\ ff Miabr .§>lijjK LI E) R.AR.Y OF THE U N IVLR5ITY or ILLI NOI5 v.| DUTY AND INCLINATION: A NOVEL. EDITED BY MISS LANDON, AUTHOR OF "the IMPROVISATRICE,' " ETHEL CHURCHILL," ETC. " Thought contending with thought ; lleason and the affections at variance with each other." IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1838. PRINTED BY RICHARD AND JOHN E. TAYLOR, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET. INTRODUCTION. CO LO CD CD An Editoi*^s task is something of an agricultural process — the garden of literature Ues before him, - and there he has to introduce some new shrub or uj flower. C.I ^ ;^ DahHas were unknown in England till within -> the last few years, when they were brought overawe // believe, by the late Queen Charlotte. We can well J imagine the interest which the gardener to whose <^ care they were intrusted would take in the stranger yi root, and \\^th what mingled pride and pleasure he ^ would see the rich leaves expand, and the autumn 'J) bright with beauty unknown before. A similar in- "<; terest belongs to the Uterary flower ; nature has done her part, and the gardener and the editor have alike ; to watch the unfolding, and then to draw attention •^ to the fulfilled promise. / ^ The novel which it is my pleasant task thus to -introduce belongs to a class peculiarly English. (b From the days of the romances of chivalry down IV INTRODUCTION. to those of Miss Austin^ our writers have dehghted in painting the actual, — our fictions have been so many mirrors of men and manners — ideahsed as all things must be, reproduced by the agencies of the memory and of the imagination. Richardson was the first inventor of the domestic novel. He asked of poetry only its pathos, not the gorgeous richness of the drama — the earhest shape always taken by fiction. He began that dehneation of middle life which is a pecuhar feature in our litera- ture, perhaps because the English middle classes have more independence, consequently more cha- racter, than those of any other country. We know no delineations more perfect than those of the whole Selby family : the only pendant to that most perfect old lady Mrs. Selby, is the equally exqui- site Mrs. Bethune Baliol of Sir Walter Scott. The Scotch and the English portrait, high-bred, kind- hearted, with their lady-like niceties and peculiari- ties, are each admirable, charming as individuals, and historical as the representatives of a class. Among the numerous followers in a path parti- cularly calculated for feminine observation, namely, that of domestic life, occur the names of Miss Edge- worth and Miss Austin : each might be considered the type of her national genius, as far as such could be embodied in a woman. INTRODUCTION. V Miss Edgeworth has all the humour so especi- ally Irish. There is one touch in Castle Rackrent perfectly inimitable — it is the simple surprise ex- pressed by the narrator concerning the depart ur(> of the last baronet's widow ; she has been ill-used, almost imprisoned^ by her husband, yet the only comment is the wonder that she could be in such a hurry to leave Ireland. The story of Vivian might be pointed out as a model of its style — the inevitable presides over it from first to last. The great object of Miss Edge worth's writings is to point out the influence of character over circum- stance. Weak, irresolute, the die of Vivian's fate is cast from the beginning, while the stern lesson deepens in interest to the last. Humour is the great characteristic of Miss Edgeworth's writings ; but it makes good the assertion, that humour is as nearly allied to tears as to laughter. Miss Austin's mind is of another class. The thoughtful analysis, the passionate, and the pa- thetic are not the elements with which she works ; but for an actual, living, breathing representation of English countrj^-life her pictures are unequalled. I do not know whether this may be the most strongly felt by one who has chiefly resided in London, but I never paid a visit in the country without fancying VI INTRODUCTION. 1 was living a chapter in some one of Miss Austin^s novels. The work which I have now the pleasure of in- troducing^ is of the familiar and living class whose progress I have thus slightly endeavoured to sketch. It contains a " Living lay, Familiar matter of to-day ; The natural loss and pain That has been, and may be again." ^^ Duty and Inclination'^ are too often at war with each other in this world of trial and of trouble. To show how the very contest works together for ultimate good, how the character is strengthened and elevated by the contest, has been our author's object. Hopes that deceive, yet leave behind A better state within the mind ; The meek and yet exalted mood Of strong, yet tender, fortitude — Such is the material wrought up in the following pages ; such is the course here traced of " Duty and Inclination.'^ It cannot fail to excite the sym- pathies of the young, while it must equally satisfy the judgment of the old. Among the characters, I shall only permit myself to draw attention to those INTRODUCTION. Vll of the heroines, forming a singularly sweet and original picture : the tender calm at the close is what we might fancy a twilight would be by Claude Lorraine. — May I conclude with Wordsworth^s noble hnes ? " Dreams, books, are each a world, and books we know Are a substantial world, both pure and good ; Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness will grow." L. E. L. London^ July, 1838, DUTY AND INCLINATION CHAPTER I. "The fountain's fall, the river's flow, The woody valleys, warm and low ; The windy summit, wild and high, Roughly rushing on the sky I Oh, may I with myself agree. And never covet what I see ; Content me with an humhle shade, My passions tamed, my wishes laid." Dyer. XXOW pleasant is the calm which reigns when the storm has ceased ! The wind no longer roars in fearful gusts ; the waters, which rushed along with rapid course, flow gently ; all becomes serene and hushed in quiet. The beauty of the scene, the freshening cool of the evening air, the tranquilUty which seemed to pcnade all nature, diffused a / 2 DUTY AND INCLINATION. momentary balm over the mind of General De Brooke^ as he strolled around his beautifully diversified pleasure-grounds, and beheld the wild magnificence of the surrounding scenery. Those dark impending clouds, gathered by the recent storm, softly dispersing, fleeted away in aether. Every shadowy mist concentrating, passed over the hills, opening a bright perspective, and afford- ing to the eye objects as^ various as they were lovely, — the picturesque vale, where the Avon, bordered by the pensive willow, spread its boun- teous influence and fertilized the meadows; the hills forming an amphitheatre around, some tufted with hanging wood even to their summits, ap- pearing the more luxuriant as contrasted with the barrenness of otjiers. An undulating path led from chff to cliff, till, obscured by the forest^s interwoven branches, and then again appearing, it could be traced to the distant mountain, whose top, broad and towering, mingled in the blue ex- panse. This rich assemblage, though to the General no longer wearing the charm of novelty, could not fail of exciting his admiration, to which was added a sentiment of attachment ; for even a hill, a stream, wood, or lawn, nature^s inanimate but charming objects, become the more endeared to DUTY AND INCLINATION. 3 US from a frequency of beholding them. When, turning with reluctance from this beautiful land- scape, his eyes rested upon his mansion, he sighed; thoughts the most painful crowded upon and agi- tated him, as he stood contemplating the elegant structure. The persecutions, losses, and disap- pointments he had sustained arose in temble ar- ray before him ; whilst his misery was aggravated by the reflection, that every sanguine hope he had once indulged in of aggrandisement for himself, and consequently for his rising family, was com- pletely baffled. Endued with the best and kindest feelings that ever graced humanity, he was yet acutely aware that the misfortunes he lamented had not fatality solely for their origin, but existed chiefly in his own errors of judgment, — his defi- ciency in a sound, solid, and reflective understand- ing. Of great impetuosity of feeUngs, he never could command their first impulse ; but when the ebullition of them had subsided, he sunk into the calmness of resignation; for in addition to the consciousness of blessings still reserved to him under the joint relation of husband and father, he could support misfortune with the most Christian fortitude. To yield himself to vain repinings for past afflictions, he justly considered, would only render those of the present more acute, and ener- 15 U 4 DUTY AND INCLINATION. vate his mind at a time when courage and firm- ness were requisite to enable him to adopt a plan such as might rescue his family, not only from pre- sent but from future difficulties. After delibera- ting awhile, he found that the exhausted state of his finances was by no means adequate to his* present expenditure ; necessity therefore, from which there can be no appeal, determined him to quit his little paradise, that enchanting spot Avhere the highest cultivation intermingled its fanciful decorations with the wild simplicity of unadorned nature. No longer affluent, it was become necessary to subdue those feelings of regret, naturally excited by the display of taste and beauty everywhere visible, and which indeed might well cause him to waver in the decision to which his fallen fortunes had given rise. " It is inevitable ! The Villa must be parted v,ith ?^ De Brooke at last ejaculated. " It must fall into the possession of others P^ And where was he to go ? where should he seek a residence ? The wide world was open to him : he had a family, — -his provision for them, alas, how scanty ! As for himself, he could bear every deprivation; but his wife, his children, those dear and precious part- ners of every sad vicissitude, of every painful de- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 5 privation, they must be his companions in some humble abode, in some remote obscurity ; for it was in virtuous privacy only that he could hope to find a shelter from an ill-judging and calumnious world. With such ideas he might have been soothed, had his reflections dwelt with less uneasiness on his daughters, Oriana and Rosilia. He could not without extreme pain think of immuring in the depth of sohtude those lovely girls, in the blooming season of youth, endowed with accomphshments such as he conceived could not fail to gain them the suffrage and esteem of those circles suited to the elevation of their birth. Into such a sphere it was no longer in his power to introduce them ; and on this account it was that General De Brooke so deeply felt the sacrifice his cruel fortunes im- posed. For their mother, his faithful partner alike in prosperity as in adversity, she, he was assured, would wiUingly fly with him even to the earth^s re- motest corner : her mind, strong yet pliant, could adapt itself to every situation. In all the emer- gencies of his varied life never had he seen her change ; being devoid of that feminine weakness which still clings to the world, reluctant to forego its flattering sweets. He felt persuaded that the courage of his valued wife would still support her. b DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. and render her to himself as well as to his chil- dren an example and solace. Such were the meditations of De Brooke^ when his paternal sight was gratified by the appear- ance of his daughters. They had just returned from their evening's walk. He met them T\-ith cheerfulness^ and giving an arm to each they con- tinued their ramble. * The endearing smiles and sweet welcome with which he had been greeted imparted peace to his lacerated bosom ; and whilst his soul expanded with the sense of moral ob- hgation and submission to the Di^^ne will^ he breathed forth the dictates of parental fondness to his children^ in advice for their welfare through the chequered scenes of mortal existence, verif)^- ing by his oAvn experience the precariousness of all earthly things. He then proceeded to tell, or rather to confirm. to them what they had before learnt, that his re- duced income was insufficient for the many accu- mulated expenses of the Yilla, and that it was only adequate to a pleasant retii-ement, where they might exist free from the gaze of a piying world, in lea- ving which, he endeavoured to persuade them, they had nothing to regret, " The world 's infectious ; few bring back at eve» Immaculate^ the manners of the mora." DUTY AXn INCLINATION, J Such (in the words of lilni who had of lalo ho- come his favourite author) \\v fill ass\nvtl was the case. Oriaua was niuctvtMi ; \\vv sister had searecly attained her seventeenth year. Knriehiul witli s(miso beyond their years, thcMr eonti(hn\t>r made them \\\v eontpanions ol* Ins sorrows. 'IMuv in return revered Ins virtues, and h)ved him witli the truest tiHal picfy. 'The mistortunes he had met with gave him an aihlitional elaim to thiir tenderness; and with thi* most h\i'l} sincerity th(>y hastened \o reheve liim Irom {\\v an\i(*ty he scemt>d to lahour ujuKm* on then* aeeonnt, hy manifeslinix tlie }j;reati\st wdhnij;ness to nllic tVom a world whieli \vm\ rohh(ul tluMr invahiable pari>nl ol' his peace; with sanguinccarnestness expressinj:: IIumu- sclves convinced he wouKl reij;ain both hi^alth and happiness wlien eslahlislu^d in tlie sliade of sonu- trancpiil solituilc. 'Thcsi' amiable L!;irls had never yet e\peri(MiC(ul a ti)tal seclusion, and were conse- quently unprepared for the isolation which awaited tliem ; and as in ihe hour ol" youth ever\ ehani::c presents a pleasint;- \arii'ty, so in the anlieipation of the future it iie\er oceurred (o them how iireat was th<> saeritiee they were on the point of making, aiul how dinieult it is to reet)neile a passive exist- ence with the lixely feelings of their age; lor then it is tliat the allurements of life enchant the imngi- 8 DUTY A:\^D INCLINATION'. nation ; and in proportion as the mind pants for such enjoyments^ a dearth is felt^ rendering com- mon things around wearisome and insipid. Charmed by the sweet converse of his girls^ the General had no inchnation to terminate his walk ; and as they proceeded through the outer gate of his extensive park^ they perceived Captain Douglas dismounting from his horse. The hospitality of the General ever induced him to give his visitors a welcome reception^ and the apology of Douglas for his intrusion at so unseasonable an hour^ ha- ving caught a view of the party at a distance^ was readily admitted. The moon had spread her pale majestic light, and but faintly tinged the luxuriant vale beneath^ — the rushing sound of streams, forming their way through the broken cavities and interstices of the hills, — the soft breeze, — the fragrant exhalations of the eglantine, embracing the stately elm, which cast partially around its solemn shade, — gave to the scene a species of enchantment. The night^s glorious orb heightened every object into the per- fection of beauty; and as its silver beams rested upon the finer form of Rosilia, the sylphid charms of Oriana passed unnoticed. Douglas felt enraptured, emotions the most powerful took possession of him ; his eye intently DUTY AND INCLINATION. 9 gazed upon her^ who^ from the first moment he had beheld, her^ had awakened feehngs which to stifle was impossible. Oriana being still engaged in conversation Avith her father, Douglas occasion- ally, in accents scarcely audible, addressed Rosilia; the sorrows of her beloved parent, still fresh upon her thoughts, gave pensiveness to her countenance and sanctity to her manners. With her light and summer garb, sometimes encompassing her deli- cate form and sometimes floating in the night^s soft breeze, together with the airy grace investing her, she seemed like a being just descended upon the earth, prepared to soar again in aerial flights. To awe the soul of Douglas, to check his bold presumption, his too great voiatilit}^, was difficult ; but this Rosilia then for the first time undesign- edly effected. The insinuations his remarks were intended to convey seemed not by her replies to be understood, and his complimentaiy speeches passed fi'om her ear as unmeaning nothings. From ever having been much favoured by. the sex, Douglas had acquired a habit of approaching them with adulation, which, though disregarded by a few, he had found to be successful with the many, and he was consequently unprepared to en- counter the timid modesty of Rosilia. Warm and impetuous, captivated by her attractions, his en- B 5 10 DUTY AND INCLINATION* raptured fancy fed on hopes^ and painted tlie realization of them in colours the most glowing : such were the sentiments that either gave an elo- quence the most animated to his observations^ or caused his half-finished speeches to die away in accents scarcely coherent. Unconscious of being the magnet which thus enchained his faculties^ Rosilia often conceived him to possess an extraor- dinary inconsistency^ being at a loss to discover the design or inference of his conversations. He mentioned having lately returned from the East^ spoke of its luxuries and enjoyments ; after which^ his thoughts recurring to London, he largely expatiated on the fascinations of its pleasures, add- ing that unfortunately he had passed much of his time there, more than he ought to have done ; un- avoidable circumstances having in some degree in- duced it, and finding it difficult to resist the variety of amusements that gay city afforded. The seriousness his countenance assumed during this short detail, in which he seemed to lament his early eiTors, caused Rosilia innocently to imagine he laboured under a painful sense of contrition ; and as such an idea was deeply calculated to awaken her sensibihty, she felt for him a concern and interest his gallantries and pointed assiduities had before proved insufficient to excite. Inexpe- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 11 riencecl as she was artless^ she scarcely understood the meaning of the word pleasure, as so frequently- applied by Douglas, Did it comprehend vice, or even en^or ? It was a term to her vague and unde- fined. If indeed it was meant to express the oppo- sition to virtue, viewed in such a light, it is true, he attached an idea to it which made her tremble. Mindful of his daughters, the General warned them of the lateness of the hour. They soon reached the ViUa, and Douglas felt the necessity of depart- ing. Still an irresistible impulse detained him : he remained transfixed to the spot ; but at last col- lecting his scattered reason, he stepped forward, politely bowed and withdrew. 12 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. CHAPTER II. " Methinks I see, as thrown from her high sphere, The glorious fragments of a soul immortal, With rubbish mix'd and glittering in the dust." Young. Captain Douglas was the younger son of a noble Scottish family^ and his elder brother, Lord Delo- raine, was his only surviving relation. Cast early on the world, he was left to embark on the wide ocean of life, and to seek his fortune, with no other guide but his passions, at a time when they were calculated to gain a complete ascendancy over him ; and every propensity, whether of good or evil tendency, alike met with unrestrained indul- gence. The higher qualities of candour, warmth of heart, and generosity, were eminently possessed by Douglas ; seeming as if inherent in him, as if he could not act in opposition to them, — proceed- ing not from any notions he entertained of moral rectitude. Douglas also possessed a high sense of honour ; perhaps nothing could have prevailed on him to violate that integrity which he conceived due from DUTY AND INCLINATION. 13 one human being to another : nor did this proceed from any principle of morality, but from those laws he had established to himself of civil order. Always swayed by the strong and ardent feelings of his heart, by duty never, he was rash, arrogant, and intemperate ; nevertheless his perceptions were keen, his discriminations just. Viewed in such a hght, he was as a noble structure left to ruin and desolation; for that time which might have been devoted to useful acquirements and ho- nourable pursuits, was squandered away on the idle and the dissipated, amongst those fashionable pro- fligates whose rank and fortune render the con- tagion of their example the more dangerous, in proportion to the splendour of the pomp and af- fluence surrounding them. As the companion of such associates, Douglas was early introduced to scenes of gaiety, too consonant to his taste, and where his fascinating address and brilliant exterior never failed to gain him a welcome reception. Thus passed his youth, wasting in luxuiy ; till suddenly called to reflection by the insufficiency of his means to cope with the frequent calls upon his purse, rendered necessary by the expensive pleasures of the society in which he had enrolled himself. According to the custom of Scottish laws, his 14 DUTY AND INCLINATION. father, the late Lord Deloraine, had devised almost the whole of his immense revenue to support the title of his eldest son ; leaving Douglas only a con- fined annuity, but what he deemed a handsome competency if aided by a lucrative yet honourable profession. His intentions however, such as he might have formed relative to the future career of his youngest son, had been unfortunately inter- rupted by his decease ; and Douglas was of a character too lofty and aspiring, humbly to seek resources from a brother whose disposition to avarice was but too well known to him. He pre- ferred rather to launch himself at once upon the world, and seek in it his future destiny, — whether prosperous or otherw*ise, time would best deter- mine. Contraiy to his interests, however, his scanty portion was soon exhausted by those habits of ex- travagance he had acquired, and which to support without fortune was impossible. To languish in privacy he could not. Thus situated, he turned his thoughts towards a mihtary hfe, as the most suited to favour his inchnations. Three-and-twenty was somewhat late, he conceived, to begin a professional career ; but having no alternative, through the interests of his friends he procured an ensigncy in a regiment then under orders for India. DUTY AND INCLINATION. IS After a voyage affording but little variety to dis- pel ennui, he found himself in a foreign clime, where, to reconcile himself to his irremediable lot, he sought diversion in every shape ; but, notwith- standing, an inward repining prevailed, to embitter the present, at best but ahfe of luxurious indolence, causing him to sigh for home, for the deprivation of which and his accustomed pleasures nothing could compensate ; the dazzhng charms of Euro- pean women, the loss of those circles where wit and fashion reigned, and where his jocund hilarity contributed to delight, as also to inspire the same feehng in others. Thus he was assiduous to dissipate time; which, as it still stole away, far from reconcihng him, con- tributed only to excite his further aversion from that enerv^ating soil, upon w^hich his untoward des- tiny had thrown him. Daily more discontented, he resolved at length to quit a species of banishment so uncongenial to him, and applied for leave of ab- sence, which he obtained, though only for the li- mited space of eighteen months : nevertheless he gladly availed himseh' of it, hoping some fortunate occurrence might intenene in that short period to prevent the necessity of returning. He accordingly, after an absence of five years, repaired to England, resorted to the Capital, renewed his intimacy with 16 DUTY AND INCLINATION. former companions^ and entered a second time upon those wild irregularities^ for which his tempo- rary privations had but given him a keener zest. Making with some friends an excursion to Bath, he there accidentally became introduced to General De Brooke and his amiable family. Deeply smitten with his youngest daughter, and yielding himself a willing victim to his passion, in order to have fre- quent occasions of seeing and conversing with the object who thus enslaved him, he fixed his abode in the neighbourhood ; existence seeming tolerable only in proportion as the means were granted him for indulging in the presence of her whose image perpetually haunted him. Her radiant beauty wore to him an additional charm, heightened as it was by. an association of mental graces he could not di- stinctly define, but which seemed in their effect matchless. The general life of Douglas, his gay and uncon- cerned manners, led some to imagine he was unused to reflection ; but such casual observers were mis- taken. Possessing by nature a masculine energy, he was formed to think, and enter into the utmost refinements of intellect ; his mind, improperly di- rected, had pursued a different bias ; but he had never, even in his most jovial hours, thought lightly of virtue ; the contemplation of it awed him. