it," replied 
 the self-deceived mother; "his frequent 
 visits to my house, pven during the fort- 
 night v^hen Mary was not to be seen, 
 convinced me that they could only b(j 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 177 
 
 meant to my Arabella, whose personal at- 
 tractions and numerous accomplishments 
 put it beyond a belief that she will become 
 Mrs. JMonteith. Yet I am anxious to 
 estrange Mary from his sight until the 
 ceremony has actually taken place; for I 
 know% JNIrs, Byron, that ail men are given 
 to change. 'Now if you, dearest Mrs. 
 Byron, out of kindness to ^lary and 
 friendship to me, would condescend to 
 receive her for two or three months, or 
 perhaps a less period of time, it would be 
 conferring on me an eternal obhgation, as 
 I should then know tliat I had only trans- 
 ferred her from one home to another." 
 
 "If such is your wish, iMrs. Scorpion, I 
 certainly cannot refuse to oblige you : I 
 will undertake to watch over Miss Fitzroy 
 with the same care as if she were my own 
 daughter, and to protect her as long as 
 you shall think it necessary that she should 
 ^e from under yom- own eyes." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Byron ! how can I thank 
 you for this generous compliance with my 
 
178 DONALD jMONTEITH. 
 
 "wishes ? You have made me so happy, I 
 declare I feel quite another being. I shall 
 be so easy, so satisfied, while she is with 
 you ; and all that I ask is, that you will 
 have the goodness to read first any letter 
 which may be sent to her, and not suffer 
 her to go out unless accompanied by your- 
 self" 
 
 " The happiness and peace of Miss Fitz- 
 roy is dear to me beyond expression," 
 replied Mrs. Byron; " and be assured, Mrs. 
 Scoi-pion, that I wall on no account neglect 
 or overlook the most trifling circumstance 
 that may be connected with her future 
 welfare." 
 
 " A thousand tlianks, my dear, kind 
 friend. When will it be convenient for 
 you to receive her ?" 
 
 "To-day, if you please," said Mrs. Byron; 
 " my establishment is but sm.all, yet I flat- 
 ter myself she will not find it dull." 
 
 ** I v/ill order an instrument to be sent 
 down immediately," replied Mrs. Scorpion; 
 ** that I kr.ov/ will best occupy her mind. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 179 
 
 and if agreeable to yovi, myself and Ara- 
 bella will bring her here this eyervng'^ 
 To this Mrs. Byron cheerfully assented, 
 and her visitor now took her leave, pro- 
 fessing herself to be for ever lier debtor. 
 
 Mary no sooner heard of this fortunrtte 
 arrangement in her favour, than she began 
 to entertain hopes that her removal would 
 be discovered by her lover, and that she 
 should sometimes see him ; though as yet 
 she was ignorant of his being acquainted 
 with Mrs. Byron's residence. With a joy 
 which she wished to conceal, she busied 
 herself in preparing for her much-wished- 
 for visit. Arabella, however, would not 
 accompany her mother. She embraced 
 Mary, from whom she had never before 
 been separated, with a warmth w^hich was 
 not natural to her, and which, had Mary 
 really believed her to have been seriously 
 attached to Monteith, would have given: 
 her the greatest uneasiness. But Mary 
 knew full weU that Arabella's heart had 
 been too often in danger, and that slie 
 
180 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 acted nov/ more from a blind obedience to 
 her mother's wishes, than from any lasting 
 attachment for her present admirer. INIaiy, 
 however, returned her embrace, and thank- 
 ed her for her promise of calling on her 
 soon ; yet she still refused to solicit a par- 
 don, when she could not own to having 
 committed a fault; and Arabella, vexed at 
 her obstinacy, and perhaps at length be- 
 lieving that her absence might for a time 
 be necessary, ceased to im.portune her on 
 the subject. 
 
 Mrs. Scorpion, rejoiced at the oppor- 
 tunity of safely getting rid of her, pro- 
 mised to send her the next day her music 
 and a piano. " If I hear a good account 
 of you," said she, "you shall not be in 
 want of idlings to amuse you ; and when 
 Arabella is married, I will do my best, as 
 i told you before, to get you well provided 
 for. But no tricks, no attempts to let 
 i^aptsin Monteith know where you are; 
 if you do, I will send you a hundred miles 
 into the country, where you shall have no 
 
I)ONALD MONTEITH. i81 
 
 opportunity of even moving without being 
 watched. I hope, however, that my dear 
 friend Mrs. Byron will have more power 
 over you than I have, and that there Vvdll 
 be no occasion for me to part with you for 
 any longer period than that I at present 
 apprehend." Then ordering a coach to be 
 called, and reminding Arabella that the 
 servants must be kept in ignorance of 
 jMary's retreat, she proceeded to the resi- 
 dence of Mrs. Byron, secretly exulting in 
 the prospect of having effectually removed 
 her from the sight of the man whom she 
 actually looked upon as the intended husr. 
 band of her darling, her matchless Arabella* 
 
182 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 CHAPTEll VII. 
 
 MoNTEiTH, on quitting Mrs. Byron, for 
 whom he now entertained the most sincere 
 esteem, regretted that he had not confided 
 to her every occurrence which could in 
 any way cloud the future tranquillity of 
 his life. Her experience, her good sense, 
 and her evident friendship for himself* 
 might have suggested what line of con- 
 duct it would be proper for him to pursue 
 under his present circumstances. Again 
 recollecting himself, he felt pleased that 
 he had not, in the openness of his heart, 
 betrayed his private situation, since it 
 mi2:ht have created a needless alarm for 
 the peace of Miss Fitzroy . W as then the 
 alarm a needless one, which threatened to 
 involve him in the displeasure of his whole 
 family, and which, in spite of the irrevo- 
 cable determination he had made, never 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 183 
 
 to acknowledge an action which lie had 
 been betrayed into, still at moments haunt- 
 ed his mind, and dashed the cup of rapture 
 fi'om his lips? Honour and love contended 
 for empire in his bosom. The latter brought 
 forward the sweet and hallowed imape of 
 the lovely orphan, arrayed in smiles of 
 innocent tenderness, to which himself gave 
 birth, neglected and oppressed, the pro- 
 bable victim of Mrs. Scorpion's unjusti- 
 fiable tyranny, now^ looking up to him as 
 a protector and deliverer. The former 
 reminded him that love, if not founded 
 on the basis of honour, could not be last- 
 ing; and that the object of his ardent pas- 
 sion had far better endure the frow^ns of 
 her duenna, than the stings of wounded 
 pride, or the tears of self-reproach. 
 
 " Ah !" he exclaimed, as he paced his 
 chamber with rapid steps, " into what a 
 dilemma am I thrown ! seduced into the 
 commission of an unintentional crime, 
 wdiich, perhaps, in spite of all my efforts, 
 may tinge watli misery my future pro- 
 
184 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 spects: yet how can I resign the heart 
 which is all my own ? and which, having 
 fixed on me its only hope of earthly hap- 
 piness, may nobly determine to relinquish 
 the v/orld, and all its allurements, and in 
 my love find its terrestrial paradise. If such 
 a heart exists, it is my sweet Mary's ; and 
 if I conceal from her knowledge all that 
 would give her pain, I will nevertheless 
 betray enough of my family vexations to 
 try the strength of her attachment, to 
 allow her to decline linking her fate with 
 mine, should she not possess enough of 
 heroism and affection to share my destiny, 
 be it what it may." 
 
 Full of these ideas, Monteith called the 
 next day on Mrs. Scorpion, and heai'd that 
 Mary was gone out of town to the house 
 of a friend, where it Vv^as probable she 
 might stay some months. His surprise at 
 her sudden removal threw him off his 
 guai'd, and he could not avoid letting fall 
 §ome expressions, which were immediately 
 caught up by Mrs. Scorpion. 
 
]DONALI> MONTEITH. 185 
 
 ** Dear me, captain Monteith," said she, 
 **it is quite plain that I have acted as 
 became the adopted mother of Miss Fitz- 
 roy. By removing her far from London, 
 I have saved her from being made vainer 
 than she is akeady. You must excuse 
 me, captain, but a man of your sense 
 should not flatter and deceive a silly child 
 like Mary. It might be attended with 
 very unpleasant consequences to those who 
 have the care of her." 
 
 •" Pardon me, madam, I have never yet 
 addressed Miss Fitzroy in the language of 
 insincerity ; I assure you I have too high 
 a respect for her to utter what I do not 
 mean." 
 
 " Ah, captain ! you soldiers are men of 
 gallantry by profession, and it is as natural 
 to you to flatter a pretty girl when you 
 see one, as it is for us women to believe, 
 to trust, then be deceived." 
 
 "My dear madam, you surely cannot 
 mean " 
 
 " Oh nothing more, captain, than what 
 
186 DONATED MONTEITH. 
 
 I have said before. Mary is but a cliild, 
 sbe is only sixteen, and a little country 
 air, and change of scene, will be of service 
 to her. Arabella, my love, shew captain 
 Monteith the landscape which you finish- 
 ed this morning ; he will have the good- 
 ness to point out to you any defect which 
 he. as an amateur, may discover." 
 