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 17 such indeed as it was painted in romance ; in real life^ where was the unsulUed ray to be met with ? Not in his own sex ; and with Hamlet, he had been often inchned to exclaim, ^^ Frailty, thy name is Woman '/' That he had at last discovered one of a pure and simple innocence he had felt conscious during his last evening's promenade at the villa of Mount Zephyr ; and as he rode gently home, sen- timents new and powerful soothed whilst they re- pressed his transports. "What a lovely girl !'' he breathed in secret ; " what a heavenly meekness is blended with the eloquent expression of her counte- nance ! to win her affections, to call her mine, what a bhss V A sense of unworthiness slightly intruded to check, for a moment only, his presumption ; gay and sanguine hope, with all its exhilarating train of images, quickly crowded upon his fancy. Life with him seemed one boundless theatre of delight, and to enjoy was his unvaried maxim. Under the dominion of such false persuasions he passed the night, and when the morning dawned, the result of his meditations determined him not to protract the avowal of his sentiments. To declare them openly, indeed, was ver}^ far from his intentions ; his deficiency of fortune, though his vanity led him to believe it might not sway Rosiha, yet he 18 DUTY AND INCLINATION. had knowledge of the world enough to be aware^ might very differently influence her parents ; and dreading nothing so much as a formal rejection by them, he resolved to make Rosilia alone the arbiter of his fate. The greater part of his leav6 of absence had al- ready expired; in a few short months the order would be received obliging him to rejoin his regi- ment : but not as the first did he picture to himself his second voyage ; dreams of delight flashed over his elated fancy; Rosilia, his lovely bride, his enchanting companion, to soothe her timid fears when the vessel tossed upon the watery abyss, to feel sensible of her having sacrificed for him every other affection, and relinquished her native land to place upon himself her sole dependence, and look to him alone for protection. Thus was he engaged in tracing the happy future, when his servant enter- ing put a note into his hand, which upon reading he found to contain an invitation from Sir Charles and Lady Valpee to a rural fete they purposed giving at their country seat, in order to celebrate the coming of age of their only son, Frederic. There cannot be a doubt, thought he, that the De Brookes will be there ; the intimacy of the famihes renders it certain: a glow of rapture flushed his cheek, when, seizing his pen, he expressed compliance DUTY AND INCLINATION. 19 with the obliging favour. Nothing could have happened more propitious ; fate seemed to favour his wishes. Warmed by the vehemence of his feel- ings, and counting every moment lost Avhen not forwarding his views, he ordered his horse, that he might instantly ride^to the Villa and hear from the De Brookes themselves their intention of gracing the birth-day with their presence. Ushered into the room where Mrs.De Brooke and her daughters were employed in their morning avo- cations, he placed himself in a seat adjoining the work table, opposite to Rosilia, who, as he drew near, felt fearful lest her bashful emotion might be evident ; but fortunately a remark from Mrs. De Brooke calling her attention, left her time to recover : but when he again addressed her she was still confused; she fancied that his manners w^anted more of soft- ness, more of respect ; she hked not to be made conspicuous; and his attentions were so obvious, his regards so impassioned, his air so confident, no one ever excited more her natural timidity; but while she wished to fly his presence a consciousness of pleasure induced her stay. This embarrassment, so painful to herself yet so interesting to her ad- mirer, was reheved by the entrance of her father, who cordially shook Douglas by the hand as he approached to meet him. Among the many visit- 20 DUTY AND INCLTNATION. ors who frequented the Villa^ none was held in higher estimation by the General than Douglas; his cheerful ease and pleasantry^ the intelligence which animated his remarks^ his knowledge of the worlds dispelled that inclination to seriousness which the General had gradually imbibed from the daily contemplation of his misfortunes. The dis- course turned upon politics; but to Douglas^ though he entered into the discussion with appropriate ar- gument^ and gave his opinions freely^ the subject was at that moment the most indifferent^ Rosilia and the birth-day gala claiming the first place in his thoughts. Every moment he was on the point of abruptly breaking off the conversation; and when the first pause ensued he expressed to Rosilia his hopes of seeing her at Sir Charles and Lady Val- pee's fete on the following Thursday. ^^We have received an invitation/^ she rephea, ^^ but have declined accepting it.^^ The eyes of Douglas^ before brilliant and pene- trating, instantly betrayed disappointment and regret. " Declined?'^ said he, in accents of im- patience; ^^ do you really intend not going ?^^ Upon Rosilia confirming what she had before said, endeavouring to conceal his chagrin, he added reproachfully, '^ You must indeed have much for- bearance to refuse a festivity so novel, and which DUTY AND INCLINATION. 21 I doubt not will be attended with great splendour on such an occasion as this, in honour of the son and heir coming of age." Having recovered the usual placidity of her de- meanour, Rosiha spoke to him with a gentle con- fidence; and, as natural to youth, she much la- mented the pleasure denied her. With looks of eloquent simphcity she could not help expressing her mortification, and that to one who seemed so well disposed to sympathize in her feehngs ; and upon his again urging her to tell him the cause which militated against her going, with artless hesitation she rephed, it did not meet the appro- bation of her parents. Upon which Douglas, turn- ing to Mrs. De Brooke, pressed her in terms of the warmest sohcitude to change her resolution ; but finding that every persuasion failed, and that the General was alike inexorable, he felt the ne- cessity of desisting, when the door opened, and, to his inexpressible delight, the charming Lady Valpee herself was announced. She advanced with a gracious air, and with that benevolence which ever beamed on her open countenance, she took each extended hand of the lovely sisters, at the same time saying, " My dear girls, why, how- ls this ? I can admit of no excuse, I can't indeed ; Mrs. De Brooke, General, it is my intention to run 22 DUTY AND INCLINATION. away with your sweet treasures on Thursday^ un- less you promise me to revoke your note of this mornings and come with them to my rural fete. I shall indeed be most happy to see jou." " Let me assure your ladyship/^ returned the General^ *^^how much I feel myself flattered by your civility ; that it still remains out of my power to accept it^ for my family or myself, imposes upon me as Avell as upon them a great mortification.'^ ^^ Well/' resumed her ladyship, ^^I am very unfor- tunate in being prevented the gratification of seeing you, but surely you will make some amends to me by granting me the indulgence of your daughters^ company ? I shall be very proud of them, and take great care of my charges.'' Mrs. De Brooke smiled, but shook her head; she was going to speak, w^hen Lady Valpee inter- rupted her by saying, ^^ Dear Mrs. De Brooke, you must not refuse me ; I shall have a spare room quite at their service, and I should wish them to prolong then stay with me for a few days." The General, who forcibly felt the kindness of this request, replied, ^^ It is impossible, my dear Lady Valpee, to resist an offer so extremely obhging, one promising so much happiness to my girls, and which I already see anticipated in their sparkling looks ; they are charmed by your lady- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 23 ship's goodness towards them^ and will consider themselves engaged to you for that day." With all the warmth of their ages^ the sisters then expressed their thanks for the veiy kind at- tention of Lady Valpee^ who replied^ " It is I, my dear girls, who am the obliged party ; I shall ex- pect you very early on Thursday morning, and the sooner you come the more agreeable." This point, so interesting to Douglas, and certainly not less so to the sisters, being now decided, the con- versation took a general turn, and soon after Lady Valpee, rising to depart, was conducted by the happy Douglas to her carriage. No one in the neighbourhood had as yet received the shghtest intimation relative to the deranged state of affairs then existing at the Villa, or that it was the intention of the General so soon to re- move ; he therefore felt happy that his daughters, in compliance with the solicitations of Lady Valpee, were to attend the birthday of her son ; though for his own part he felt that silence and solitude were best adapted to his present situation. Mrs. De Brooke, more alive to the future peace and welfare of her chikb'en than desirous of indulging them in present pleasure, felt a dread lest, in the ardour of their juvenile minds, they should imbibe a fondness for diversions, which to Rosilia had been 24 DUTY AND INCLINATION. hitherto entirely prohibited^ and but rarely allowed to her sister^ and such as they could never hope to partake of^ doomed as they appeared to be^ to the sameness of sequestered life. These consi- derations, however weighty in the first instance, soon became absorbed in the idea, that girls so eminently lovely as were hers, could not fail of at- tracting admiration ; and her fancy yielding by degrees to the impression of the moment, she painted lovers, such as might transplant the fair blossoms of l^er culture from the dreary wilds of seclusion to soils more congenial to their sweetness and delicacy. The agreeable company of Lady Valpee having cheered the General, he felt a wish to retain the good humour she had awakened ; and what could be more conducive thereto than the society of Douglas ? he requested of him, therefore, to spend the day at the Villa. The invitation, so gratifying to its object, was readily complied with; it would prolong to him moments that were precious, those fleeting intervals when occasion presented of in- sinuating to her he loved the deep regard with which she had inspired him, hoping thereby to effect an ascendancy over the softness of her heart. But Rosilia, as thoughtless of love as she was of beauty, notwithstanding love and beauty with every DUTY AND IXCLIXATIOX, 25 sweet attraction breathed around her, investing M itli seraphic charms her person, annexed no other idea of the seeming partiality of Douglas, than the supposition that it proceeded from habits of gal- lantry-, acquired by an intercourse with fashionable life; a species of adulation, which from her mother's early instructions she had been taught to expect, as a current coin from the one sex to the other, insignificant in itself, and practised for the mere amusement of the moment. Though thus unsuc- cessful in gaining upon her confidence, Douglas nevertheless was not deficient in occupying and pleasing her fancy. Ah ! why was there such an intermixture in him of impetuous feehng wdth ten- derness of sentiment; why did she at one time turn aside, intimidated by his gaze, and at another lend a dehghted ear to the mascuhne energy and grace of his language? His was a mind of ex- tremes, rarely sustaining an equilibrium ; good and evil swayed him alternately. He spoke in a sort of ecstasy upon the charms of the female sex, upon the endearments of married life ; and whilst his eyes were directed with eloquent softness towards Rosilia, he drew such an interesting and glowing picture of the felicity, the bliss he should taste in domestic scenes, could he but share them with one he loved, that his remarks became too pointed to c 25 DUTY AND INCLINATION. escape the penetration of the General or Mrs. De Brooke^ and determined the former to lose no time in making inquiries into the character of one whom he had allowed' with such unrestrained freedom to visit at his house. The ingenuous air of Douglas^ his polite address^ had hitherto spoken as passports in his favour, and the candid warmth with which he had then partly betrayed his sentiments could not be interpreted otherwise than to his advantage. His air of nobility, his general deportment, had indicated him by birth far superior to the adven- titious and subordinate rank he held in the aimy ; and under those emban^assments so disastrous to his family. General De Brooke could feel no rea- sonable objection towards admitting his addresses. The happiness of his children was dear to his heart, and nothing could have given him a greater conso- lation in his afflictions than bestowing one or both of his daughters on objects deserving them. In the course of conversation which followed these reflections of the General, Douglas, in speak- ing of his brother. Lord Deloraine, said that he expected to see him shortly in England, '^^ which," added he, glancing his eye towards Rosilia, ^^ I am heartily glad of, as I have nothing now to call me hence ; and had my brother not been coming, he might have conceived a visit due from me to hmi DUTY AND INCLINATION. 27 in Scotland, He has desired me to seek for him a country residence in this neighbourhood ; but with these beautiful scenes in view, my thoughts ever resting here, all other places lose so much by the comparison, that I have almost given up my search as fruitless." " Desirous of availing himself of so favourable an opening on what was of such moment to him as the disposal of his Villa, the General instantly re- plied, ^^ My dear Douglas, if truly you are in search of a place for Lord Deloraine, you have my con- sent to offer him this." '^ What ! quit this charming spot ? Are you in- deed in earnest?" exclaimed Douglas. ^^ Happy as I should be in procuring it for my brother, yet the sacrifice on your part — " ^^ It is necessary," interrupted the General; " af- fairs, important ones, call me hence." " Then truly, you authorise me to address a let- ter to my brother on the subject?" said Douglas. " Most willingly," answered the General, who, in rising as he spoke, shortly afler retired from the apartment. The evening had passed away, twilight was be- ginning to appear, ere Douglas was conscious of the many hours which had fled : to remain longer he feai-ed might be intrusive ; he rose to take his c 2 ^8' DUTY AND INCLINATION. leave : ^^ We shall meet on Thursday/^ said he to Rosiha^ in tones that spoke more than the words. ^^ Oh^ yes V was her joyous and immediate an- swer ; when^ mistaking the meaning of her inno- cent pleasure^ not supposing it sprung merely from the anticipated novelties of the fete^ but enraptui'ed .by a manner so flattering and encouraging^ he seized her hand^ and pressed it with ardour. An impulse so sudden abashed the timid girl^ whose countenance^ overspread with confusion^ recalled Douglas to a sense of his precipitancy : the soft pleadings of his look and utterance spoke volumes; and turning from her^ he bowed gracefully to her mother and sister^ and withdrew. The impressions he left upon the youthful Ro- silia being variable, were also fugitive; serenity, hitherto the predominating companion of her bo- som, soon usurped its wonted sway ; her slumbers were as light, as happy as her sistei^s ; she arose with the dawn, careless of the future, enjoying the present, yielding to the charms of all around ; she breathed with Oriana the freshness of the morn- ing, and rambled with her over the shrubberj'^, and while the healthful exercise invigorated her frame, it gave an additional lustre to her glomng beauty. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 29 CHAPTER III. ** By thee inspired, O Virtue, age is young. But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams. Resistless on the view thy glory streams. Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm, And beauty dazzles with angelic, charm." The day of the fete champetre at last arrivecL that happy day which had been anticipated with so much dehght. The sun's animating beams ir- radiated every object, when the sisters, with smi- ling satisfaction, ascended the carriage which was to convey them to the hospitable mansion of Sir Charles and Lady Valpee. It was situated in a beautiful romantic dell, seven miles from the Villa of the De Brookes. The lofty trees by which it was embowered rendered it almost impervious to the sight, till, on a nearer approach, it suddenly ap- peared at the termination of an extensive vista. As the sisters drew to the door, they were met by Sir Charles and his son, who had returned from rambling over their grounds, with the view of in- specting the preparations which had been made, and to see that all was in readiness, previous to the so DUTY AND INCLINATION. night's festivity. They were just in time to hand from the carriage their young visitors. Sir Charles, with that urbanity which ever graced his words and actions^, expressed himself most happy to see them^ and at the same time lamented the absence of the General and their mother. He then turned to his son, and introduced him by saying, '^ Frederic, I think you will now feel some regret that your constant College avocations have prevented you from being earlier made acquainted with the Misses De Brooke.'' Mr. Valpee bowed respectfuDy ; there was a se- riousness in his manner, but it was not unmixed with afFabilityj his smile was most engaging when he said, " Indeed, sir, I sincerely feel how great has been my loss ; but 1 reap some satisfaction in being aware that the more I become acquainted with the Misses De Brooke, the more I shall- esti- mate my present happiness." Sir Charles was a member of parliament, and of large independent fortune, which had, in gradual succession, descended to him from a long Hne of respectable ancestry. Lady Valpee was also pos- sessed of fortune, as well as connections ; but not- withstanding these advantages, it was her many attractions which had preponderated over Sir Charles in his estimation of her. Dignified in hisv DUTY AND INCLINATION. 31 conduct, commanding respect and affection, he was, equally with his consort, formed for the charms of domestic life ; and each auspicious year, as it flowed gently on, still found them blest. Os- tentatious parade, or pride of birth, were equally repugnant to their generous feelings. It had been the lot of this amiable pair to lose their eldest son ; but as if to solace their misfortune, and repay them for the tender cares lavished upon him, the infant Frederic (named after his maternal grandfather), then their only heir and treasure, thrived apace, and in his progression to youth, yielded the pro- mise of those virtues, and that soundness of un derstanding, which gained him many flattering en- comiums, and especially from the learned preceptors under whom he pursued his studies. His person was good, about the middle size ; his low straight brow denoted contemplation, whilst his easy closing lip portrayed benevolence ; a cool dispassionate judg- ment seemed to mingle in the expression of his countenance i^ith some more yielding quality; sentiments held in subjection to the dictates of reason. The amiable disposition of the mother harmonized in him with the noble principles of the father, forming at once a character such as by the wise and good is ever justly esteemed and admired. 32 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Sir Charles had proposed making a little circuit for the amusement of the ladies about the grounds, and, mth a polite attention, Valpee offered to con- duct them, happy to seize upon such a resource, the sisters having been left to him for entertain- ment. Possessing a natural gravity, and in the habit of concentrating his thoughts by study, he spoke but little. The conversation, therefore, was chiefly supported by Oriana, whose characteristic was gaiety. She combined ready wit with playful repartee ; and not easily abashed, she was, though so young, ever mistress of herself. The desire to please and fascinate the amiable Valpee, though unacknowledged to herself, predominated over her feelings ; her remarks were in consequence ani- mated, her manners sprightly, and notwithstanding the attractions of her person, were far from being such as to excite lively and sudden impressions ; yet endowed with the power of recommending her- self by the means of her various accomplishments, she succeeded in engaging and fixing the attentions of those around her. A few gentlemen inhabiting the neighbourhood had been invited to dinner, and the first who ar- rived was Douglas : he advanced with fashionable ease into the middle of the circle, and after ma- king his salutations to Lady Valpee and her DUTY AND INCLINATION. 