 Monteith sat on thorns ; yet, as he still 
 h.oped to find out the retreat of his beloved 
 Mary, he determined to please the admir- 
 ing parent, by lavishing strong encomiums 
 on the weak and flimsy performance of 
 her daughter. On the same account he 
 consented to accompany them the next 
 evening to the opera ; but here again he 
 was disappointed ; both Arabella and her 
 mother preserved a profound silence with 
 respect to the subject nearest his heart, 
 while upon every other they almost deaf- 
 ened him by their volubility. 
 
 He next called on Mrs. Clinton, but 
 here he could gain no information ; she 
 was not in the confidence of Mrs. Scorpion, 
 
DONALD MOXTEITH. 187 
 
 and was as much surprised as himself at 
 the unexpected and secret journey. Young 
 Chnton was pretty warm in his invectives 
 asfainst the conduct of both mother and 
 daughter; nor did he scruple to affirm 
 that the removal of the lovely orphan 
 proceeded solely from the envy and jea- 
 lousy of the former. 
 
 " At one time," said he, " it was treason 
 in me to look at Miss Fitzroy, or to speak 
 to her in the presence of Arabella ; but no 
 sooner did the conquering hero of the 
 north appear, than I was desired by the 
 kind and obliging Mrs. Scorpion to 'take 
 care of Mary." 
 
 JMonteith bit his lip. 
 
 " Forgive me, m^y friend," continued 
 Clinton, " but you are, perhaps, not per- 
 fectly aware of the designs of that old 
 viper, who thinks she has 3^ou in her net, 
 so firmly entangled, that nothing less than 
 your marriage with her darhng Arabella 
 can set you free. Some attentions which 
 you probably paid to Miss Fitzroy have 
 
188 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 awakened her fears. I see through her 
 directly. Mary is removed, that her supe- 
 rior loveliness may not draw off your 
 notice from Arabella. At a proper time 
 she will be recalled ; and, perhaps, I may 
 then be permitted to implore her interest 
 in my favour." 
 
 Monteith could ill conceal his indigna- 
 tion and chagrin ; yet he endeavoured to 
 laugh at the interested views of Mrs. Scor- 
 pion. " It is rather singular," said he, 
 " that she should have done me the honour 
 to nominate me for a son-in-law, seeing 
 that I have never gone beyond the rules 
 of common politeness in my attentions to 
 Iier daughter. I really ought to feel my- 
 self greatly indebted to you, Clinton, for 
 your intelligence, since I shall hencefor- 
 ward be on raj guard whenever I am in 
 company with tlie captivating Arabella." 
 
 " Poor girl !" said the good-natured 
 Clinton, " I pity her, for being the dupe 
 of her mother's artifice." 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Monteith, " I might 
 
DONALD MOKTEITH. 189 
 
 be inclined to do so likewise, had she more 
 innate decency of mind and manners; 
 were she less bold in conversation, less 
 forward in claiming the attention of our 
 sex. All men of delicacy can have but 
 €ne opinion of a woman who acts Hke 
 !Miss Scorpion. Her mother has indeed 
 done wisely in removing so striking a 
 contrast as Mary Fitzroy, w^hose blushing 
 timidity always put me in mind of those 
 beautiful lines by Slieridan— ~ 
 
 " Mark'd you her cheek of roseate hue? 
 MarkM you her eye of liijuid blue? 
 That eye in liquid circles moving! 
 TIjat cheek iibash'd at man's approving! 
 The one love's arrows darting round, 
 The other bliisl:ing at the wound.'* 
 
 "They are indeed ^.pplicable to that 
 ehaiiTiing girl," cried Clinton, "whom Mrs. 
 Scorpion styles the cMld I I am much 
 mistaken if she thought herself one, long 
 before she was Mary's age. If you have 
 nothing better to do, Monteith, let us 
 saunter through the park, where I will re- 
 
190 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 count some little private anecdotes of ]\Irs. 
 Scorpion, which came to my knowledge 
 the other day, and which will enlighten 
 you a good deal on the subject of that 
 lady's present conduct and past morality." 
 To this ISIonteith consented, not a little 
 anxious to learn all he could of the woman 
 Avho had been left in charge of one whom 
 he now loved with an energy bordering on 
 adoration. 
 