33 friends, his penetrating and acute glances rested upon Rosilia, whose modest eye, unable to encoun- ter so searching a scrutiny, sank abashed to the ground. His admiration was ardent, but the visible pain it gave the object might have suggested the neces- sity of constraining it : having suffered a few mi- nutes to elapse, he drew near, and addressed her in tones of the most insinuating softness. After the circle was complete, the dinner being announced, he led her to the table, and had the happiness of securing a seat by her side. Between the hours of nine and ten the carriages began to roll down the long and brilliantly illumi- nated avenue. The company alighting, passed beneath a canopy, and from thence into the hall, Avhere they were conducted between double rows of pillars of the Corinthian order, encircled with variegated lamps, and wreaths of evergreens inter- spersed with the scarlet clusters of the barberry and the white blossom of the laurustinus and ar- butus. From the hall they passed into a saloon of an octagon shape, the compartments of which exhibited to the gratified sight transparencies, de- signed and executed by eminent artists. At the entrance of the adjoining room the engaging lady Yalpee received her guests. The decorations of c 5 34 DITTY AND INCLINATION, the ball room displayed incomparable taste^ beauty^ and elegance ; light silk draperies adapted to the season decorated the spacious -windows. The op- posite side opened into a conservatory^ containing a choice collection of exotics^ whose vi^dd hues w^ere heightened by the reflected rays of light which fell upon them from the innumerable lamps, around. Near the conservatory, which led to the lawn and shrubbery, was erected a temporary or- chestra for the musicians. The aromatic perfumes emitted from the flowers, the luminous appearance of every object, the exhilarating charms of music, all conspired to dehght and captivate ; all w as pleasure, all enchantment! The company was numerous ; every family and person in the neigh- bourhood, including the distance of many miles, distinguished either by rank, beauty, or fashion, had assembled. Among the belles none excited more attention than the youthful sisters. It wa^ not the out- ward feature which gave to them their principal attraction ; it was mind, which finely harmonized Vt ith the external shape ; it was the light of soul which illuminated their countenances, and dis- played in each the particular quahfications a boun- tiful Providence had assigned them. Oriana, easy, gracious, and unobtrusive, discovered so much DUTY AND INCLINATION. 35 intelligence with the playfulness of her vivacity, as proved her to be no less sensible than she was brilliant. Her sister, the young Rosilia, was nevertheless the most distinguished ; for as a beautiful bud unfolds its tender leaves, and scat- ters fragrance around, so Rosilia, blooming in the full perfection of youthful loveliness, was encom- passed by graces enchanting to the sight. The many amongst the other sex admired her appear- ance only, acknowledging she possessed attractions even superior to beauty, yet were indifferent as to the source whence they sprung ; it was by the nicely appreciating few her mental endo^vments were duly estimated ; those who could read in the ever-varying roses of her cheek the language of innocence and sincerity ; and in her sweet, pensive, but eloquent expression the refined sensibility of her soul ; in her retired but graceful manners the taste and elegance of her sentiments : these, her characteristic charms, were the more enhanced by the modest drapery, which, though it might seem to cast them into shade, still by its soft effect ra- ther heightened than obscured their lustre. It may be supposed that Douglas, so extremely solicitous to unburthen his heart to Rosilia, sought to paint upon every occasion the impression she had made upon it from the first moment he had 36 DUTY AND INCLIXATIOX. beheld her, by night and by day her image haunt- ing him : but his phrases were hasty and unin- telHgible, so much did he feel the restraint imposed by the presence of so many around him ; and thus, though far from rendering himself comprehensible to Rosilia, who was inclined more to suppose him under the influence of his accustomed gallantry, yet an involuntary agitation took possession of her, which however was soon relieved by the exhilara- ting effects of the music as it resounded through the apartment, and which reminded Valpee it was time to make choice of a lady with whom to open the ball. Not supposing it necessary to make dis- tinctions of rank, but yielding to the preference he felt, he offered his hand to Oriana, who, flattered by an attention so agreeable, her heart fluttered with delight when led to the top of the apart- ment. Douglas then followed with Rosilia ; short had been his opportunity of conveying to her the na- ture of his sentiments, yet he conceived he had said quite sufficient to explain himself; and as it occurred to him that he had not met with the slightest repulse, his sanguine imagination inter- preting the smiles which then illumined the coun- tenance of Rosilia into a tacit approbation of his suit, he yielded himself to a train of rapturous sen- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 3? sations ; no longer oppressed^ his brow no longer clouded^ imposing and brilliant he was himself again. The flow of spirits natural to youth upon such occasions, tended in some degree to suppress the painful diffidence which had at first prevailed over Rosilia ; nevertheless the beauty, grace, the enchanting motion of her person as she glided down the dance, might not have so much excited the homage of her beholders, had not all her move- ments attested the charms of innocence, imaged by the wreath of lilies with which she had con- fined her dark and playful ringlets. Douglas could scarcely keep pace with her airy movements, not- withstanding he displayed that ease and grace for which the Scotch are so particularly famed. His person was commanding, his appearance dazzling, but to these advantages he united a sort of freedom such as the guileless Rosilia could neither under- stand nor admire. With such a man it Avas doubt- less the external charms of Rosiha which had at first captivated his fancy ; nevertheless it was a latent ray of virtue in him, too frequently slumber- ing, but never finally extinct, which had effectu- ally riveted his chains, and Avhich so devoutl}^ caused him to seek for the fulfilment of his wishes by a speedy alliance. The dance being over, the sisters were led by 38 DUTY AND INCLINATION. their partners through the conservatory^ which be- ing crowded by the groups passing to and fro^ Ro- siUa^ who was behind^ got accidentally separated from her party^ and for the space of some minutes unable to advance_, she lost sight of her sister and Valpee. Resolved to profit by so favourable a circum- stance, with a ready finesse, under pretence that he had seen her party, Douglas contrived to draw Rosilia towards that side which appeared the least frequented. Fearing he had been deceived, she would have turned; but he, encouraged by the persuasion with which he had been so recently im- pressed, of his being a favom-ed lover, endeavoured to divert her attention by saying, ^' Hoav delightful is the night ! how pleasant are these gentle breezes ! how preferable to the intense heat of the room we have left !^' Occupied solely by the wish of meeting her sister, Rosilia could only repeat, in accents de- noting her inquietude, " Do you really think they have taken this direction ? ^^ ii Why, why,^^ exclaimed he, " should you be thus uneasy and impatient ? why do you wish to deprive me of these few minutes of happiness, moments so precious to me as these ? Oh Ro- silia ! Rosilia ! it is impossible for you to con- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 39 Ceive how much I love you ! It is impossible for you to have any conception of the degree in which this heart adores you ! " at the same time raising her trembling hand, and pressing it with transport to his throbbing bosom, bursting sighs escaped him. The impassioned energy accompanying his words and actions could not fail of alarming the timid girl : he fixed upon her his enraptured gaze ; he contemplated her lovely countenance irradiated by the glowing hue of the surrounding lamps ; he would have strained her to his bosom ; but no thought, no emotion could he read there, save the chaste fear, the innocent terror which the extrava- gant ardour of his manner had awakened. Those pure rays of virtue illumining her countenance tended instantaneously to abate* that phrensy of passion, that vehemence of feehng, the place, the time, the occasion had conspired to augment. The irregularity of his thoughts had vanished, his scat- tered reason was recalled, and he felt afraid of trusting himself any longer alone with the be- witching maid. '' Rosilia, my sweet girl,'^ said he, " why are you thus fearful ? are you uncomfortable at being this little time alone with me?" Tenderness and respect then exclusively filled his breast, feehngs 40 DUTY AND INCLINATION'. almost new to him^ Rosilia being the first he had met with of her sex who really seemed bent upon shunning his Importunities. Taking her hand^ he gently placed it under his arm ; nor did she with- draw it ; for as it was his passionate tones and ges- tures which had before alarmed her^ his softened tones produced far different sensations ; such power has human accent to betray human feeling, where- by all can be either warned or guided by it, even the most credulous, the most simple. As Douglas approached the house he continued to pour forth the effusions of his heart, but his lan- guage breathed not of flattery, nor did he mention how short was the time he expected to remain in England, conceiving it might present an idea of precipitation to her mind, and rather retard than advance his plans ; these being, first to secure her affections, and secondly, to press for an immediate marriage. The winding path in its circuit led them to- wards a grove, in the midst of which was a beauti- ful fountain ; around it a party had assembled, at once to enjoy its refreshing coolness, and to admire its glittering sprays ascending in air, then falling into the reservoir below. The thoughts of Douglas were too much occu- pied to attend to the effects of art, however stri- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 41 king in its embellishments of nature. It was other- wise w ith Rosilia ; in silent admiration she contem- plated the crystal drops^ which as they were thrown into the air reflected the various hues of the rain- bow. Her attention however was soon diverted by the voice of her sister^ to whom she instantly hastened, and who expressed as much joy as herself at their again meeting, after their accidental separation of a few minutes. Upon their entering the house and the ball room, they found the dancing had recommenced. Dou- glas was desirous of again securing the hand of Rosilia, but was prevented by Sir Charles suddenly stepping up, and introducing her to a young baronet who had solicited the honour of dancing with her. Douglas therefore was under the mortifying necessity of resigning her to Sir Howard Sinclair, contenting himself in being a silent spectator during the interval ; and felt hap- py to find, that as she joined the dance but late, the lower sets were rapidly retreating; and Ro- silia, fearing to be made conspicuous, being amongst some of the last couples to lead off, re- quested of her partner to allow her to retire. He w^ould have engaged her for the next set, but Ro- silia declined under the plea that she had given her promise to another. Sir Howard still kept by 42 DUTY AND INCLINATION. , her side^ begging permission to conduct her to a seat^ when^ within the circle nearest to her^. she perceived him whose lofty and striking stature it seemed impossible to overlook. The thoughtful pensiveness of his mien and attitude denoted a mind absorbed by some inward and powerful sen- timent ; but as soon as his eye caught that of Ro- siha, its spiritual and bright lustre recalled him to himself; delighting in the occasion of being near her he was anxious to rejoin the festive throng. Thus the dance continued until the break of day made itself distinguished over the illumina- tions of art. The supper had intervened; the table^ spread with sumptuous elegance^ had dis- played every luxury the season could produce. The company having dispersed^ the sisters re- tired to the room prepared for them. Oriana was soon wrapt in slumber^ Rosilia not so quickly ; the fascinating and novel impressions w^hich had almost exclusively possessed her^ whilst surrounded by the brilliant circle, then favoured by the quiet that had succeeded to the late festivity, now gave way to silent, yet possibly more perturbed reflec- tions. The voice of Douglas, his actions, every w^ord he had uttered, still vibrated on her ear, still floated over her fancy^ giving birth to ideas vague and undefined. What did his language mean to DUTY AND INCLINATION. 43 convey ? What the interpretation she was to give it ? Might he be the one destined by Providence to become her future husband? Inclination might prompt the idea, but the suggestions of her reason opposed it; her heart throbbed with emotions never before experienced ; a tender, dehcate, and timid fear overwhelmed her ; entirely subdued, she sank upon her pillow and wept 1 44 DUTY AND INCLINATION. CHAPTER IV. " Oh ! teach me to elude each latent snare. And whisper to my sliding heart, Beware !" Fatigued by the exertions of the nighty the party at Valpee Court at a very late hour the following morning assembled in the breakfast room. Not any had profited more by a sound repose than the sisters ; nevertheless the roses of their cheeks were scarcely perceptible^ and their eyes did not sparkle with their usual lustre. Lady Valpee looked somewhat anxiously at Rosiha^ whose thoughtful countenance betrayed that something more than the effects of fatigue was concerned with her gravity. The attention of Douglas to her the preceding evening had been too apparent to escape her experienced eye^ and the real interest Lady Valpee took in the happiness of her young friend^ determined her to afford Ro- silia some information^ which might act as a sort of guard or caution in the direction of her future conduct. Her ingenuity soon afforded her an op- portunity to open the subject. With as much de- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 45 licacy as possible^ and without in the least appear- ing to notice the confusion at times manifesting itself in her young auditor^ she proceeded to re- move the veil which had hitherto^ she conceived, blinded her judgment as to the defects in the cha- racter of Douglas, who, from the various reports she had gathered, she concluded to be one of the most finished libertines of the day. She drew a little picture of the general manner in which he spent his time in London, lamenting that one so favoured by nature was so intemperate and im- provident. She spoke of the patrimony left him by his father, the late Lord Deloraine, which he had wantonly squandered by excess and extrava- gant living ; and ended her discourse by saying, " Great, great indeed will be my compassion for the woman who may be so indiscreet as to con- nect her fate with his ; she will have nothing to look forward to but a long, long perspective of wretchedness.^^ Su' Charles and his son then appearing. Lady Valpee proposed adjourning to the music room. She had cast a look of tender interest at Rosilia, whose countenance had become entirely paUid during her remarks. Various emotions strug- gled in her bosom, but upon collecting her scattered faculties, sentiments of such pure intelhgence ema- 46 DUTY AND INCLINATION. nated from her eyes^ that she might have seemed as if suddenly exalted above every weakness inci- dent to humanity^ virtue alone prevailing. It was at her shrine Rosilia had secretly resolved to bow. Alas ! she httle conceived how difficult would be the task^ — she w as httle aware of the mental trials and conflicts to be experienced^ when the judg- ment has to act in opposition to inclinations warm and ardent as hers ! The train of her reflections was interrupted by the encouraging voice of her ladyship^ who again summoned her to the music room^ which they en- tered just in time to hear the solo of Mr. Valpee on his flute^ in tones sweet and clear^ which dying gradually away inspired a mournful tenderness, like that sentiment which had imperceptibly crept into the heart of Rosiha, so soft, so seductive, that alas ! in fading, left impressions silent, sorrowful, and affecting ! Lady Valpee in approaching a piano lightly ran over the keys ; the air she played was enhvening ; her aim however being merely to prevail on some of the ladies of the party to perform in turn, her piece in consequence soon came to a conclusion ; when she called upon Oriana, as knowing her to be w^ell skilled in the art. Happy to oblige, with un- affected acquiescence, Oriana took her seat at the DUTY AND INCLINATION. 4? harp : though not timid of her powers, yet unused to perform among strangers, her heart palpitated ; she looked instinctively towards Valpee, whom she knew to be a connoisseur, as contemplative and silent he stood by her side. The piece she had selected possessed a flute ac- companiment, and to encourage her, Valpee took his instrument and joined its soft mellow cadence with the full reverberating tones of the enchanting harp. In the concord of sweet sounds thus pro- duced by Valpee, Oriana by degrees lost the con- sciousness of self, and, her soul became rapt by the influence of harmony. Valpee instantaneously paused in his accompaniment to listen to the low and deep, the full and soft expression given to the air by the incomparable skill of Oriana ; he felt his assistancxe was unnecessary. No one was more skilled in the theory as well as the practical part of music than himself; he well knew how to discri- minate and mark with due distinction the sepa- rate beauties of every composer; he admired the brilliancy of Dussek, he deeply felt the pathos of Mozart, but the grandeur of Haydn thrilled upon his every nei've. The piece that Oriana was executing possessed science, but was not the less embellished by taste. The variety of her tones, the energy of her style. 48 DUTY^AND INCLINATION. the graceful attractions of her person^ rendered her at that moment an object truly fascinating to Valpee^ and every sense was lost in pleasure and admiration. The beautiful piece finished^ Oriana arose from her seat^ and received with a grateful pleasure the praises it elicited. In compliance with the request of the ladies^ Valpee then gave another solo on his flute^ after which, none of the ladies willing to disj)ute the palm with Oriana, she was called upon a second time, and was about com- plying, when Sir Charles entered, accompanied by some gentlemen, amongst whom were Sir Howard Sinclair and Captain Douglas. A whisper of ^^ Hush ! hush!" ran through the apartment. Sir Charles turning to his new visitors put his finger to his lip in token of silence, and Oriana com- menced : she had been solicited to add the accom- paniment of her voice, the tender pathos of which happily accorded with the sentiment of her song ; her words distinctly as they were heard, filled the fancy, communicating the most delightful sensa- tions. Sweet and clear her tones thrilled in higher sounds, when gradually decreasing, they faintly died away, and naught was heard but the harp^s reverberating echo, and Valpee^s low and uncon- scious exclamation of delight. The gentlemen who had remained at the door DUTY AND INCLINATION. 49 then advanced to make their salutations to the com- pany. Anticipating the success of his last night's declaration, the appearance of Douglas manifested if possible more than usual attraction. His dress was elegant and fashionable. His eyes, animated and piercing, immediately fell upon that counte- nance which never failed to rivet their gaze : but how soon did every look and gesture, correspond- ent to his mental joy, vanish upon perceiving Ro- silia's coldness towards him ! Upon his first ap- pearing indeed, his quick glance showed him the colour heightening upon her cheek, but a moment after, he saw it fade away, and give place to an ex- pression calmly pensive. Her interesting pertur- bation had been appeased, he thought, by the in- fluence of her sister's melody ; for who, more than Rosilia, had a soul attuned to harmony ? She who was harmony itself, though she never touched the lyre, nor breathed forth the exquisite charm of song, was still ever in her heart awake to each sweet and captivating strain; each note of melody never failed to soothe or elevate her fancy. She had received some instructions in music, but had never cultivated the art, willingly yielding the pre-eminence to her sister, whose powers of execu- tion were in a high degree brilliant. It was in the chaste and beautifiil art of painting, Rosilia parti- VOL. I. D 50 DUTY AND INCLINATION. cularly excelled in all its various branches ; her imitations of nature were portrayed with infinite judgement^ patience, and skill. Having paid some appropriate compliments to Oriana on her performance, Sir Howard with an ohsequious politeness approached Rosilia, who, by the affability and obligingness of her manners, wishing to make him some amends for the disap- pointment he had expressed in her so soon re- tiring with him from the dance the preceding even- ing, so charmed his attention, that he seemed ap- parently to forget that any other object was present than herself. Sir Howard was somewhat low in stature, but of pleasing exterior ; his manners, words, and ac- tions were so studiously specious and polished as always to discover a certain finesse : having pre- tensions to learning, his phrases were ever most correctly appropriate, and his pronunciation exact almost to pedantry ; wishing to shine, and to make a figure in the world, no one sported a more ele- gant equipage ; he was not opulent, but he was desirous of being thought so ; the love of riches was his ruling passion : ambitious to insinuate him- self into the good graces of the wealthy, he lost no opportunity of doing so ; nevertheless his heart was ever ready to receive impressions from beauty, and DUTY AND INCLINATION. 