 Mary meanwhile was very comfortably 
 situated with the friend of her deceased 
 mother ; had she but been permitted to 
 hear from Monteith, to see him occasion- 
 ally, she would have been perfectly con- 
 tented ; but when a week had elapsed, 
 and her retreat remained still unknown, 
 her spirits began to droop, and, for the 
 first time, she felt that love is not without 
 its torments. Slie had received a visit 
 from Mrs. Scoi-pion and Arabella once 
 since her removal, but both were silent 
 respecting captain Monteith. The former, 
 true to her promise, had sent her an in- 
 
DONALD.MONTEITH. 191 
 
 strumeiit, and given her permission to 
 subscribe to a library. In return for this 
 condescension, IMary was ordered not to 
 stir beyond the limits of the garden, and 
 to obey strictly the wishes of Mrs. Byron, 
 in whom Mrs. Scorpion appeared to place 
 great confidence, and to whom she pri- 
 vately communicated her conviction that 
 she had acted with all proper caution in 
 sending Mary away from the sight of 
 ^Monteith, who, she owned, had shewn 
 some signs of vexation when informed of 
 what she had done. She still, however, 
 obstinately persisted in her opinion that 
 he would marry Arabella ; and in order to 
 shew her gratitude to Mrs. Byron, for so 
 obhgingly taking charge of her trouble- 
 some ward, she insisted upon her accept- 
 ing a handsome set of china ornaments 
 for the chimney, the designs by Miss 
 Scorpion. Mrs. Byron felt awkward in 
 taking them ; but she could not refuse 
 without giving offence, and this, for the 
 sake of her young friend, she v/ished to 
 
192 DONAi^D MONTElTii. 
 
 avoid. She therefore saw them plax^ed on 
 her mantle-piece by Arabella, who ex- 
 pressed herself highly delighted that her 
 performance had met with the approbation 
 of such an excellent judge as Mrs. Byron. 
 Mary, after their departure, betrayed 
 an uneasiness, of which her fiiend well 
 knew the cause. Unwilling to feed a 
 flame which as yet might, perhaps, be 
 extinguished, Mrs. Byron prudently for- 
 bore to add to it by the mention of Mon- 
 tdth's name, and with equal caution con- 
 cealed her knov/ledge either of his visit, or 
 its consequent disclosure. Anxious, how- 
 ever, to divert her mind from its present 
 disappointment, Mrs. Byron proposed that 
 they should go and drink tea at the house 
 of a family who lived at no very great 
 distance, and whom Maiy had seen, and 
 been pleased v/ith their unaffected man- 
 3lers and friendly hospitality ; and by whom 
 also, young as she was, she had been treated 
 -^mih the most marked attention. In fact, 
 th^j were the only acquaintance Mrs. By- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 193^ 
 
 ron had in the village ; with them she was 
 upon that pleasant sort of intimacy, that 
 she could drop in when she liked, sure of 
 a warm reception from Mr. and Mrs. Hill, 
 and their two daughters, who, though 
 plain and unadorned in their own manners, 
 knew well how to appreciate the superior 
 polish and native elegance visible in those 
 of Mrs. Byron and IMary. 
 
 Neither of the Miss Kills were per- 
 formers on any instrument, though both 
 were fond of music ; and so much were 
 they delighted by Mary's voice and her 
 tasteful style of playing, that Mr. Hill had 
 an old harpsichord, which had lain by in a 
 lumber-room, put in tune, on purpose that 
 he might be gratified by hearing Miss 
 Fitzroy at his own ho\ise v/henever she 
 paid them a visit. ISlary felt grateful for 
 this mark of the old gentleman's approba- 
 tion, and in return begged him to select 
 those songs he hked b6st for her to practise. 
 
 Thus her desire to give pleasure over- 
 came her natural diffidence, and the ap- 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
1^4 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 plauses she gained encouraged her to con- 
 tinue her exertions. Sometimes she would 
 pause in the midst of a pathetic air, chilled 
 by the fear that Monteith too readily gave 
 credit to the little tales raised by JNIrs. 
 Scorpion to weaken his regard. Surely he 
 tnight have discovered before now the 
 place of her retreat, had his love been as 
 ardent as he wished her to believe. It had 
 been her misfortune to lose, in a myste- 
 rious way, her first and early friend ; was 
 she likewise to lament the estrangement 
 of her first lover, of him to whom she had 
 found herself so strcmgiy and so irresistibly 
 attached the moment she heard the sound 
 of his voice ? Both had become possessed 
 of the flower which she had worn in her 
 bosom, but Monteith had given her his in 
 return, which she had sacredly treasured, 
 and which she never failed to gaze on at 
 least once a-day. What would she give 
 were it possible for her to learn if he had 
 preserved hers? yet to expect it was both; 
 silly and vain. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 195- 
 
 Wliile IMaiy was pining in secret over 
 what she then imagined a real misfortune, 
 Monteith was actually unwell, from the 
 impossibility there appeared of gaining any 
 intelligence of where she Imd been sent. 
 Again and again he visited the Scorpions, 
 but they preserved an inviolable silence 
 on the subject. Feverish and low-spirited, 
 he strolled there one morning, and entered 
 the diawing-room just as a tall elegant- 
 looking man was quitting it. The smile 
 on the face of Mrs. Scorpion, and the low 
 courtesy she dropped more than once, con- 
 vinced him that the gentleman was in- 
 debted to liis rank or fortune for her con- 
 descension. 
 
 " Bless me !'^ cried Mrs. Scorpion, after 
 lie was gone, " I don't know who would 
 have the bringing up of a giddy self-willed 
 girL It is a most unthankful office ; for, 
 after all one's pains and cares, and constant 
 watchings, ingratitude is the general re- 
 ward. Ah captain JMonteith ! I dare say 
 that even you have often thought me too 
 k2 
 
196 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 ^rict with my dear adopted daughter ; but 
 if you knew all, you would find that I 
 have just cause for what I do." 
 
 Monteith scarce breathed, his heart pal- 
 pitated with violence, and Mrs. Scorpion, 
 smiling maliciously, continued — " The 
 gentleman who has just quitted us became 
 clandestinely acquainted with Miss JMary 
 about tv/o years ago. I was then con- 
 stantly employed in my attention to her 
 dying uncle, and Mary consequently was 
 given over to the care of an attendant, in 
 whom I thought I might safely confide. 
 It, however, proved otherwise. This gen- 
 tleman had seen her at the provincial 
 theatre; and though I gave him an invita- 
 tion to our house,, owing to his politeness 
 to my daught3r during the performance, 
 he declined it; preferring, it seems, to visit 
 by stealth the grounds which belonged to 
 it, and talk, I suppose, a parcel of nonsense 
 to Miss Mary, Luckily I discovered them 
 one night in the garden, and insisted upon 
 his returning with rne to the house, and 
 giving me every satislaction." 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 197 
 
 '"And did be?" hastily inquired the 
 alarmed Monteith. 
 
 " To do him justice," replied Mrs. Scor- 
 pion, " he behaved perfectly like a man of 
 honour ; he disclosed to me his name, and 
 some peculiar circumstances which alone 
 prevented his acting as he could wish. I 
 felt satisfied that his conduct had been 
 strictly honourable, and upon receiving his 
 word never again to seek another inter- 
 view with the thoughtless girl, I deemed 
 it best to look over the affair as a childish 
 imprudence ; determining, however, in fu- 
 ture to watch her myself: thus you see, 
 captain Monteith, that mine has been no 
 easy task." 
 
 " But what, my dear madam, was the 
 purport of his visit this morning ?" 
 
 "You seem agitated, captain. How 
 kind of you to feel so much interested 
 in my concerns ! how gratifying to myself 
 and m.y daughter is this evident proof of 
 your friendship !" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Scorpion, you only do 
 justice to the anxiety I feel for the welfaj'e 
 
198 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 of one who must be as dear to you as if 
 slie were really your child; I sympathize 
 most sincerely in all the vexation this 
 unpleasant transaction must have caused 
 :you." 
 
 "How good! hovv^ kind! pray, mamma, . 
 tell captain Monteith about it ; I am cer- 
 tain he will say you have acted with your 
 usual discernment and prudence." 
 
 " I hope so, Arabella ; it has always 
 been my endeavour to merit the approba- 
 4:ion of captain Monteith, and in this in- 
 stance, I thirik I am secure of having 
 gained it." Monteith bowed, and she con- 
 tinued : " The purport of the stranger's 
 visit was to inform me that he had been 
 ^absent from England the chief part of the 
 time since I had last seen him, .and that 
 ■now^ feoling himself at liberty to act as 
 lie pleased^ he had called to inquire after 
 Miss Fitzroy, and to ask my permission 
 ■ to solicit her regard." 
 
 "And did you grant it?" demanded 
 dVlonteith, with increasing uneasiness. 
 