51 it was his admiration of Rosilia's charms that now led him to pay homage at her shrine. He en- gaged her in a very interesting and animated dis- cussion relative to the separate beauties of music and painting. RosiUa^ with a modest deference^ spoke in favour of the former ; Sir Howard^ in compHment to herself, dwelt upon the superior excellence of the latter, styling it the father of arts, one which so happily represented to us the charms, the graces, the varieties of nature, that it might be deemed a creation in itself. Thus was Sir Howard engaged in arranging his discourse in the manner he imagined best adapted to win upon and flatter his fair auditor, who, he found combined to an unaffected simplicity and ingenuousness, an inteUigence truly captivating. In the meanwhile, Douglas, who had followed him with keen penetration, in hearkening to all he had uttered was not at a loss to discover the end which influenced his remarks ; and upon perceiving also the complaisance with which he had been listened and repHed to, impressions of the most vehement jealousy took possession of him ; mute with anguish, his brow contracted, his eye flash- ing wrath, forming a contrast most striking when compared to the well-modulated soft accent, the D 2 UBmny 52 DUTY AND INCLINATION. unvarying complacency^ depicted in the looks of his imagined rival. Yielding to sentiments so painful to his peace, where was then that pleasant humour and lively eloquence, ever acting with such resistless efficacy to fascinate attention, even to bestow a secret de- light on those who disdained openly to admire him, swayed either by envy or a just prejudice against his general character ? A prey to every varjdng emotion and every passion, he was then tortured by the most imperious of any ; his irritation seemed every moment increasing, till at length, unable any longer to control his feelings or continue a silent spectator of a scene so calculated to probe his soul, he arose, and with a hurried step glided behind the company, approached Sir Howard, and whispered some incoherent words in his ear : his cheeks were flushed, fire darted from his eyes, and with an air of suppressed passion he left the room. This con- duct, so unexpected and extraordinary, naturally excited in Sir Howard much astonishment ; motion- less and speechless, he seemed petrified ; but soon returning to the full command of his faculties, an art with which he was singularly endowed, he apologized to Rosiha for thus abruptly leaving her, and with an apparently unconcerned demeanour DUTY AND INCLINATION. 53 was following Douglas, but before he reached the door he was stopped by Sir Charles, who, holding his arm, sought to detain him. The party, variously engaged, had not at tirst noticed what was passing, till the words '^ He has demanded my immediate presence, he awaits my coming," from Sir Howard, and distress visible upon Sir Charles's countenance, excited the alarm of a httle circle gathering around the disputants ; whilst Rosilia, overcome by some sense of dread which she could not define, would have fallen from her seat, had not her sister and Lady Valpee flown to her assistance. Sir Howard took the advantage of the momentary confusion to quit the apartment, followed by Sir Charles. The short interval which had elapsed previous to the coming of Sir Howard, had afforded Dou- glas an opportunity of recollecting himself; for, hurried along by the impetuosity of his chai'acter, he had in the first instance attended but to its im- pulse. Having retired to an adjoining apartment, he was pacing it aa ith hasty steps, when, catching the accents of Sir Charles, still in expostulation with Sir Howard, lie flung open the door, and pre- sented himself before them. His elevated form, his air of grandeur, his looks proud and fierce, were never more calculated to dismay; by the force 54 DUTY AND INCLINATION. of his strong and powerful mind it might seem as if he claimed to himself alone the right of absolute command^ to which he expected all were to bow and to submit. Those whom he now had to deal with, were however differently disposed. Having entered the apartment, Sir How^ard calmly begged of Sir Charles to leave him a few minutes with Captain Douglas, ^^ whom/^ he add- ed, ^^ he might unintentionally have offended, and should that be the case, he felt happy to think the occasion admitted of a speedy explanation.'^ Sir Charles, possessing that true dignity w^hich ever accompanies noble sentiments, waiving compliance for a moment with the request of Sir Howard, accosted Douglas, saying, " I am led to fear, sir, by the warmth of manner in which you have conducted yourself towards this gentleman, that you entertain some hostile views against him; and as the master of this house, hoping to main- tain in it peace and decorum, duty, as also honour, requires my interference.'' ^ . ' Impatient of delay, and losing nothing of his haughty mien, Douglas replied, " I have but one question to ask; it will depend upon Sir How^ard's answer whether this business will ter- minate in hostility or otherwise." With the utmost coolness Sir Howard then de- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 55 manded of Douglas whether he had any disinch- nation to speak before a thh'd person ; that if he had not, he was immediately ready to give him the satisfaction required. Sir Charles, under the hope that the dispassion- ate judgement of Sir Howard might tend to mo- derate his antagonist's warmth, said, " As no idle curiosity, gentlemen, prompts my stay, and not wishing to intrude upon your confidence, I shall withdraw; but before I do so, I must request of Captain Douglas, as the aggressor in this affair, to respect the rights I hold in this house, and not abuse the hospitality with which my doors are ever open for the reception of my guests and the happiness I wish to preserve amongst them." Not waiting a reply he quitted the room. Sir Howard a second time demanded an expla- nation. The image of Rosilia, beautiful and touch- ing, as then presented before the mental vision of Douglas, fired his soul, and in the fulness of en- ergy he exclaimed, " I wish to be informed, sir, what are the pretensions which have authorised you to court the notice of Miss De Brooke, — Ro- silia De Brooke, in the assiduous manner you have done this morning.'^ The commanding tone in which these words w^re uttered, the daring and passionate eye which 56 DUTY AND INCLINATION. seemed already to devour its object, were certainly calculated to exasperate Sir Howard; but still, deeply concentrating within himself the impres- sions which governed him, he with decision re- plied, " I presume, sir, it may be allowed me in my turn to ask by what claim you hold yourself entitled to catechize me on this point/^ "By claims of prior right, sir,^^ retorted the other with vehemence. Sir Howard bowed pro- foundly ; his lip quivered, he would have spoken, but Douglas, whose feelings became less tumul- tuous after he had given utterance to them, pro- ceeded somewhat more calmly ; " I have already made my sentiments known, they were not re- jected ; I had reason to expect a favourable issue ; and I cannot, cannot resign these claims to any, to any man Uving ! ^' Regarding Douglas with an air at once grave, cautious, and subtle. Sir Howard after a short pause replied, "^ that after an avowal so expUcit he could have nothing more to say/^ To which Dou- glas, entirely disarmed, and truly generous when no impediments opposed the course of his passions and desu'es, expressed his acknowledgments with all the vivacity that honour, fi^ankness, and cordi- ahty could dictate. Sir Howard replied in terms of affected civility, for piqued and mortified, and angry DUTY AND INCLINATION. 57 at hearty his reconciliation was in appearance only. Beneath a ready and specious address^ he conceal- ed the jealous malignity of his feelings. He rung for his serv^ant^ ordered his curricle, seemed all hurry, all courtesy, and presently flinging himself into his seat and seizing the reins, di'ove swiftly from the door. Sir Howard was one who never thought of mar- riage but as a traffic, a speculation not unworthy of making, if to improve his fortune ; a sort of bond- age to which he never could submit himself, un- less his bride came to him with such a portion as he might deem an equivalent for the title he had to bestow, and for the personal advantages to which his self-conceit led him to attach vast im- portance. The infant flame with which RosiUa had inspired him, had not, from his short acquaintance with her, been capable of producing any change in his usual mode of reflecting ; his admiration of her having been kept within the bounds of an equili- brium, excited by his governing and ruling princi- ple of covetousness. But such was the perv^ersity of his nature, that no sooner had his sentiments re- ceived opposition from Douglas, than a rivalship ensued, adapted infinitely to enhance in his ima- gination the fair object of it, connected with feel- ings of spleen and env}^, as also the fervent wish D 5 58 DUTY AND INCLINATION. that Douglas in the end might be rejected, dis- dained, and wholly defeated in his plans. Left to himself, Douglas quickly revolved in his mind all that had passed. He loved Rosilia for herself alone ; it was the predominant sentiment of his soul. The voice of discretion, prudence, all was hushed ; the possession of a diadem, even of a world, would have been valueless without her. Thus amidst the many defects which obscured his character, a certain magnanimity reigned. The desire of seeing Rosilia, and of having a few mo- ments^ conversation with her previous to his lea- ving the house, impelled him again to enter the saloon, where he was mortified to find only Sir Charles and his son. From motives of delicacy, Rosilia did not wish to return until she was assured of the departure of Douglas ; she feared again to find herself in the presence of him who had caused her so much painful solicitude. When she reflected upon his vehement conduct of that morning, seeming so finalogous to that of the preceding evening, a slight suspicion of the real cause floated over her mind. Faint and tremulous, she remained at the open window of the inner drawing-room, her sister and friends around her, when the well-known accents of Douglas in amicable conference with Sir How- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 59 ard thrilled upon her every nen'e, and the appa- rently cordial farewell of the latter as he drove down the avenue dissipated all her fears. Finding her thus recovered, Lady Valpee left her to rejoin her guests, but found they had all di- spersed with the solitary exception of Douglas, who remained impatiently awaiting the appearance of Rosilia. Lady Yalpee informed him in a tone of mingled raillery and anger of the alarm he had spread among the ladies, and also of the sudden illness of Rosilia. During the recital his colour changed from white to red every second : was it for him or for Sir Howard that she had been thus affected ? A confused hope dazzled him for an instant, but it was as suddenly checked by the recollection of the indifference w^hich had marked her manners, and reception of- him, upon his first entering that morning. He wished extremely to converse w ith her, if but for a few moments ; but not venturing to request it, after a short interval of general conversation he thought proper to re- tire. Rosilia was still at the open window, but the instant he came near it she drew' back^ whilst crimson blushes spoke her distress. Too much a man of the world not to understand the meaning of this silent eloquence, the most rapturous sen- sations took possession of him ;, forgetting the in- 60 DUTY AND INCLINATION, numerable things he had but lately in contempla- tion to say, he could only express his transports ; and Rosilia having entirely lost her self-command was seeking in vain to regain it, until relieved by the approach of her sister, whose presence inter- rupting Douglas, he made his farewell salutations with as much appearance of composure as he could assume, and reluctantly departed. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 61 CHAPTER V. ''Begin, be bold, and venture to be wise. He who defers his work from day to day. Does on a river's bank expecting stay. Till the whole stream, that stopp'd him, shall be gone. Which runs, and as it runs, for ever shall run on." After the sisters had passed a most agreeable week with the Valpees, Mrs. De Brooke came in her carriage to convey them home. She returned her children's affectionate embrace^ and though she had been undergoing penance during their absence, she Avould still most wilhngly for their sakes have endured it longer, had she not con- ceived it necessary to remove them. Upon the meeting of Valpee with Mrs. De Brooke, his outward compliments did but ill con- ceal his inward chagrin at the prospect of losing the society of Oriana, whose vivacity and playful raillery had conduced most agreeably to recreate his mind from the dryness of his college avocations. He was therefore inclined to deem Mrs. De Brooke an intruder ; for Valpee, the favourite of fortune. 62 DUTY AND INCLINATION. ever basking in her sunshine, had yet to learn to bear disappointment with a good grace. No sooner did the sisters find themselves alone with their mother, than they began to expatiate upon the pleasure their visit had afforded them; when Rosilia turning, perceived sadness depicted on the countenance of her much-loved parent : " You are not well/^ said she in accents of unea- siness. "I am better, my dear, than I have been,^' rephed Mrs. De Brooke ; " your father has been indisposed, which occasioned me some an- xiety,'^ She would have changed the subject, being unwilling to distress her daughters with family grievances so immediately after their late amusements, still elated as they seemed, par- ticularly Oriana, by the retrospection of them. The cautious tenderness of the mother, how- ever, was rendered ineffectual by the affectionate inquiries of the daughters. In compliance there- fore, Mrs. De Brooke said, '' You are acquainted, my dears, with the embarrassed state of our affairs; and how or when we shall be disentangled from them it is impossible to say. Our creditors become daily more importunate, and we have not yet been able to obtain a suitable tenant for the Villa. Lord Deloraine, we hear, is now in England, and DUTY AND INCLINATION. 63 from what Captain Douglas gave us to understand^ he may enter into treaty for the Villa, and which I trust may be the case, as the immediate letting of it, with the sale of all our property, can alone save us from ruin. Were we to effect this, our in- tention is to retire into Wales, for the little revenue afforded to your father by Government is adequate only to an establishment supported by the greatest oeconomy. As to your dear father and myself, we do not grieve on our own accounts ; but for you, my dear girls, to be so early in life immured in solitude, it rends our hearts to think of it.^' Mrs. De Brooke could not proceed; tears drop- ped from her maternal eyes. Her daughters sought to comfort her, and in this state of distressed feeling they arrived at home ; at that home w hich was so soon to become the property of another. They entered at the private gate leading through the shrubbery ; and the hapless mother and daugh- ters stepped between banks of flowery luxuriance without uttering one word : they w^ere affection- ately greeted by the General. Mrs. De Brooke hud left him far from well, and though by a forced cheerfulness he had tried to persuade her it was otherwise, his sunk eyes and debilitated frame too plainly spoke what he had wished to conceal. His tender partner found him 64 DUTY AND INCLINATION. upon her return rather improved. Throwing herself in the opposite chair^ and extending to him her hand, he pressed it warmly between his, and smi- ling said, " I have good news for you, very good indeed/^ Mrs. De Brooke brightening lent an at- tentive ear. "Lord Deloraine has been here during your absence ; he came with Douglas, who intro- duced him; he admired the place extremely; he surveyed the premises, and has already entered into a treaty with me ; and I have not a doubt but that I shall ere long dispose of the place, with per- fect satisfaction to His Lordship, if not to myself.^^ Mrs. De Brooke caught from sympathy the ray of hope she saw re-appear over the countenance of her husband ; but in reflecting upon the close of the intelligence he had afforded her, she w ished to be informed whether Lord Deloraine had en- tered fully into the terms proposed, to which the General replied, "Had I not been supported by Douglas, I might have had more cause to complain of His Lordship^s caution not to outstep the limits he had proposed to himself. I could not help in- wardly drawing the comparison of how much the brothers differed, and regretting that the title had not fallen to the lot of Douglas, so much more formed to adorn and grace it.^^ Alas! how might that half-suppressed sigh escaping Rosilia, have DUTY AND INCLINATION. 65 described the opposition of her feehngs respecting Douglas, caused by Lady Valpee's remarks, no longer free to indulge in those tender sentiments for him which her father's praises might have other- wise led her to cherish ! and thus under the in- fluence of feelings at variance, Rosilia had returned to her home. Not so Douglas, who was still elated by the per- suasion that he had succeeded in kindling within RosiUa the first dawnings of affection. Nor was he wrong in his conjecture; though Rosiha had been warned of his errors, and trembled at the thought of a connection with this too dangerous man, her heart had involuntarily surrendered. In the full blaze and prime of life was Dou- glas, " Even in the heyday of impetuous youth ! the blaze of gaudy years — " possessing every personal recommendation, every briUiant qualification to allure and captivate. The good and evil of his character seemed to be so in- timately conjoined, that it was difficult to separate them, and mark the line of distinction due to each, the result of which naturally caused Rosilia to be sensible of a mental warfare, a happiness and un- happiness, wavering between uncertainty and the fear of acting wrongly ; for in spite of every re- straint she imposed upon herself, her pure mind 66 DUTY AND INCLINATION. incessantly sought to associate itself in mutual con- cord and agreement with one whose rays of virtue seemed, alas ! but thinly scattered through mists of error. After Douglas had one day returned from the Villa, agitated with suspense, caused by the con- tinuing reserve of Rosilia, retarding his advances so much beyond the period he had proposed to himself, he entered his room and found a letter upon his table ; it contained an order to hold him- self in readiness to rejoin his regiment, and em- bark in the next fleet for India, which was expected to sail within the space of a few weeks. The packet also contained the news of his being pro- moted to a majority, by the unexpected dissolution of a senior officer. This latter information at any other time would have been most gratifying to him ; but from the circumstances then connected with it, he could scarcely bring himself to rejoice. Business of the utmost moment, previous to his leaving England, required his presence in London, whilst his passion for Rosilia still held him cap- tive in the country: and there it was impossible to linger; the hour of embarkation would speedily arrive, which made it necessary to decide, and that without delay, upon the step he should adopt, in a matter involving the future happiness or misery of his existence. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 6? Thus embarrassed and nearly insensible of his actions^ he re-mounted his horse^ and rode im- mediately back to the Villa ; the design most pre- vailing over his mind beings to throw himself at the feet of her he loved^ and by the most im- passioned and persuasive eloquence try to soften the reserve^ which he felt convinced could not be natural to her, it being inconsistent with that sensibility, those acute feelings, her every word, look and action so plainly manifested she possess- ed. He would awaken her tenderness, the sus- ceptibility of her age, those w^arm affections nature had implanted within her, and in which she seemed form^ed to indulge. Upon further considerations, how impracticable appeared this scheme ! How could it be possible for him to obtain a private interview with Rosilia ? she never Avent any\vhere unattended by some part of the family, and when- ever of late he had called at the Villa, she had either remained in privacy, or else tortured and distracted him by the cruel distance she per- severingly maintained. Under the intrusion of these ideas, he slackened his pace, whilst he re- flected whether there might be any chance of suc- ceeding should he come openly forwai'd, and at once declare his passion to her parents, state to them his circumstances, and the extreme urgency 68 DUTY AND INCLINATION. of his case. This latter suggestion he was inchned to abide by; it accorded with his natural disposition to frankness; but when he considered his defi- ciency of fortune, he feared to hazard his hopes upon a chance so precarious. Confused and harassed, he knew not upon what to resolve, for every idea which then occurred seemed only to forebode a failure : notwithstand- ing, he was impressed with the conviction that the heart of Rosilia was his. Thus in a state of doubt, hope, and alarm, forming and changing his reso- lution every minute, he was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of the General, from whom he had but so lately parted, and whose looks in con- sequence expressed some surprise in seeing him return so soon. The abruptness of the rencontre having dissi- pated from Douglas the schemes and reasonings he had been forming, his natural ingenuousness also gaining the ascendency, without hesitation he re- plied to the GeneraFs question by entering into a full disclosure of his sentiments. It was in the power of Douglas to be eloquent, even had his heart been less deeply interested; it may therefore be easily conceived he was by no means wanting on an occasion so important to his future happiness, in that glow of expression, that forcible language. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 69 which strong feehng naturally dictates. He urged his point with animation : he was listened to Avith at- tention; the General pressed his hand with warmth, the tear of parental affection glittered in his eye; he felt inclined to favour him : he paused a moment, he could not proceed, he could not encourage him. ^' Douglas/^ said he, ^^ at present I can scarcely allow myself even to bid you hope ; I must consult my child, her future peace and welfare are so greatly concerned in this aifair ; it is she who must deter- mine your fate : in a day or two perhaps I may be enabled to give you a more decided answer ; but,'^ he added, " I thank you, most sincerely thank you, for this frank, this generous disclosure to me.^^ Douglas, fearing it might militate against his views, had carefully avoided mentioning the order which laid him under the necessity of so shortly rejoining his regiment in India. He spoke of his promotion, on which the General offered his hearty congratulations, and Douglas imagined he had sai<:^ i ufEcient to win him over to his interests ; he place. . however his chief dependence upon the affections of Rosilia, on the indulgence of her pa- rents, and the bright impressions of hope again gladdened his soul. He took a respectful leave of the General, promising to return the following day, in order to receive from Rosiha herself his doom. 70 DUTY AND INCLINATION. , Arrived at home, he gave orders to his servant not to be interrupted, having resolved to pass the rest of the day alone, a circumstance very unusual with him, but then earnestly desired on account of the nature of his thoughts, solicitous to shun in- trusion. Various were the conjectures he formed relative to the step he had taken ; favoured as he had been in every affair of gallantry, might not good fortune still attend him ? Ever inclined to indulge in the anticipation of success, he had seldom allowed himself to be depressed by the faintest pos- sibility of disappointment. From never having as- sailed fair woman^s heart in vain, never having been intimidated by her frowns, but always encouraged by her smiles, he still sported his blandishments ; and, relying upon the favours he had gained, con- fidently looked forward to future indulgencies. But now he felt that the object in view so greatly involved his happiness, that for the first time the dread of a failure triumphed over ever}^ other sen- timent, and yielding himself to each suggestion it was in the power of his prolific imagination to form, he insensibly reverted to that period of his youth when he first entered upon the world. '^ I never,^^ said he to himself, " can take a survey of my past life, and see the follies, the wild irregularities I have engaged in, without a feehng of vexation, or DUTY AND INCLINATION. /I what I suppose some people would call remorse. Then why do I think about them ? Cannot I sup- press the recollection of them ? No, it is impos- sible ; for whoever yet could check the current of thought, or impose restraints upon conscience ? do what we will it forces its way, and sweeps along with it every accursed thing we would fain lose sight of for ever." After a short pause, he continued : '' Have I ever found those hours spent in nocturnal revelry, repay me with that felicity and enjoyment I had expected? Have I not, on the contrary, even at the time when every object around me seemed in- fluenced solely by the joy of the moment, have I not felt disgusted and estranged; whilst secret sighs escaped me, when the idea obtruded itself of the immorahty I was guilty of, in seeking the affec- tions of the virtuous Rosiha even when I was ren- dering myself unworthy of them? And again, when I have seen my depraved companions drop under the table from excess of inebriety, have I reflected upon their irrational beast-hke appear- ance ? No ! ever dreading the sarcastic smile or sneering ridicule of the fools around me, I have forced the jest, the laugh, or joined in the clamor- ous or exulting glee. And for what ? It might be said that Douglas was the happiest, the most 72 DUTY AND INCLINATION. convivial fellow of the party^ always free, gay, and unconcerned ; and what then is he now V He endeavoured to divert his ideas by reading, but found he could not, and continued ruminating as follows. ^^ If I had never become acquainted with the De Brookes, I should probably have gone on in a course of unthinking gaiety, and these reflections would never have been drawn from me; had I never known that lovely girl Rosilia, never felt for her aught but what I had felt in common for her sex ; had I never perceived her tremble at a tri- fling tale of vice told in her presence ; and had I not perceived that though she abhorred the evil, the culprit excited her compassion rather than her indignation ; if I had not perceived her beautiful countenance sadden upon similar occasions, I should never have been called to reflection. It was her uncommon loveliness that caught my admira- tion ; but had not my chains become riveted by the superior lustre of her innocence and virtue, and had not my heart deeply acknowledged their power, I should never have been influenced by these sentiments. How often during my life have I fan- cied myself in love ! it is now my firm belief that I never loved before ; it was mere passion, mere in- fatuation, anything but love ; for never, at any DUTY AND INCLINATION. JS time have I been susceptible of feelings such as the present. Since then this little divinity has already eifected so much^ is it not her duty to finish her Avork, and, if possible, to effect still more, in be- coming my wife ? Who knows but I might verify, ' A reformed rake makes the best husband !' ^' In such reflections the day closed in, and night suc- ceeded, bringing with it a temporary suspension to the doubts, wishes, fears, and hopes of Douglas. VOL. I. E 74 DUTY AND INCLINATION. CHAPTER VI. •'The flattering scene is o'er, My hopes for ever — ever fled — And vengeance can no more." We have said that Douglas was formed to fasci- nate and ensnare the female heart; Rosilia De Brooke had become the object of his pm^suit^ and difficult was it for her to resist his various attrac- tions ; but yet she did resist them : although his character could not stand the test of scrutiny^ her fancy was captivated^ but her understanding re- fused its homage. New as were these sentiments to her bosom, she scarcely could define the nature of them ; she seemed to be entangled as by some powerful spell, while, at the same time, she ac- knowledged, with deep regret, that Douglas was not one to whom she could confide the future peace and comfort of her life. Thus he who had invariably succeeded in his designs upon every other, had the mortification to be rejected by the young and artless though intelligent Rosiha — not- withstanding she was shortly to quit a sphere DUTY AND INCLINATION. 7^ which nature had eminently qualified her to orna- ment. The minds of the sisters had been early formed, and improved by culture. Though not less moral and virtuous in actual principle than Rosilia, yet the characteristic vivacity of Oriana rendered her less firm in purpose ; Duty and reason with her, if weighed against Inclination and affection, would have been found but light in the balance. With Rosilia it was other^^ise : perhaps, from the very diffidence of herself and her OAvn powers, she could Avith better security combat temptation ; thought- ful and reflective, no consideration whatever could have led her to enter the marriage state with that precipitate rashness which lead so many young people to misery and reproach. She had been taught to consider matrimony as a solemn contract, a holy institution, which she would profane and abuse if she entered into it from any motives con- trary to that true and lasting friendship, — that es- teem and respect, that high opinion of the worth and merit of the object to whom she was to de- vote her life, look up to for support and protection, and with whom she might expect to find a return of those tender endearments so necessary to con- stitute her full and perfect happiness. For the first time in her life Rosilia was called E 2 ']S DUTY AND INCLINATION. upon to decide for herself, and that too in the most important incident of it. Deeply and seriously did she reflect on the decision she should make. '^^ I cannot/^ she at length said to herself, ^'^ ac- cept of Douglas ; every idea that suggests itself to me only confirms me in the opinion that I cannot be his ; were I to waive them, I should act incon- sistently with every principle of virtue. To join myself in close association with one whom all the eood and sensible censure as a libertine ! Far be it from thee, Rosiha, to prove thyself so unthink- ing and giddy a creature ! I cannot be his. And if, indeed, I had not these weighty objections, could I bestow my hand at such a moment as the present, when my father is about to part with his Villa, and break up his establishment? Might not my leaving him be construed into mercenary and selfish motives ? might it not be supposed that I was impatient to fly from the ruin awaiting us ^ She paused ; and, after a short interval of hesitation, continued with a sigh : ^'^ These scruples ; alas, these scruples ! I would reject them had Douglas a vir- tuous mind, had he a character I could depend upon, could I freely and unreservedly bestow upon him my esteem and confidence.^^ • The whole of Rosiha^s proceedings had been uninfluenced by her parents, notwithstanding thej DUTY AND INCLINATION. 77 had regarded her with the watchful eye of soHci- tude. They saw in Douglas much to admire ; ge- nerosity sat on his manly brow ; a noble candour accompanied his words and actions ; he was natu- rally (they were persuaded) inclined to good ; but some unlucky accident^ the changes and chances of life^ they supposed^ had turned his mind from its original bias. The information the General had received, in his inquiries regarding the con- duct of Douglas, had tended much to disappoint and vex him, ha\dng, with Mrs. De Brooke, enter- tained the hope of seeing one of his girls provided for, ere they left the Villa for a cottage retirement in Wales. The representation made of Douglas proved that he was by no means suited to become the partner of their Rosilia. A mind hke hers, so delicately organized, they were well assured, could never support the rude blasts, w^hich would un- doubtedly assail it if connected with a man of free principles. If, indeed, she were so fortunate as to escape the contagion of his example, her heart, they well knew, would become lost to peace, would sicken under the contemplation of his vices. They blamed themselves for not having sooner made in- quiries respecting him, being sensible the tempta- tion was not a trifling one to which their child had been exposed. Her apparent indifference, how- 78 DUTY AND INCLINATION. ever^ to Douglas sometimes caused them to ima-- gine her heart might have been untouched ; some- times they thought the contrary; and this idea^ conjoined to the recollection of their ruined cir- cumstances^ rendered them fearful of opposing her inchnations. In rejecting the addresses of Douglas^ they had no better prospect in view for her^ than that of burying her youth in total seclusion^ without a chance afforded her of form- ing any more advantageous settlement. Mar- riage might reclaim him ; domestic hfe might gra- dually wean him from habits of dissipation. His income was undoubtedly scanty^ but his interest was great ; and his family connections every w^ay calculated to promote them. Thus vieviing the subject,, and reasoning with Rosiha accordingly, they left the final answer to herself; and^ in pro- portion as it was important^ they wished her to act from a mind free and unbiassed. The resolution she had formed remained un- changed — a cottage and sohtude awaited her. " Take me w ith you^^^ said she : ^^ allow me to share with my beloved Oriana^ the humble lot to which we are reduced. Major Douglas is not one whom I should choose as the partner of my future lif^.^^ Thus affording the result of her meditations^ her parents became confirmed in the idea that hex" DUTY AND INCLINATION. 7^ heart had never yielded to sentiments of attach- ment for Douglas. How much were they mis- taken ! far from being pleased^ how pained would they have been_, had they been able to unravel the web^ in the foldings of which lay concealed the real feelings of Rosiha ; had they known^ that he whom she thus refused^ had been long the in- tynate associate of her every thought; that his image was engraved upon her fancy^ and that every sigh breathed in secret was for him ! How would the sublimity of her principles have risen upon their view, and how, in their fond approba- tion of the sacrifice of feehng she was making, would they have mingled the soul-harrowing idea of their broken fortunes, which thus consigned her virtues to inevitable obscurity ! That hour, 'so impatiently awaited by Douglas, that important hour at last arrived. Full of ardent expectation, indulging the most encouraging hopes, he hastened to the dweUing which contained the mistress of his soul. He was ushered into the drawing-room, where the family had assembled with \dsitors : his eye instantaneously caught that of Rosilia ; her confusion was obvious : scarcely more able to control himself, he, however, ad- vanced with that grace and ease by wliich no one perhaps was ever more distinguished. After pay- 80 DUTY AND INCLINATION. ing his respects to the ladies^ he was drawn aside by the General^ who led him into an inner room, Rosiha was well acquainted with the nature of the conference which was to ensue ; her heart throbbed as if it would have burst its inclosure ; her whole frame trembled; she Avould have fled^ but she feared drawing upon her the attention of the com- pany. After the space of half an hour^ her father and Douglas returned. The bitterness of woe sat depicted on the countenance of the latter ; he cast at Rosiha a look^ which penetrated to the inmost recesses of her soul. To conceal her increasing emotions^ she arose from her seat^ and retired to an adjoining win- dow, to which Douglas immediately following, in faint and faltering accents said, ^^ Rosiha, do you indeed consign me to wretchedness, to eternal misery? — say, say it quickly — has your father given me your own free sentiments — are you re- solved that I part from you now, and for ever ^ Rosilia hesitated; her respiration seemed sus- pended ; until arming herself with courage to sup- port her in a moment so decisive, in a voice scarcely audible, she rephed in the affirmative. ^^ It is enough,^^ rejoined Douglas, and rushed precipitately from the apartment. Rosilia saw^ him fly along the avenue, she saw DUTY AND INCLINATION. 81 him tiirn : he pressed his hands with fen^ent trans- port on his breast^ raised them to heaven, and seemed to bid her farewell for ever ! And where at that moment was the heroism of Rosilia? The captivating, the gay, the eloquent Douglas had vanished from her sight — was gone for ever ! She remained a moment motionless, absorbed in melancholy ; then retired to the pri- vacy of her chamber, where her tears gushed forth in secret, and afforded a temporary relief to her oppressed heart. The unhappy Douglas arrived at his home, raving like a maniac. He never before had received repulse from woman ; his inflated vanity could but ill brook this humiliation of it, inflicted by one so young and inexperienced. He had felt assured of winning upon the affections of a character so artless, and had been only led to hazard his pro- posals from the imaginaiy security he had felt in havino; awakened in Rosilia a return of sentiment. No wonder then that he burst into a paroxysm of i*age, as fruitless as it was tumultuous, uttering ungovernable and wild exclamations ; till, at last, exhausted by the violence of his grief, he sunk into a state of stupor, bearing for the moment a semblance of patience, " Short intennission, fraught with double woej" £ 5 8^ DUTY AND INCLINATIOiV, when again gathering strength from cessation^, his despair was renewed^ and vented forth in terms of the most frantic eloquence. Weary of Hfe^ weary of every pursuit which had hitherto engaged him^ he cursed his miserable existence. At last^ after a lapse of time^ he began quietly to reason with and condemn himself alternately. ^^ Good God ?' he exclaimed^ after a long interval of thought ; " it is now that I am punished for the irregularities of my past Hfe^ — now^ when my whole soul is devoted to an object^ whose expand- ing graces of mind and person I should have puri- fied myself in contemplating^ — now^ when my heart burns with an unconquerable attachment ; — now I am left desolate — alive only to the con- sciousness of being truly miserable ! The retri- bution of Providence is just ; I am stopped in my career by the chastisements^ the sufferings it inflicts ! It was not fit that the sanctity of that spotless maid should have received contamination from me; it was outrageous to suppose it — it was madness V' The seeds of repentance thus gradually infused, continued to take stiU deeper root : it was a mo- ment the most critical. From first seeing^ tl.en acknowledging his errors^, Douglas might be led to correct them. Oh woman^ behold thy power ! Too often have thy bewitching charms enslaved DUTY AND INCLINATION. 83 men's minds to sin, and degraded them in the dust ; but when to outward charms are united the sweet, the sacred, inward attractions of virtue, what canst thou not effect ? The raising, the en- nobhng of a fellow creature, who, in the contem- plation of thy transcendent worth, thy purity, seeks reformation, and endeavours to emulate thy bright example, in despite of eveiy enticing snare and every powerful resistance he meets with, in the attempt to render himself worthy of thee ! The passion of Douglas seemed heightened by the barrier which now opposed it into uncontrol- lable ardour. Amongst the many women he had admired, Rosilia alone had been really capable of touching his heart, and of making on it any du- rable impression. The pleasing novelty arising from the modest sweetness of her manners had greatly contributed to secure her influence over him; for in vain had he sought her prototype in crowds and gay assembhes. If perchance some distinguished beauty attracted his admiration, it was but trans- ient, when he found she could boldly confront his gaze, wholly divested of that engaging charm which ever caused on the cheek of Rosilia a lovely suf- fusion, as she turned abashed fi'om the eye of ob- servation. Thus it remained for her alone to awaken those finer feeUngs of his mind, which, till 84 DUTY AND INCLINATION. he saw her^ had deeply slumbered. Happy would it have been for him had he met a Rosilia during the earlier period of his youth ; he then might have been formed into everything good and noble. But, alas! his principles, originally good, had been soon shaken, and he became more and more ex- posed to those temptations which assail the young, and are so difficult to resist in the vortex of a vo-' luptuous city, where luxury and pleasure, like the fatal syrens, charm only to deceive. Had the passion of Douglas been crowned by success, had he obtained possession of Rosiha, intoxicated with bliss, he would probably not have been roused to that state of deep compunction in which we now behold him. Reformation, deferred, might never have taken place; and the awful hour of dissolution might have arrived, and have found him still impenitent. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 85 CHAPTER VII. " The blusli of meekness, yet with virtue's pride, Mild Avith each grace, with reason's strength to soar, Thy heart is woman's, but thy mind is more." Upon Rosilia first awaking on the morning after she had given Douglas his final dismission^ his image forcibly rushed upon her fancy, and she be- held him, as presented to her mental vision, re- proaching her for her unrelenting cruelty, her perseverance in dooming him to despair. Her heart, so sensibly alive to every feeling of compas- sion, was then most deeply alTected ; every expres- sion he had uttered sounded in her ear, and probed the inmost recesses of her soul. Her agony for a time found relief in tears. Though overwhelmed with natural weakness, she was struggling to rise superior to it. It was then she perceived the great ascendency he had gained over her affections; she had been unwilhng to aUow it before, but any longer to disguise it from herself was impossible. Her heart had insensibly flown to one whom neither her judgment nor her sense of virtue could approve. 86 DUTY AND INCLINATION. and she trembled at the idea of loving where she ought not to love : to her innocent mind it seemed a crime^ and the contest between Duty and In- clination bathed her cheeks in tears of mingled penitence and sorrows Rosiha therefore resolved^ if possible^ to over- come her attachment^ and to bury it in eternal silence. Not even to Oriana^ her hitherto sweet and soothing companion whenever any trifling grief (for she had known no other) had agitated her bosom, not even to her could she impart the dreadful secret. She had never, it is true, ob- tained any very convincing proofs of the depravity of Douglas ; but Lady Valpee^s insinuations, so derogatory to his character, given in so decisive a manner, she could not but believe were well founded. The more the retrospection of the past engaged her, the more her affliction was increased: not that she lamented the conduct she had pur- sued; on the contrary, she felt persuaded, if the past circumstances were to occur again, she would act in the same manner. A strong internal prin- ciple of virtue, creating in her a just repugnance to the disposing of herself to one who claimed not the approbation of her understanding, had thus impelled her to the resistance of her wishes. In the resolution of conquering her attachment. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 8? Rosilia had one most difficult task to perform. We have said she had a talent for painting : the branch in which she more particularly excelled was that of miniature ; and her skill had been exerted with considerable success in producing a likeness of Douglas. In the depth of her grief^, upon ejaculating " I shall never see him more \'' her locked-up treasure rushed upon her recollec- tion. Flying to the bureau which contained it^ she opened it with a trembling hand; and her eyes, still humid with tears, were riveted upon the portrait. She had often employed her pencil in tracing fi'om copies features of the most accu- rate proportion ; but they had never conveyed to her that agreeable something, — that charm, inde- finable to her soul, portrayed in those before her. How great had been her satisfaction when she first beheld her work complete, when she per- ceived in every trait Douglas himself — his very image ! — the fine formed head, the dark and curly hair, the congeniality and harmony of features, — the tout ensemble exhibiting all that might be termed perfect in manly beauty. Such was the likeness she had seen advancing under her hand, w^anting only the rapid changes of expression which the countenance of the original, glowing with animation, or clouded ^\ith sadness, betrayed, 88 DUTY AND INCLINATION. as enlivened with hope^ or depressed under the resistless force of the sentiments he felt for her. A stoic indeed must have been the maid^ and cold her hearty Avho could have remained unmoved on beholding such influence, such do- minion ! The miniature was stiU grasped in her agitated hand; the eloquent lineaments still detained her sight, and illumined her fancy: " This/^ she ex- claimed, " is mine ; this no one can rob me of; my grief is already soothed by looking at it; it will ever have the same effect; I will contfemplate it daily; it will soften my regrets for the absence of the original ; it will be a harmless gratification I can always and at all times indulge in/^ She again deposited her treasure in the bureau, which she turned from with reluctance. Rosilia, however, soon discovered her mistake ; she found that the repeated visits she made to the bureau were more calculated to keep ahve than abate her anguish. Whilst in the possession of a resemblance so perfect, how could she ever hope to efface from her memory and affections him whom she had acknowledged to herself was unworthy of them, and whom she had parted with for ever? The inconsistency of such a proceeding thus im- pressed upon her added to the depression of her DUTY AND INCLINATION. 