 "No, I did not," replied l^lrs. Scorpion; 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 199 
 
 *** I have iTiy own private reasons for de- 
 clining the connexion. My answer, how- 
 ever it might disconcert him, w^as such as 
 to pnt a decided negative to his hopes ; 
 and I expect, captain Monteith, that you 
 will not hetray to Mary, when you see 
 her, any part of m.y conversation of tliLs 
 morning." 
 
 *' It is not very probable, my dear ma- 
 dam, that I shall have an opportunity; 
 Miss Fitzroy will be absent some months, 
 and I shall be compelled, I fear, to take a 
 journey to Scotland before she returns," 
 " Oh mamma ! how I should like to go 
 
 'to Scotland! would not you? how pleasant 
 it would be for us to m.ake a party, and 
 accompany captain Monteith !" 
 
 " You w ill not go without letting us 
 know the time," said JMrs. Scorpion ; " I 
 
 - should, as Arabella says, like the journey 
 vastly ; perhaps the Clintons would go 
 
 with us, and it might not be disagreeable 
 
 :to you, captain, to meet us on the road ; 
 
 ^it would only be supposed by our friends 
 
"200 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 that we were gone on a Gretna-green ex- 
 pedition, and that would be of no conse- 
 quence. Eesides, who knows but Arabella 
 may be d^tined (as Mary would term it) 
 to find a husband on Scottish ground." 
 
 Monteith, considerably affected by the 
 confidential communication of JNlrs. Scor- 
 pion, strove nevertheless to reply with 
 proper gallantry to her very decorous re- 
 mark ; nor could he avoid saying that such 
 a proposition would be extremely agree- 
 able to him, did his circumstances allow of 
 his enjoying such a gratification ; but that 
 his journey would be a rapid one, occa- 
 sioned by some domestic concerns, and his 
 return would be equally quick. He should, 
 however, certainly not quit London with- 
 out letting them know. Then taking his 
 leave, he hurried back to his leggings, in 
 a state of inind wLicli ii:!iglit be justly 
 deemed bordering on distraction. 
 
 What was the result of his morning s 
 visit? It hod betrayed to him the feults 
 of one whom he felt filled to adore, even 
 
DONATED MOISTEITH. 201 
 
 were they more numerous, less venial. 
 'The neglected situation of Mary, her youth 
 and beauty, laid her open to temptation. 
 Yet how could he be certain that her heart 
 remained pure from any lurking attach- 
 ment which might blight her future peace? 
 He had fondly imagined that he was the 
 first man who* had breathed to her the 
 language of love ; the first man who had 
 taught her the sweets of that passion which 
 alone makes life a semblance of terrestrial 
 paradise. How bitter the disappointment 
 then to learn that one had been before 
 him ! one whose appearance bespoke at 
 least no vulgar mind, and who, if not 
 gifted hke himself with all the allure- 
 ments of personal beauty, mig^it yet pos- 
 sess those of the most dangerous and in- 
 sinuating eloquence. His own 'hope of 
 eaiihly happiness was small, small indeed, 
 if denied the full and undivided love of 
 Mary. The romantic enthusiasm with 
 which he regarded her called for an equal 
 a-eturn on her part, and the peculiarity of 
 
202 BONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 his private circum stances demanded also 
 that the strength and tenderness of her 
 attachment should be such as to make her 
 give up every thing for his sake. 
 
 With a mind ill at ease, and a counte- 
 iian|?e which bore evident traces of his 
 internal . vexations, Monteith determined 
 to seek the advice of Mrs. Byron, and to 
 lay open to her his whole heart. He was 
 however prevented from calling until it 
 was late in the evening. They had just 
 returned from Mrs. Hill's when IMonteith 
 knocked at the door. Mary was in her 
 own room, and Mrs. Byron received him 
 alone in the parlour. The deep dejection 
 which clouded his handsome features called 
 forth all her friendly attentions. She had 
 just learned the cause, when the sweet 
 object entered the apartment, unconscious 
 of the unexpected pleasure which awaited 
 lier. 
 
 Monteith, surp'ised^ overjoyed, and alive 
 only to the rap tme of meeting her, sprang 
 forward, and pressed her blushing to hi^ 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 20B 
 
 bosom ; then leading her to the sofa, he 
 placed himself between her and Mrs. By- 
 ron. Taking the hand of the latter, he 
 kissed it with filial affection, while the 
 tear of* sudden transport dimmed for a 
 moment the lu&tre of his eyes. Mrs. Byron 
 felt for the embarrassment of the trem- 
 bling Mary ; she sympathized also in the 
 feelings of Monteith, for whom she enter- 
 tained a warm regard. Calling IMary to 
 her, she embraced her, saying, " You see, 
 my dear child, that I am not ignorant of 
 the attachment which captain Monteith 
 feels for you. He did me the honour to 
 make me his confidant a short time before 
 you were placed under my care. The 
 reason why I concealed from you his visit, 
 i will explain at another time ; but now, 
 my dear sir, let us know how you gained 
 the intelligence' of Mary's being with me ; 
 lam sure it' came not from the Scorpions." 
 At the mention of their name the brow 
 of INIonteith became again overcast ; yet 
 .the glance- he cast on Mary's crimson fkc^ 
 
§04j DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 and downcast eye, in some measure dis- 
 persed it. " Oil no !" he cried, " not from 
 them was I likely to learn the residence 
 of Miss Fitzroy ; they have studiously 
 evaded all my urgent inquiries con;*erning 
 her, till half distracted by the dread of not 
 being able to discover her retreat, and agi- 
 tated by a hundred fears, to which the 
 conversation of Mrs. Scorpion this morning 
 gave birth, I came to confide to you, my 
 Valuable friend, all my sorrows, little ima- 
 gining that I should find my beloved 
 Mary under the protection I have so long 
 hoped might one day be afforded her." 
 
 Mrs. Byron now repeated to hiin the 
 wish of Mrs. Scoi-pion, and the strict in- 
 junctions she had given her with respect 
 to her fair charge. 
 
 **Yes," replied Monteith, smiling bit- 
 terly ; " I now see through the motives of 
 that narrow-minded woman's conduct I 
 could forgive her that, but not the base 
 love of traducing the innocence which she 
 ^ught to guard with religious care. Mrs. 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 205 
 
 Scorpion is not the friend of Mcry, and I 
 trust in God that she will never return to 
 so improper a home.'* 
 
 Both Mary and Mrs. Byron looked 
 amazed. " I see," said the latter, " that 
 something has occurred to ruffle your 
 temper, Monteith ; may we not be made 
 acquainted with it ? I flatter myself that 
 both of you, my dear young friends, will 
 look upon me as a mother, who is anxious 
 to promote your happiness by every just 
 and laudable means." 
 
 Mary hid her cheek on IMrs. Byron's 
 shoulder, while Monteith flung liis arms 
 round each. *' Hencefor^vard you shall be 
 our parent," he exclaimed ; " and if my 
 sweet Mary will accept of a heart that 
 beats only for her, and. that adores her 
 with no common passion, we wiR live and 
 ^ie together." 
 
 Mrs. Byron embraced them alternately, 
 tears rolling dov/n her face — "May Heaven 
 smile upon your loves !" said she, "and may 
 the God who sees into our secret thoughts 
 
206 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 guide and direct me for the best! I esteem 
 you, MonteitJ] ; I look upon you as the 
 man formed, above all others, to make the 
 orphan child of my deceased friend happy. 
 T am anxious to snatch her from the care 
 of Mrs. Scorpion, to see her under a 
 protection more suitable to her youth and 
 delicate situation. In you I imagine I 
 have found the being both capable and 
 rwilling to become her future guardian, 
 if I err in my j adgment, if I am deceived 
 in my hopes of securing her peace, of esta- 
 Mishing her permanent felicity/ it will be 
 the severest misfortune I have yet met 
 with, since, by permitting your visits, I 
 am accountable for all." 
 
 Monteith raised her hand to his lips : 
 his heart was full, yet it throbbed with 
 more emotions than one ; his cheek grew 
 pale, and Mrs. Byron felt him tremble. 
 " Come," said she, willing to give a turn 
 to his feelings, "we will have supper: 
 Mary, my love, have the goodness to go 
 and order it." Her fair cliarge obeyed. 
 
XIONALD MONTEITH. S07 
 
 •glad of an excuse to quit, for a few mo- 
 ments, even the presence of a man slie 
 now felt herself more firmly attached to 
 than ever. 
 
 In her absence Monteith hastily re- 
 counted what had passed between him 
 and Mrs. Scorpion in the morning, and 
 ^ohcited the friendly assistance of Mrs. 
 Byron to dive into the real sentiments of 
 Mary, and to discover how much truth 
 might be attached to the ill-natured com- 
 •munication of her adopted motherc 
 
 " The heart of Mary," replied Mrs. By- 
 Ton, "• is pure as her mind ; and though I 
 have never mentioned to her my know- 
 ledge of your attachm.ent, yet have I 
 watched her narrowly, actuated by the 
 maternal interest I take in her Avelfare. I 
 pretend not to say that 31ary is faultless; 
 whatever I may see in her that I may 
 .wish to be corrected, has sprung alone 
 from the errors of her education, and the 
 improper and dangerous custom of leaving 
 