89 spiiits. Her dejection had been already noticed by the family, and she was apprehensive they might discover the real cause. She therefore made fresh resolutions to subdue her feehngs ; and endeavoured to wear a smile, even though her heart felt as if it would break in the conflict. The miniature must be destroyed : she would not allow^ herself a mo- ment's hesitation : she would not even bestow one last and parting look upon the cherished re- semblance. She broke it into a thousand atoms ; gathered up the scattered fragments, cast them away, and then burst into a flood of tears. It might seem as though a powerful mind only could do this, and such was Rosiha's; such the virtue and heroicf firmness of that mind, which usually seemed overflowing with softness and sensibility. The General having disposed of his villa and furniture, for a term of years, to Lord Deloraine, parted with his serv^ants, and all the outward ap- pendages w^hich had given pomp and splendour to his dwelling, reserving only a travelling-carriage for the use of his family; and the day was fixed when thev were to retire, with a reduced and hum- ble fortune, into the beautiful and romantic coun- try of Wales. They could not but feel a regret in quitting scenes which had been endeared to them by long familiarity: every well-known spot, the 90 DUTY AND INCLINATION. rustic hermitage^ the sparkling fountain_, the clear stream, the weeping willows reflected in its watery glass, the aqueduct; the chfFs, overspread with hanging wood ; all called forth the parting sigh ; till eveiy object, thus exciting their tender emo- tions from the memory of the past, faded from their view. The variety of scenes which succeeded, hvely and interesting, the tranquillity of nature, the whole beautiful creation, combined to soothe the drooping Rosilia. She had melted into sadness upon bidding the last farewell to her much-loved haunts ; but, fearful of encouraging dejection, she exerted every effort to join in the cheerfulness which her sister's animated remarks were calculated to in- spire. It was Oriana^s happy disposition ever to find food for gratification : if any painful suggestion ob- truded itself she sought as instantly to banish it. Why not enjoy the present? was her argument; and, with this truly philosophical sentiment, she rallied to her aid the full force of her ao-reeable \d- vacity, not more for her own entertainment than for that of her beloved companions ; receiving an increase of gaiety,' in proportion to the success of her amiable endeavours to amuse. Since her visit at Valpee Court, the pleasure she had received DUTY AND INCLINATION. 91 there had been frequently recalled^ accompanied by the thought of the accompUshed Frederic Valpee, of his musical talents^ of the more particular atten- tions he had paid her. Was it vanity? was it co- quetry ? or did those sudden elations seizing her spring from some soft^ tender^ new-born feelings of partiality? From whatever source they sprung^ she left the Villa^ undisturbed by fruitless repinings. To avoid the inconvenience of fa,tigue^ our party travelled leisurely^ and often stopped to dwell upon some particular beauty^ some favourite spot of na- ture ; quitting the carriage to explore some wooded, winding path. Not a breeze disturbed the mild serenity of the evening : all seemed hushed in a deep, still sleep. The sun was just dechning, and the refulgent clouds of the west afforded a sight beautiful and majestic, when De Brooke opened the little wicket-gate of a country churchyard, a few miles from Chepstow, to admit his fair and dear companions. Most im- pressive was the scene, whilst they gently paced around the sacred edifice ; the venerable oak and melancholy cypress partially yielding their solemn shade. Strains, sweet, pious and melodious, burst upon their ears : a deep pause succeeded. Again the heavenly sounds swelled, and died away, in long 92 DUTY AND INCLINATION. and soft vibration. They had issued from within the chapel: the parish girls and boys had been singing the evening hymn of praise to their great Creator; their juvenile voices^ naturally clear and touching^ joined in chorus^ when heard without the waiLs^ had communicated an awful sublimity^ as if proceeding from celestial beings ; diffusing over the soul a serene and exalted composure. It is at such a time the delusive charms of the world fade from the view ; that the contemplative and fervent mind dwells upon immortahty — the promised happiness of an hereafter. When in the church-yard's lonely shade, The hallow 'd ground I pace, The world, and all its phantoms fade, its joj's no more I trace. Nor do I heed the angry storm, That blights my early day ; This present animated form Must pass in dust away. 'Tis then my thoughts in raptures rise, In prayer exhales my breath ; My soul, aspiring to the skies, Exults, nor shrinks at death ! Such w^as the effusion of Rosilia's infant muse. She had view^ed beneath her feet the green sod^ co- vering the remains of the departed : — they were at DUTY AND INCLINATION. 93 rest. To escape from the image of Douglas and her own thoughts, she was tempted to wish that she too was at rest. The deep impressions of her feehngs had exhausted her ; which being perceived by her father, he led her back to the carriage, and they resumed their journey through the rich and cultivated county of Hereford. If the verdant and interesting scenes of England were calculated to delight them, those of Wales, in their alternate beauties of wildness and magnifi- cence were still more so : the utmost diversity of landscape, hill and dale, wood and water, uniting and harmonizing, contributed to render the effect enchanting. At one time, the road, winding, led them along a chain of mountains, towering above each other, either w^holly unproductive and deso- late, or richly decorated with foliage. Sometimes a sequestered dale obscured the prospect, which opening again upon the view, exhibited boundless variety. But the gratification of our travellers was suc- ceeded by feelings of astonishment, not unmixed with awe, upon an abrupt transition to objects as grand as they were tremendous — the almost per- pendicular precipice, the stupendous rock, the loose and broken fragments impending from its lofty summit ; and where, amidst its chflfs and fallen 94 DUTY AND INCLINATION. masses the toiTent roared^ as it rolled along its foam- ing flood with impetuous force. They reached the brow of the dangerous eminence^ when the drizzling rain, the uncultivated wild, the universal dreariness of the scene, was far from compensating for the difficulties they had surmounted. Nature, in her extreme of barrenness, as found in this unfre- quented spot, added to a condensed and hazy at- mosphere, was well adapted to impress the mind not with sadness only, but with gloom. After a long and uninterrupted interval of same- ness, hght clouds were seen floating in the west, the mists by degrees dispersed, and, soon after, the sun, in all its beautiful effulgence, beamed upon the adjacent countiy. Having attained the sum- mit of a second but less laborious ascent, how great was the delight of our little party, equalled only by the amazement which each could not fail to express, when they beheld a scene perfect in beauty — the most luxuriant effects of cultivation, blended with the wildest scenery, which, as it burst upon the eye, at once afforded an ample recom- pense for the tediousness of the past ! The road they skirted was overshadowed by an impending chfF, clothed with a rich and verdant fohage ; and, not far distant, a w^aterfall dashed its foaming sprays into the dark, rocky channel of the extensive river DUTY AND INCLINATION. 95 below^ giving a character of grandeur to a scene almost unequalled even in Switzerland; a coun- tiy so justly famed for its exhaustless magnifi- cence. Not far from this, just at the opening leading to the lovely, romantic vale of Aberdare, upon a gentle declivity, stood a cottage of simple and Gothic structure. It seldom met the eye of the traveller, and still more rarely frequented was the road w hich led to it. Having been left for some time unoccu- pied, it was soon to become the residence of those who now caught an occasional glance at it when- ever the path, undulating between hills of hanging wood, permitted. One more short turning grati- fied the eager sohcitude of our travellers ; and they at last beheld, with an uninterrupted gaze, the lonely and silent dwelling they w^ere destined to inhabit. " One cultivated spot there was, that spread Its fiowery bosom to the noon-day beam, Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head." The carriage moved slowly on through a neat white gate ; after which, whatever their eyes ranged upon, within the boundary of the verdant enclo- sure, they could call their own. This humble abode was far different from the elegant and ornamented 96 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Villa they had quitted ; but^ in their present plans, unswayed by ambition, its rustic simplicity at least afforded the charm of novelty. Alighting from the carriage, they contemplated afresh their future dwelling, and not without a feeling of serenity. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 9? CHAPTER VIII. ** Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway, . Fame's loudest trumpet labours in thy praise ; For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay, And Flattery bids for thee her altars blaze." And now^ while we take a retrospect of the parentage and hfe of General De Brooke, let us leave him and his family in their retired cottage, equally remote, we will suppose, from the cares and molestations of the world, as it undoubtedly was from eveiy gay allurement. Sir Aubrey De Brooke, the father of the General, possessed sentiments and principles wholly opposed to those of his son. In proportion as the former, worldly and aspiring, mounted, by degrees, the high summit of fame, the latter, however amiable in tem- per, yet indiscreet and volatile, sunk, in the same gradual succession, into obscurity. Sir Aubrey, early in hfe, married an heiress, weU knowing that ambition tends only to disappoint- ment and mortification, unless it meets with en- VOL. I. F 08 DUTY AND INCLINATION. couragement and assistance from fortune. The wealth of the lady of whom he made choice, though her least recommendation to those who estimated her virtues^ was to Sir Aubrey her prin- cipal attraction^ his views aiming at aggrandise- ment; — ^to rise, and to become reno^^-ned in his profession, being the chief and buoyant hope which ever gave animation and energy to his re- solves. His military prowess was marked with an ability ensuring success, defying the opposition of those casual obstacles w^hich almost every indi\ddual must expect to encounter, even in the pursuance of schemes the most wise and best concerted. Talents prompted by zeal and activity can seldom remain long unnoticed, and particularly when fortune lends her aid to place them in a conspicuous light. Thus the father of De Brooke became distinguished, no less by his intrepidity than by his counsel : consi- dered as one of the most experienced generals of the day, fame and honour attended him. The friend of his sovereign, the favourite at court, his interest and influence were unbounded. Success- ively appointed to stations of the highest eminence and responsibility in the kingdom, great was the splendour of his public character. Let us now contemplate him in private life, — as DUTY AND INCLINATION. 99 a husband and a parent. He had several childi'en ; but of these two only survived^ his first-born son^ and a daughter two years older. The former, the unfortunate De Brooke, from his earliest years, never experienced that tender regard which nature has • almost universally implanted in the parent's breast, and which seldom fails to awaken, in return, juve- nile sympathy and sensibihty. Perpetually en- gaged in public affairs. Sir Aubrey derived no plea- sure from domestic scenes. The growing intelli- gence of youth, and the charms of innocence failed to impress his feelings; whilst the most trifling error of his children elicited his rebuke. He was never remiss, however, in fulfilling the obligations of a parent. Whether from a sense of duty, or from a feeling of pride, the most ample means were afforded by him in bestowing upon his son a finished education. The young Aubrey, therefore, was placed at a public seminary of high repute, until found com- petent for a militaiy college ; after which he was sent "s^dth a preceptor abroad, to make the tour of Germany, France, and Holland. Though grate- ful for these advantages, and the acquirements thence attained, yet the want of early confidence in his father had left upon his mind impressions not to be effaced ; insomuch that, on his return from f2^^ 100 DUTY AND INCLINATION. his travels^ when he presented himself to Sir Au- brey, he still, in approaching him, felt anxiety and dread. His polished exterior and travelled ease, however, were not obscured by the restraint he la- bom'ed under, and were perceived by Kis father with a feeling of gratification that mingled with his usual cold severity of aspect, and softened those harsh reflections he was ever inclined to pass upon his person, which, though but little beneath the ordinary height, still lost when contrasted with Sir Aubrey^s lofty and superior stature. The worldly parent estimated his son by his own standard ; and his self-love would have been grati- fied, had the sapling of his rearing, in its progres- sion to maturity, resembled more the stately trunk whence it had derived its origin. Nevertheless, Sir Aubrey hoped his son would, with an undevi- ating exactitude, pursue the path he had traced out for him ; that path, in treading which he was to seek for the advantages and preferments of for- tune only — to be, as himself, a courtier — to re- nounce and sacrifice every latent spring of youth, and every inchnation and affection of his heart. To act up to these cold and selfish maxims of ambition De Brooke found impossible; foreign, indeed, would have been such a conduct to the fer- vent bent of his feelings. Nevertheless, the plans DUTY AND INCLINATION. 101 of Sir Aubrey, for the future aggrandisement of his son, did not fail to meet with a prosperous begin- ning; and his having obtained for him an ensigncy in the Guards, (equivalent to a company in the line J was truly a happy omen of future promotion in his mihtary career. But, alas ! ere long, these flatter- ing prospects faded — the ambitious projects of the father w^ere frustrated by the youthful levities of the son. It seemed as if, in every quality of his mind, De Brooke differed from his father. " Inclinations vary ;— and the Power That beams, ascendant on the natal hour, Even Twins produces of discordant souls, . And tempers wide asunder as the poles." The one possessing cool deliberation, solidity of judgment, and inflexible perseverance ; the other, of a warm imagination, volatile, and unreflecting. Pleasure, like a briUiant meteor, danced before his eyes ; and never did he think how transient was the beam. A few indiscretions, of but trifling con- sequence, led to the commission of others of more serious import; which, when represented to Sir Aubrey, under, possibly, exaggerated details, in- censed and irritated him to the highest degree. Little disposed to seek the confidence and friend- ship of his son, in order to instil into him better precepts, to advise and reclaim him by timely ad- 102 DUTY AND INCLINATION. monition^ the mortification of offended pride unhap- pily prevailed^ at a time when the young De Brooke was as open to conviction as he was new in the commission of error ; and who, if found to be im- patient of control, was yet mild ; if extravagant, was yet generous ; and if intemperate in the pursuit of pleasure, was no less ardent in every feeling of kindness and humanity. But that which, above all other circumstances, conspired to alienate the affections of Sir Aubrey from his son, was his total aversion to a match he had set his mind upon, between the youthful Au- brey and a woman of high birth, an heiress, but counting nearly double his years. Unforgiving and relentless, in thus having his ambitious plans frustrated, to afford his mind alleviation under the wounds he had received on his son^s account, he resolved a second time to banish him from his sight, and to send him to a foreign country; and for this an occasion soon presented itself. General Sandford, with whom he was intimately acquainted, being at that particidar juncture des- patched to Portugal, with the command of the Bri- tish auxiliary army, was rejoiced to find he had it in his power to oblige both Sir Aubrey and his son, by appointing the latter his aide-de-camp. After, therefore, taking an affectionate leave of his mother DUTY AND INCLINATION. 103 and sister^ De Brooke found himself upon the seas_, pursuing his voyage to Lisbon. Introduced immediately into the best houses, ca- ressed by his general, and frequently employed upon active service, time, as it fled, gave him no cause to regret his absence from England. Un- subdued as was his gay, unthinking character, the irregularity of his actions often led him into cir- cumstances and situations the most inconvenient and difficult. Nevertheless, unswayed by any in- tense or intemperate passion, moments often arose when the heart beat with a more calm pulsation; and the effervescent follies of the youth were dissi- pated, until some fresh and powerful incitement induced again his prevailing foibles. During the period of his sojourn at Lisbon, he was made acquainted with several important changes in his family. The first was the marriage of his sister with a gentleman of the law, whose abilities were ever displayed amongst the circles of the great, and was accordingly introduced to the notice of Sir Aubrey. Having, in the career of his labours, am^assed an immense revenue, he thought himself entitled to seek, in his matrimonial engage- ment, a connection which might confer greater splendour on his riches. Thus the daughter of Sir Aubrey De Brooke fixed his attention, even some 104 DUTY AND INCLINATION, years before he asked permission to address her; who^ wishing an estabhshment of her own^ was the more willing to profit by so advantageous a settle- ment^ and enter into the view^s of her father. The courtship was but the affair of a moment ; and De Brooke^ her brother, justly concluded it to be a match formed solely upon interested motives — avarice on the one hand, and ambition on the other. But a short period had elapsed after this alliance of his sister, when a temporary check was given to her worldly enjoyments, by the death of her mother. To De Brooke the intelligence proved a real afflic- tion. The amiable qualities of his mother, and the tender care bestowed by her upon his infancy, were indehbly engrafted on his heart. There was another, a constant companion and participator in the feelings of De Brooke — a hum- ble friend — one who, in bearing testimony to his mother's virtues, dropped with him the tear, also, of gratitude, respect and affection to her memory — a negro servant, who, shortly after breathing the day in his native southern clime, was destined, with his sable mother, to be transported to the West India islands ; where, after a few years had invigorated his limbs, he was made to toil, by the side of his mother, in the fields. Alas ! to this early endurance of hardship, a keener misery was to follow. From DUTY AND INCLINATION. 105 some slight offence given by his mother to her em- ployer;, a fatal blow inflicted on her temple, aimed in a moment of phrenzied brutality, levelled her with the dust; presenting to the negro child a spectacle that filled his young, warm heart with horror ! Shrieks and cries ! — what might they avail? — could they restore the bleeding, the ex- piring victim to whom he owed his birth? At- tractive were the features, shape and gait of that negress ; not less so those of the boy, who bore a striking resemblance to her. The sole object of her love — the consoler in her toils — the soother of her existence — all in all to her, she had been the same to him. A sudden dread of discovery, or remorse of con- science, arising in the author of so much misery, determined him to sell the young afflicted African to the American captain of a vessel trading in slaves, lately arrived from the coast of Guinea. The - new master of the young negro, being no stranger to the source whence flowed his tears of griefj and not callous to the miseries of those depressed by fortune to ser\41e dependence, noticed Robert (as he had been named) above his fellows in slavery. This kindness not only lightened the I)oor boy^s sorrow, but caused him, in the ex- pressions of his gratitude, to show he possessed F 5 106 DUTY AND INCLINATION. an acuteness and discernment above his years — a discovery which decided his master^ in the dispo- sing of his other slaves as best suited his traffic^ to keep Robert^ with the \dew of making him serviceable to himself. Having remained in port only to take in a cargo of other merchandize^ he set sail for the Cape^ where his wife resided — the young mistress of a large hotel^ frequented by tra- vellers of all descriptions^ carried thither for repose or refreshment, in their respective voyages to and from India, or other eastern parts — and of a kind- hearted disposition. She esteemed Robert accord- ingly; and therefore felt desirous of retaining him about her. In this^ however, she did not succeed. The captain, like most sea-faring men, after a due interval, dissatisfied with remaining on shore, and wishing to extend and vary his traffic, as he was sometimes in the habit of doing, accompanied by Robert, again put to sea, and steered his course, with his merchandize, for England. Some private views leading him towards the north of England, it happened that he fell iU in a small vil- lage near the country-house, where chiefly resided the mother of De Brooke, who, living in comparative seclusion, devoted her self to her little family; whilst her husband, then General De Brooke, held nearly a permanent station at the court of his sovereign. DUTY AND INCLINATION. lO'j The invalid merchant finding himself, by a long ill- ness, involved in pecuniary embarrassments, which he had but little foreseen or provided against, in order to extricate himself in some degree from such difficulties, was under the painful necessity of part- ing with Robert. The tale of the merchant's un- happy situation reached the ear of her who ever be- friended the distressed; and, with her charitable offerings of assistance to himself, she became also the protector of the orphan negro, by engaging him in her service. No sooner was this humane act accompHshed, and Robert had become an inmate of the house, than an inconvenience arose, on account of the an- tipathy of the General for those swarthy beings transported from the arid soil of Africa. The only expedient the benefactress of Robert could devise, was, to teU him he was to consider himself as the servant of her son ; and, in consequence, needed not present himself before the General, unless called for. By behaving well, and attaching himself to her son, he might become his future valet. The sensibility of heart, which Robert could not help manifesting, on quitting his last master, endeared him as much to his mistress, as his readiness to oblige and good-natured manners had done with the rest of the household ; and each partaking in 108 I DUTY AND INCLINATION. tlie mutual desire of keeping him, it became cus- tomary amongst the dependents, whenever their master chanced to visit his family at his country mansion, to hurry Robert into some remote corner^ where he might be secure from observation, nor incur the hazard of being turned out of doors, to wander abroad in an unpitying world. A few months had passed, when one day the Ge- neral unexpectedly made his appearance. Nothing could have happened more mal a propos, being just the moment when Robert had entered the usual sit- ting-room of the family ; and, by the desire of his young master, was in the act of attaching a favourite monkey to the leg of a chair, to which Mrs. De Brooke, not wishing to oppose her son in what she considered a harmless diversion, had made no ob- jection. The door suddenly opening, presented the General, erect, dignified and stately: struck with disdain and contempt at the objects which met his eye, he advanced not, but cast an inquisi- tive and indignant glance at his wife, who was about affording the desired explanation, when, seized ^^ith a panic, the black prostrated himself at the feet of the stern object before him, who looked so formi- dable ; embraced his knees, sued, and pleaded for mercy. Mrs. De Brooke, assuming courage, told her DUTY AND INCLINATION. 109 simple story^ which^ if not altogether approved of, yet did not^ as she had anticipated^ call forth any immediate animadversions. The hvely gestures and looks of the young African having become his o^n intercessors, dictated by sensibihty, and full of grace and candour, might have softened the breast of any, however repugnant to his caste or colour. He was, therefore, dismissed from the apartment without further comment. But httle older than his young master, Robert proved to him a great acquisition in promoting the success of his juvenile sports. Naturally ingenious, he failed not to accomplish whatever he attempted. In the construction of a boat, cross-bow, or kite, or any other sort of boyish handicraft, he was ahke successful. Thus accustomed to participate with the young Aubrey in his hours of pastime, he at length began to associate with him in those more intimate links, the sympathies of the heart ! If aught of anger from the father caused the son to shed a tear, retired and dismayed, Robert would silently give way to grief; and, on the contrary, if joy animated the young master, the same senti- ment predominated in the sen^ant. Thus, kindi-ed in feehng, but never descending to famiharity, they grew to manhood. The black, in ever following the fortunes of De Brooke, was still, as we have 110 DUTY AND INCLINATION. already observed, closely attached to him on the shores of Portugal, an affectionate sharer in the grief he indulged in for the loss of the best of mothers. Scarcely, however, had a decent period elapsed, when the task was imposed upon De Brooke of congratulating his father upon a second matrimo- nial engagement. The lady was a widow, and, from what he had heard, was equally distin- guished for a cultivated intellect, as for a large in- heritance or jointure left her by her late husband. What might be her pretensions to amiabihty he was yet to learn; but he had reason to suppose she possessed a character essentially different from that of his late mother, and for this reason, doubt- less, more in concord and agreement with that of Sir Aubrey. A lawyer and a step-mother had now entered his family, — formidable foes to contend with, thought De Brooke, unless the world had been led, as he hoped it had, to pass upon such a too indiscrimi- nate censure. Time will determine, sighed he. Her ladyship did not fail to reply to his letter of fehcitation, and therein expressed the warmest assurances of ever acting in conformity with the general interests and harmony of the family of which she had the honour and happiness of beco- ming a member. DUTY AND INCLINATION. Ill It was but a short period subsequently to this new-formed alliance that De Brooke had received the intelligence of his father having been installed a Knight of the Bath; the more flattering to Sir Aubrey, as a proof was given in this new and ho- nourable distinction conferred upon him, how high he stood in the Royal confidence. Unambitious as was De Brooke, such circum- stances but slightly affected him. In a due space of time he returned to England, and, with the ar- dour of his sensitive disposition, felt impatient to present himself before his father, and obtain from him an introduction to his new relatives; hoping that time had reinstated him in his favour, and assuaged those indignant feelings he had manifest- ed towards him previous to his voyage to Portugal. Nor was he altogether disappointed. Sensibly ex- hilarated as was Sir Aubrey in the late good for- tune which had befallen him, his mind could not but admit of pleasurable feehngs; and the past, though in a manner obhterated, was yet to be revived or not, in concurrence with existing cir- cumstances. The unlucky fatality, however, attendant upon De Brooke, so ordered it, that the resentment of Sir Aubrey was still to pursue him, and to become more than ever rooted and confirmed by an event 112 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. in his life which we are about recordings most deeply influencing his future destiny. An aged officer^ with whom he had been on terms of great intimacy in Portugal_, earnestly re- quested of him^ that on his arrival in England he would make inquiries relative to a veiy particular friend; this was the Reverend JuHus Easily who was not only a relation by marriage^ but had been the early and most beloved associate of General BoviUe. De Brooke had promised to do all in his power towards procuring him the desired informa- tion respecting one^ of whose existence and cir- cumstances in life he had been long ignorant. Nor did he forget his promise. The parsonage of Whitby^ where he had been directed, in the county of York, he was informed, was still the abode of the Rev, J. Basil. He lost no time in repairing thither; and, having sent to acquaint Mr. Basil of the commissions with which he was charged, he received a polite invitation to attend him at his house. He accordingly went, and the result was the following letters from De Brooke to his friend General BoviUe in Portugal. Letter I. " I called upon your friend, the Reverend J. Basil, and was told by the servant who opened the door. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 113 that his master had retired to his study; and when there engaged, no one could gain admittance, as he always gave the strictest orders never to be in- truded upon at those times. I discovered that these were intervals consecrated to rehgious medi- tation. I turned to go, but the servant stopped me by saying, that his master having expected my visit had ordered him to conduct me to the shrubbery, •where in a short time he would attend me. I there- fore passed with him into the pleasure-grounds : though much hmited in space, they displayed ex- quisite taste, and commanded one of the most pic- turesque scenes that fancy can describe. Enchanted w ith the beauties around me, I had just seated my- self on a rustic bench, when I received a summons to attend your friend. ^^ Never have I beheld a more venerable object. A very aged man, with locks of silver, clad in the deepest mourning ; a tall emaciated form, bending with infirmity, but more, as was visible to the eye, from recent affliction. His countenance was marked by an expression language is inadequate to paint; it exhibited the most striking contrast to a fi'ame, wliich seemed dissolving into air, — a frame, that w^ould soon leave unshackled an immortal soul, — a soul that seemed soaring to its Maker, and its association with kindi'ed spirits in heaven. His 114 DUTY AND INCLINATION. resplendent physiognomy, together with the supe- rior energy of his expressions, absorbed me in listening awe and deep attention, till roused by the entrance of a young female, as touching and interesting as her revered parent. Upon seeing him engaged in conversation with me, she would have retired, had not her father urged her stay. She seemed scarcely to have attained her seven- teenth year; her form was slight, but exquisitely beautiful ; it was perfect symmetry : she was also clad in the sober Every of grief; a profusion of dark hair encompassed her head, and partly re- clined upon a bosom as white, and we may suppose as pure, as the modest snowdrop. The pallidness of her cheek was for a moment tinged by a faint blush; excess of suffering seemed to have chased from their seat the rose^s glowing hue. Dejection and melancholy invaded the lovely mourner ; she having but lately lost the best and most indulgent friend, her mother. Resignation, however, seemed just beginning to diffuse its balm, which, to the elasticity of the youthful mind, might soon dispel that grief which had no doubt been fast consuming her dehcate frame. Her features, though not regular, were the more interesting and engaging ; her large eyes, when raised to her father, apparently dimmed of their lustre, displayed DUTY AND INCLINATION. 115 SO sweet an expression of tender sensibility, as convinced me she possessed a soul of no common mould. " The good man regarded her with looks of the most benign affection, but mingled with that pain- ful soHcitude, disclosing to me that Angelina was the innocent cause of burthening her father's heart with keen oppression. Unhappy man! Thus did I interpret the language of his thoughts. Alas ! he felt conscious that his weak frame was verging towards its parent dust ; that his spirit would soon rejoin his consort ; and what w^ould become of his angehc child? so young, so fair! — and must she be left an orphan, friendless and forlorn, un- protected in an unfeeling world, exposed to those precipices and quicksands which surround the in- nocent? Tears glistened in the eyes of the vene- rable parent : such must have been his thoughts. "I was deeply affected, and turned to conceal also my starting tear. " Fear not, most excellent, most respectable of men ! thou and thy daughter have kindled that interest in my heart, that when thou hast departed to the bright realms of eternal bliss, I wiU be a parent to thy child, — her fi'iend, her brother : yes ! and if she Avould yield to me her gentle heart, per- haps her husband. But should another be blest 116 DUTY AND INCLINATION. with that treasure^ my task shall be to make her happy, even should my heart burst in the conflict; and when I abandon her, may God abandon me ! " Yours, &c., &c., "Aubrey De Brooke/^ "July 12." Letter II. " My imagination, my whole soul I should say, having become susceptible of a variety of feelings during my first visit to the Parsonage, — ^veneration for the sire, love for the daughter preponderating over all, — I resolved to take up my abode in the little village, near the dear habitation containing objects superior to any the world had ever before presented to me. I thought I could not better employ my time during the leave of absence gra- ciously granted me in consideration of my sendees abroad. ^^ The aged Basil, who is a man of penetration, soon discovered that I felt a more than common interest in visiting so frequently his rural retreat ; and I was not less flattered and encouraged by the partiality he manifested, than by the confidence he reposed in me. He often expatiated with a pa- rent's fondness upon the sweetness of disposition, the many amiable qualities of his dearly beloved DUTY AND INCLINATION. Il7 child, his only solace; and I shall never forget his benign language ; the resignation with which he touched upon the subject of his dissolution. '^ The hour^ he said^ was fast approaching ; he felt sensible that he was every day drawing nearer to the period which would close for ever this mor- tal scene^ and which would leave his child an orphan. " The last mournful words faltered on his lip : his venerable hands, his tear-swollen eyes, were raised in suppUcation to Heaven. My feelings be- came excessive : unconscious of what I did, I threw myself at his feet, and clasped his knees. ^^ ^ Dear sir,' I exclaimed, ^ your child shall be protected. Grant me the right of doing so ; grant me the blessing which I crave ; make me her guardian V " He was inexpressibly affected ; his frame shook ; he made a motion for me to rise ; I obey- ed, but he spoke not. " The next moment Angelina entered. She did not seem to observe my confusion, nor the agita- tion of her father : she held in her hand a bird, which, with infantine playfulness, she advanced to show me ; and having caressed it with the sim- plicity of youth, she gave the little captive its liberty. The sorrow she had experienced for the 118 DUTY AND INCLINATION. loss of her mother had greatly abated since I first beheld her; she began to give way to sprightly sallies ; her countenance assumed an expression of gaiety, less interesting, but more brilliant. I perceived, but it was not without increasing admi- ration, that vivacity was her natural characteristic. — If, when languishing under dejection, she capti- vated my heart, you may imagine how greatly my passion strengthened, when each day opened to my view some new grace, some new charm, as well mental as personal. " This innocent creature has never been seen or admired by any, the village rustic excepted around her dwelling; she has therefore remained perfectly iffnorant of the effect of her charms, and their power over the heart. Fashion, in the little spot she inhabits, has not usurped its sway: Angelina's natural beauties shine far more lovely in her sim- ple -attire than they possibly could do if invested by the trappings of art. Wild and thoughtless, light and airy, I have seen her chase a butterfly; her glossy tresses sporting in the breeze, some- times entwining her beautiful neck, or partly sha- ding her finely formed Avaist. The tutored belle of fashion ghding down the dance, amidst obsequious beaux, never awakened half the rapture, was ne^er half so graceful and alert. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 119 ^^ I was almost a constant visitor at the Par- sonage, but she who attracted me thither did not gratify me with her presence as often as I wished. The reflection pained me extremely. She no longer addressed me with her usual ingenuous- ness ; her manners became reserved ; it appeared as if she studiously avoided me. If she entered the room where I happened to be, it had the effect of accident, and she as quickly left it. In propor- tion as I gained upon the approbation of the father, I seemed to recede with the daughter, and which naturally caused me much uneasiness. I redoubled my attentions towards her ; I resolved not to yield my point without a due perseverance ; and, if I failed to excite a return of those sentiments with which she had inspired me, I would at least endeavour to merit her friendship. The resolution with which I ended my last letter I was persuaded nothing could shake — I had determined to keep it inviolable. '^ Angehna, it is true, received my efforts to please her with complacency, and not without a smile that might have rewarded me for my sufferings, had I not conceived I had seen her smile more graciously, and her fine eyes sparkle with more brilliancy upon another, a young man in the neighbourhood, the son of a wealthy farmer. He sometimes came to the Parsonage ; he was of a re- 120 DUTY AND INCLINATION. spectable and good appearance^ but there was an unmeaning simplicity in his air and look, indi- cating no great brightness of intellect. ^^ Though he appeared to me of all beings in the world the most unsuitable to Angehna, yet, from the familiarity existing between the young people^, I suspected he was my rival. Surely, thought I, Angehna could never sacrifice herself to one so much her inferior, to one so little capable of appre- ciating her perfections, did she not consider wealth as an equivalent for other deficiencies. The bare idea that such might be the case did injury to the sentiments I entertained of her, and I resolved to suspend all further investigation until I had ques- tioned her father. ^' The conference in which his daughter had in- terrupted us I had often sought, but never could find a fit opportunity to renew. The dear man, I believe, perceiving the anxiety I laboured un- der, addressed me himself upon the interesting topic. " ^ Captain De Brooke,^ said he, grasping my hand while he spoke, ^ my acquaintance with you has been but short ; nevertheless it has been suf- ficient to assure me of your worth; the high inte- grity, the nobleness and disinterestedness of your mind and character. You are attached to my child; DUTY AND INCLINATION. 12 J you have partly declared it : your whole proceed- ings show it. I purposely evaded speaking to you before; I wished to observe your manners^ par- ticularly in moments when you might be the least suspicious of my design : the scrutiny has ended in recommending you more strongly to my esteem. I also wished, as a silent spectator, to witness my child^s behaviour towards you, whence I might be enabled to discover her sentiments.^ ^^ At that moment I was breathless with expect- ation, my temples throbbed, a few words more were to decide my fate, — the plans I was to adopt for the future. He proceeded in a low voice, it was nearly inarticulate, — Good Heavens ! had I heard aright ? — ^ Angelina is engaged to another.' A dizziness seized my brain ; he perceived it, and was hastening to call for assistance, but I checked him. '^ ' My good friend,^ he cried, ^ you are overcome with alarm ; attend to the conclusion of my story, and you will find that your fears are groundless. My dear daughter, with whom it is usual to think and feel as I do, has imbibed for you a great par- tiality. Nay, wherefore that distinistful smile ? Her warm heart beats with a fervour, with senti- ments much more powerful than a cold approba- tion merely given as due to your merits/ VOL. I. o 122 DUTY AND INCLINATION. '^ I inten-upted him^ and, with the ardour of an impassioned lover, expressed my transports, de- claring that I adored her. '^ ^ Nay, nay,^ rephed the good man smiling, ^ for the present more moderation ; you forget the late cause of your alarm ; but I will explain her situa- tion. I have had several children ; Angehna was the youngest of all my little ones, and she only survived ; the last that death deprived me of was a boy about the age of eleven : Angelina was then seven, but though so young, her sensibility was much affected by the loss of her brother, inso- much that I feared, in following him to the grave, I might be left childless. The only expedient I could devise towards diverting her grief, was to provide her with a playmate. Nichols, the young man whom you have seen here, was then about the age of my son, and struck the juvenile fancy of Angelina, as bearing some resemblance to her brother. I therefore solicited his friends to allow him to spend much of his time with us ; he was a quiet inoffensive lad ; and a mutual affection was the natural result of their childish sports : not- withstanding which, I have reason to be confirmed in my opinion, that their regard for each other never ripened into a permanent or warm attach- ment; nor do I think the happiness of either DUTY AND INCLINATION. 123 would be promoted by an union. It is true he possesses moral worth, but the higher intellectual faculty in him is incapable of improvement : a being suited to plod on in that humble mediocrity alone, to which he is by inheritance destined. Indeed, there admits of no comparison between him and my child, who is his superior in every respect : to great natural parts, she adds some cultivation, afforded by myself and her excellent mother ; she is all warmth, energy and brilhancy ; he is cold, phlegmatic, dull. It is impossible that natures so opposite can assi milate. However, Angelina, unaccustomed to gal- lantry, has not been till hitherto greatly sensible to the want of ardour in her lover, who, I am now per- suaded, paid his addi'esses to her more through the instigation and advice of his friends, than fi'om any preconceived, unbiassed sentiment of his own. He has been urged and pushed on in this affair, and has not courage in himself to pursue it. The superiority and refinement of Angelina awe and keep him from approaching her ; notwithstanding the poor child, who by all his family has been ever much prepossessed in his favour, tries to encourage him by the really genuine kindness and affability of her manners. Some months have elapsed since she has been taught to consider him as the object destined for her future partner ; it being her mo- G 2 124 DUTY AND INCLINATION. thei''s dying wish^ that when she had attained her seventeenth year^ she might give her hand to Nichols. ^ Without the protection of a husband/ said she^ ^ what will become of our dear child ? ad- vanced as you are in yearS;, it is probable you will not long survive me/ The reflection was an awful one^ and I attended to the injunctions of my dying wife.^ ^^The remembrance of his departed consort check- ed his utterance ; he then feebly added : ' Thus you may trace the causes which have operated towards the favouring of this match^ and no doubt you will approve of the reasons which have long led me to ])e desirous of putting a finish to all further pro- ceedings^ and which I should sooner have done; but, alas ! I wanted courage under circumstances so distressing and critical. Providence, all gi'a- cious, all merciful, has heard my prayer in guiding you. Captain De Brooke, to my house. Oh, sir, may you be blessed as you deserve to be !' '"'^ Tears chased each other down his furrowed cheeks ; mth scarcely less emotion I essayed to soothe him. '^^ ^ And will Angelina then be mine ?' I exclaimed. His answer was by a warm pressure of the hand, ■ whilst his countenance resumed i^s composure. ^ I suspect that young Nichols/ continued he. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 125 ' has imbibed an attachment for another ; one^ who is more his equal than my child; but on a principle of honour, his first engagements bind him to her. I entertain the supposition from what I have heard merely, and it is my intention to communicate with Angelina accordingly, who, I doubt not, will be instantly willing to release him from his captivity. Disengaged from Nichols, she will be no longer under the painful necessity of practising a restraint upon her feehngs ; and will then be at liberty freely to indulge those sentiments in your favour, which I have plainly perceived she has been struggling to subdue.^ ^^ How dehghtful were such sounds ! they pene- trated my heart and filled me with ecstasy. The cause of Angelina's late reserve towards me was thus accounted for, and endeared her to me the more. ^'^ Exhausted by the long conference he had held, I persuaded your benign friend to take refresh- ment ; and after thanking him a thousand times for having raised me from a state of distress to make me the happiest of men, I returned to my lodgings in the httle village just by ; not, however, until I had acceded to the request of the dear Basil to renew my visits daily. " Yours, &c. '' A. De Brooke.'