^08 DONALD MONTEITJI. 
 
 her so constantly ynder the guidance of 
 domestics. Her opinions, her sentiments, 
 have not been formed by those of a tender 
 friend or a fond parent. Left to herself 
 during those years when the mind takes 
 its firmest impressions, she has become the 
 child of romance and passion. Capable of 
 being every thing, she wants a spur to 
 animate all her actions. Warm and ardent 
 in her attachments, she is not less so in her 
 resentments. Her disposition is affectionate 
 and noble, yet it is too often a prey to the 
 quick sense she has of neglect or unkind- 
 ness ; and she shrinks, like the sensitive 
 plant, from the breath of censure, or the 
 voice of reproof; while the romantic gra- 
 titude of her heart towards those v/ho 
 profess to be attached to her, lays her open 
 to the designs of artifice and treachery. 
 Notwithstanding these little defects, jNIary 
 possesses qualities which, if properly di- 
 rected, must render her an ornament to 
 her sex ; and the innate goodness and sen- 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 209 
 
 sibility of her nature will make her a do- 
 cile pupil to a master to whom her fbndest 
 affections are engaged." 
 
 " Let me but possess the undivided love 
 of this sweet orphan," exclaimed Monteith, 
 **and my steady tenderness and gentle 
 counsels shall correct those faults which 
 you, my kind friend, may have perceived, 
 but to which I am blind." 
 
 " If you possess the heart of Mary," re- 
 plied Mrs. Byron, " it must be yours, and 
 yours entirely; she is not capable of loving 
 coldly. She is young, and may be moulded 
 to any thing by the hand she loves ; but 
 she is lost, lost for ever, should she meet 
 with unkindness or neglect in the husband 
 of her choice. The keen sense she has of 
 injuries, the unconquerable fear of becom- 
 ing an object of pity or derision, might 
 lead to consequences the most fatal." 
 
 " It is not in my nature to treat a wo- 
 man with neglect or indifference," said 
 l^rlonteith, again becoming paler than be- 
 fore ; "but such a woman as J^Iary Fitzroy 
 
2W BONALD MONTEITH;. 
 
 claims all my love and adoration. Slie^ 
 cannot, in the height of her romantic en- 
 thusiasm, ask more from me than I am 
 inclined to give. I wish to devote my 
 life to her, and her only ; and did not the 
 present situation of public affairs demand 
 my services, I would resign my commis- 
 sion, retire into some sequestered spot with 
 you and Mary, and live unknowing and 
 unknown." 
 
 Mrs. Byron smiled, but it was the smile 
 of affectionate incredulity, as she heard this 
 wish come from the lips of the liandsomest 
 man of the age. " No, no," said she, good- 
 naturedly, " that must not be, Monteith ; 
 such a sacrifice to love would be unjust 
 to friendship, to filial duty. If I mistake 
 not, you have in Scotland a father and 
 other dear relatives, who have a strong- 
 claim to share wdth JMary the blessings of 
 your affection and occasional society." 
 
 Monteith became agitated ; his lips qui- 
 vered, and his cheek grew red, then pale; 
 indignation darted from his fhie eyes one 
 2 
 
DONALD MONTEITH. 211" 
 
 moment, the next they were filled with 
 tears. " My family," he cried in a hurried 
 voice, " have no claims on my love ; they 
 have injured, have betrayed me; yet Mary's 
 smile, and Mary's kiss, can more than re- 
 pay my misfortunes. Yet, dear Mrs. By- 
 ron, how can I be convinced that this 
 stranger whom she knew when scarcely 
 fourteen, has not made an indelible im- 
 pression on her young mind? how shall 
 I be certain that he has not gained her 
 heart?" 
 
 " That is of importance certainly," re- 
 plied JMrs. Byron ; " I would question her 
 myself, but think that your eloquence will 
 most prevail. Dine with us to-morrow, 
 and I v/ill give you opportunity to sound 
 JMary on the subject; she is too candid to 
 conceal her real sentiments ; and as I know 
 the result will be highly gratifying to your- 
 self, I wish you to enjoy all the pleasure 
 the discovery of her tenderness can afford, 
 you." 
 
S12 DONALD MONTEITH. 
 
 r*Ionteitli had only time to express his 
 thanks, as Mary now entered lo conduct 
 them to the apartment where the supper 
 was on table- 
 
 END OF VOL. L 
 
 Printed by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Strcet, London. 
 
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