^ 126 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Letter III. ^^ How strangely and how suddenly are events sometimes brought about ! How little did I ima- gine^ when^ in Portugal^ you charged me with let- ters for your friend^ that that friend was to become my father, by his child, his lovely child, becoming my wife ! About two months have revolved since I first beheld her: she is now mine! Angelina is mine, by the closest and most indissoluble ties. But her father, that best of men, is no more — he is gone for ever ! Heaven heard this departed saint ; unworthy as I am, I was sent a harbinger of peace to him, in becoming the protector of his child. He had then nothing more to desire in this world. For many years the infirmity of his body had been rapidly advancing ; it was easy therefore for his spirit to break its fetters, and soar to immortality, — that haven of eternal tran- quillity, rest, and happiness. "Had I never before entertained sentiments of rehgion, callous indeed must I have been, had I not become deeply impressed by the lessons I have been taught these few last months. What exem- plary piety ! what virtue and goodness have I not witnessed ! and how has it caused me to deplore my former levities ! Surely, had this good divine DUTY AND INCLINATION. 127 been acquainted with half the cause I have for re- pentance, he would have feared entrusting me with his beloved child ! '^ But I will proceed, in a more regular train, to infonn you of the particulars respecting my mar- riage. The day after Mr. Basil had unburthened his mind in the explanation he made me, no less satisfactory to him than to myself, I wrote him a few hues, intimating that it was my wish to leave the country for a few weeks, but that beyond that period nothing could tempt me to prolong my absence ; that I should count every minute lost until I revisited the Parsonage : for the present, I conceived motives of dehcacy prevented me from so doing. To my short note I received, half an hour after, a very long letter from your dear and excellent friend ; it is too much to transcribe, or you should have had it. The contents spoke at once to my soul ; the sentiments w^ere endearing^ tender, kind, the language eloquent and persuasive; the aspirations of the saint breathed in every line. I resolved to peruse it daily, that my spirit might extract some portion of its charity; and that it might teach me not to waste in vain repinings the moments that separated me from the objects I loved. ^^ I have no doubt you will approve^ as did her 128 DUTY AND INCLINATION. father, of my submitting to a temporary absence ; it was to give Angelina time to collect herself. I would not upon any account have injured her delicacy, by intruding myself too soon upon her notice. I was aware that no one could plead my cause better than her father, w^ere pleading neces- saiy; he could urge my suit with gentleness, control, — God forbid! Angelina has never been accustomed to that harsh word, nor ever shall I use it. I shall never exert any authority over her than that of affection, and she will be too sensible of this goodness ever to take advantage of it. ^^ After three long tedious weeks I returned to the Parsonage, to that sw^eet, humble spot, con- taining objects so inexpressibly dear to me. A few minutes discovered them, the venerable Basil and his lovely daughter ; they w^ere seated together under the shade of a rustic arbour, at one side of their little rural plantation. As I advanced, I perceived Angelina covered with confusion; the dear girl was all timidity ; she soon, however, re- covered herself, and, with the most charming air in the world, — for it was perfect nature, — it pro- ceeded from the interior bias of her affectionate heart, — she sprung forward to meet me, and, with a spontaneous movement, gave me her hand. I pressed it fervently to my breast ; the action did DUTY AND INCLINATION. 129 hot displease her ; on the contrary, I could per- ceive pleasure beaming in her beautiful eyes. The father received me with the greatest cordiahty, but I was pained on observing his increasing fee- bleness. They each resumed their seat in the arbour, and I placed myself beside the dear innocent girl. Love ! w^hat cannot love dictate ? a thousand agreeable things, a thousand animated remarks ! I had the satisfaction to behold in Angelina's expressive looks that I had not been deficient. " I need not extend my letter by relating the full account of my courtship ; suffice it to say, that Angelina's heart was wholly mine, of which I had the most convincing proofs. It gave me pleasure to find that the worthy sire did not start any objection to my proposals for a speedy mar- riage. I did not wish to distress his mind, nor indeed my own, by making much mention to him of Sir Aubrey, with regai'd to the httle cordiality existing between him and myself. Family dissen- sions I knew above all things he dreaded; I there- fore carefully avoided to touch upon such subjects, in the fear of retarding our nuptials. In fact,'I succeeded in persuading him I had my fathers full consent to my marriage with his daughter : God forgive me for this deception ! I practised it in compassion to his excessive languor, unwilling 6 5 130 DUTY AND INCLINATION, to disturb his contemplations of the eternal world into which he seemed hastening ; and pre-occupied with these ideas, he did not give to my information the close scrutiny I had feared. " If there was anything on earth of which I was tenacious, it was that of being wedded to a woman capable of engaging and fixing my affections; inter- ested matches I have at all times abhorred ; and I was well aware how much my father^s notions dif- fered from mine respecting this most important concern. Kept during my childhood at an awful distance from him, fatal impressions were unhap- pily stamped upon my mind. Truly no man can reverence a father more than I do mine ; but to ask of him a mark of condescension, to petition his favour, I cannot ; rather would I face the cannon^s mouth. Despairing of his approbation of my marriage if solicited, I resolved to act for myself. I could not do better than conform to the opinion of so amiable a guide as your friend. '' ' Union of mind,^ said he, ^ harmony of dispo- sition, similarity of taste, should undoubtedly be the first objects of consideration. A match formed upon worldly motives, mere speculation, or ambi- tious views, is faulty, is highly criminal : the rea- sons wherefore it is so are many. I conceive that even a want of competency, though undoubtedly DUTY AND INCLINATION. 131 it should be allowed due consideration, ought not to have too great an influence. Providence is al- ways merciful ; trust to Providence, and you will assuredly find support. If we could look into fu- turity, depend upon it we should find that all things have happened just as we ourselves should have directed them. If afflictions come, they are permitted in order to wean us from the things of time, strengthen our souls, and fit them for our final and everlasting abode above.^ "Thus spoke your pious and exalted friend, whose confidence I had been so favoured as to obtain. Why, then, should our union be delayed? He saw no reason ; the day was fixed, — that happy day which gave me Angelina, and made me blessed ! Surely the sun never shone upon a more charming creature, a more blooming bride, than when her saint-Hke parent bestowed her on me ! Never shall I forget that sacred hour ! Delighting in actions of beneficence, never so happy as when witnessing the happiness of others, the good Pastor gave upon the occasion, to a few select families and neighbouring villagers, a little rustic fete. We danced on the lawn before the door of his humble mansion ; and never did I ex- perience a more lively joy than wlien leading off with my bride, ni\ture smiling around us. De- 132 DUTY AND INCLINATION. scription is inadequate to the scene ; I leave you to imagine it. ^^ Does gaiety only inhabit towns ? Is it alone seen in the splendid assembly? Are not midnight festivities often soLu*ces of sorrow_, broken sleep^ emaciated healthy mental vexation, including a nu- merous train of ills ? Cannot gaiety be the inmate of a cottage ? Oh, yes — pure of all alloy, I have seen it beaming in the face of every honest peasant. Gaiety has, of late, been my constant companion ; has attended me in every occupation : when I w*alk, nature opens all her treasures to salute me; the whole creation smiling, seems to say, ^ Enjoy, oh man! rejoice, and be happy P ^^ I am now truly so, as is also Angelina. That placid resignation, deriving its birth from rehgion, has enabled her to control and subdue her feel- ings, more than I could have imagined, for the loss of her revered parent, gifted as she is with such acute sensibility. It is true she can now no longer lend a delighted ear to his elevated precepts ; but they are engraven on her heart. Her parent is gone to those enjoyments earth could no more af- ford him, prepared as he was for heaven, and the beatitudes of an eternal state. Such is the light in which his child beholds her loss : well per- suaded of this, and deeply instructed upon tlieolo- DUTY AND INCLINATION. ISS gical points, she would not recall him, had she even the abihty to do so. " His death was truly a happy one ! After having performed the last solemn office, that of giving his dying blessing to his beloved and then afflicted child — as also to myself, and the domestics assem- bled around his bed — he was supported in the arms of my wife. I was kneeling by his side, when he made an effort to raise himself: at the same mo- ment his calm and gentle look became illumined by an expression almost rapturous. These were the last memorable words uttered by the expiring saint : — ^ My children,^ said he, ' weep no more ! my prospects are glorious : angels call me ; I obey ; they welcome me to immortality.^ His languid head sunk back — your friend was gone for ever ! "^ After the space of about half an hour, my wife suifered herself to be led from the apartment ; and I used every argument that the tenderest affection could dictate to soothe the dear orphan left to my protection. She has now no relation in the world, on her side, nearer than yourself ; whom, from the circumstance of your quitting England before her birth, she has of course never seen. '^ From my former descriptions, you may re- member the strong interest with which her youthful loveUness had inspired me from the first hour I 134 DUTY AND INCLINATION. beheld her. I breathed an inward and solemn vovr to become the guardian of her innocence ; and with the strictest adherence to perform the joint duties of parent^ friend^ and brother. She yielded me her gentle heart — 1 have become her husband ; and am thence bound to her by the nearest and dearest tie in creation. And Heaven forbid that Angelina should ever have to say^ I have neither parent, friend, nor brother ! " Yours, &c. "Aubrey De Brooke.^' DUTY AND INCLINATION. 135 CHAPTER IX. " In vain to seek in man for more than man." De Brooke^ being an officer in the Guards^ found himself under the necessity of fixing his re- sidence in London — a circumstance he much re- gretted, and would have gladly avoided ; as, by sub- jecting his conduct to the immediate inspection of Sir Aubrey, it greatly militated against the design he had formed of keeping his marriage, as long as it vv^as possible, a secret. To have disposed of him- self for life, under age, in the bonds of matrimo- ny, without having afforded his father the shght- est intimation of the sacrifice — and that to an ob- ject, however transcendent her worth or dear to his afi^ections, possessing neither friends nor fortune-^ taken from a remote obscurity — unknown to any — was an event, that, whenever his destiny should re- veal, would most essentially tend, he was well per- suaded, to the injury of his future fortune. Unthinking as we have described De Brooke in so important an action of his life as marriage, 136 DUTY AND INCLINATION* though his conscience acquitted him of any very serious or flagrant evil ; yet he could not conceal from himself^ that however harsh the conduct of his father had ever been to him^ he had been culpable in that want of due regard and respect incumbent upon a son. It would thence^ he well knew, be justly said to his discredit, that he had neglected parental authority to a degree scarcely to be sanctioned, had he progressed to years beyond those he then numbered. But, however seriously he reflected upon the subject, the illegality of the step he had taken never entered into his most re- mote conception. After, therefore, his leave of absence had expired, and he was necessitated to return to the capital, he judged it necessary to break to Angelina, with as much delicacy as possible, the circumstance of his having deceived her father into the belief that he had obtained the consent of Sir Aubrey to his mar- riage with her. His affection for her, he assured her, was founded on the purest conjugal love ; and, justified by the goodness of his intentions, the ur- gency and peculiarity of his case, he had conceived such a deception necessary, in order to evade con- sequences the most fatal to his hopes. As it may be easily imagined such a disclosure was greatly calculated to afflict Angelina, De Brooke DUTY AND INCLINATION. 137 gave her eveiy assurance that the conceahncnt of his union would be but temporary. Having so far arranged this concern^ the next was to sequester his Angehna in as much privacy as possible. Alas ! had he attended to the suggestions of his heart, and self-approvals, in having selected her from the world under motives so disinterested and generous, he would have pursued a very different plan ; he would have given immediate publicity to his mar- riage, exulting in the choice he had made. The pride of the husband could not have been more gratified, than by displaying at once, to an admi- ring world, his young, interesting, and blooming bride, in all the native lustre of personal and men- tal charms. Why, with a heart accustomed hi- therto to follow the guidance of its own generous dictates, why did a mistaken judgment interfere to lead him from an act of honour and uprightness — to form so unfortunate, so fatal a decision ? The dread of incurring the frown of Sir Aubrey — of encoun- tering that formidable sternness, those severe re- bukes, which, in his days of youth, made their strong impression, and, even in maturer years, struck the same terror over his imagination ; but which, in the present important crisis of his fate, connected with the future peace of Angehna, in- 138 DUTY AND INCLINATION. stead of flying from^ he should have sought rather to have mitigated and softened. He hired small lodgings at Kennington, the si- tuation being healthy and airy; which would afford to AngeUna the society of a Mr. and Mrs. Phili- more, residing in the neighboui'hood, with whom he had been intimately associated previous to his embarkation for Portugal. Mrs. Philimore^ to a truly amiable character_, united gay and affable manners ; rendering more apparent the congeniality between her and Ange- lina. As the mother of several children^ ^e was much attached to her home; and her newly-ac- quired young friend^ equally delighting in domes- tic scenes^ participated in the demands her little ones made upon her care and tenderness. This growing attachment between Mrs. Philimore and his wife was to De Brooke a subject of gratifica- tion, foreseeing that thence might arise to the lat- ter many desirable resources. Having established himself in his new abode, duty required of him to call upon his father, then shining in the full meridian of fame, — high in ho- nours, caressed at court, the favourite of his sove- reign. The worldly parent received his son with an air more gracious than was customary : he wel- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 139 corned him by an address consonant to the warm feeUngs of De Brooke, whose bosom^s throb evinced that his fiUal affection was far from being extin- guished ; that still he honoured and revered his parent. He felt seized with a desire to throw off all concealm^t, to declare his marriage, and the powerful motives which had led him to take so pre- cipitate a step. Scarcely, however, was the idea suggested, than it was suppressed. A secret im- pulse he could not conquer, exciting an awful dread of his father's displeasure, still closed his lips, and enforced his silence. The satisfaction of Sir Aubrey upon seeing his son proceeded from a favourite scheme he had been meditating, which had for its object, through the medium of De Brooke, the gratification of his pride ; and whatever was presented through that channel, from his notions of prudence, and the in- flexibility of his character, was adhered to perti- naciously. The polished grace with which De Brooke had presented himself did not pass from Sir Aubrey's observation without an inward plea- sure. His son already held a rank in the army such as young noblemen were emulous of obtain- ing ; and, through his high favour at court, the king had graciously promised that his son. Captain 140 DUTY AND INCLINATION. De Brooke, should be promoted to the first colo- nelcy falling vacant. What more immediately, however, at that moment occupied his thoughts, was a matrimonial connection for his son with a iady of family, but of more distinguished fortune. Her person was unexceptionable; and he enter- tained not the slightest doubt but that De Brooke, on his naming her, would be instantly desirous to bend the knee and pay homage to this fair being — a prize so valuable, and in every respect worthy of his highest ambition. With an aspect the most agreeable Sir Aubrey proceeded to state the infinite advantages to be derived from this contemplated union, while De Brooke, wholly unprepared for such an attack upon his feelings, by a proposition so new and distress- ing, became lost in perplexity and dismay. The warm eulogium passed by Sir Aubrey upon the object of his selection, proved how^ deeply inter- ested he was in the fulfilment of his views. That any obstacle could arise to oppose those views he had not admitted even of a possibility; and much less on the part of his son, who, he imagined, had but to hear, to obey, to solicit, and to obtain. With surprise and anger, therefore, he marked the embarrassment, the inward vexation, in which his DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. ' 141 son seemed plunged, from the moment he began to intimate, and while continuing to urge, his propo- sition. " You seem, sir,^^ said he, with a look of stern- ness, ^^ rather dissatisfied than otherwise at the pains I take to promote your welfare. I am un- wise, I find, in so doing : deemed officious, I nei- ther receive gratitude nor thanks. The sooner I cease to intermeddle, the better.'^ '^ Spare me, spare me,'^ replied the son. ^' Not so, believe me, my dear sir. I am sensible of the kind interest you take in my concerns — ^but^^ The brow of Sir Aubrey became more contracted, while, with restless irritability, he attended to the disclosure which was to follow '^^ but — at present — I have no wish — " De Brooke still hesitated ; he knew not how to proceed : the dread of discovery, and the consciousness of the duplicity he was prac- tising, caused him to labour under a confusion the most embarrassing. ^^ Sir,^^ continued he, " will you pardon me for the present ? That 1 have not seemed duly thankful and pleased at your proposal is owing to the suddenness — I was entirely un- prepared.^' " For which reason,'' returned Sir Aubrey, with impetuosity, ^^ you have not had leisure to frame falsehoods to deceive me. I cannot suppose you 142 DUTY AND INCLINATION. quite so weak as you profess to be. Even a whi- ning^ silly girl could only say^ — ^ Allow me leisure to deliberate — marriage is a serious affair — 1 must have time to consider;^ with such hke superfluous fooleries unbecoming your age and sex^ and more particularly the filial duty you owe to myself/' De Brooke was about to expostulate ; but the angry parent, in tones of irony, continued : " Pray, say no more — say no more, sir ; I am already suffi- ciently convinced how obstinately you are bent on opposing my views for your good, whatever I ad- vise. You dissent from — in short, I know you well, sir; and how you have ever disregarded my counsels : but henceforward I will have done with you.^' Roused by an address so vehement and scornful, and, as De Brooke conceived, unmerited, the fire of passion, which he had been struggling to sub- due, in his turn kindled within him ; and as the incensed Sir Aubrey concluded his last sentence, he had silently ejaculated, ^^ If he knew the whole — if even I had declared my marriage — he could not be more vindictive. Then wherefore any longer conceal it }'' Starting from his seat, he approached his father, who was inwardly muttering sounds of anger. Raising his voice, he said, ^' Know then, sir, that an already-formed attachment to a young DUTY AND INCLINATION. 143 and innocent creature forms a barrier — an insur- mountable barrier — to the connection you have proposed." ^' I thought so— I suspected as much^,'^ rephed Sir Aubrey^ with a sarcastic' sneer. ^* Some fa- vourite holds you in bondage ; and you prefer her disgraceful chains to the honourable alliance I am suggesting, — to a union calculated to procure you riches and rank, — the favour of your father, and consideration in the world. But go — go,^^ said he, in contemptuous tones ; ^^ you are unworthy to bear my name, sir. Go to this secret object, whose amorous dalhance alone is suited to a mind gro- velling as yours." No longer able to contain himself, De Brooke burst forth with a vehemence of feehng it was im- possible to suppress. That such debasing language should be applied to his virtuous wife fired him with indignation ; and not perceiving, in his tumult of ideas, that the mistake of his father naturally sprung from his own inaccuracy of explanation, he vindicated his wife with all the warmth due to her injured innocence ; while, at the same time. Sir Aubrey, with a voice almost choked with passion, exclaimed, " Leave me, sir — leave my house!" and denouncing a heavy imprecation, he flung open an 144 DUTY AND INCLINATION. opposite door^ closed it with violence^ and disap- peared. Absorbed by the most painful images^ De Brooke remained motionless ; till, roused by the entrance of a servant, he hastily left the house, inwardly re- solving never more to enter it. While unconsciously du'ccting his steps towards home, and meditating upon the unfortunate con- ference he had just held with his father, he bitterly recalled to mind his severity of conduct towards him, experienced from the days of his childhood, and to which he attributed that extreme embarrass- ment usually overwhelming him when in his pre- sence. He reflected, also, upon his own self-for- bearance, hitherto invariably exercised in despite of his natural impetuosity; and felt surprised that his habitual respect and awe of his father should have been overcome in his last interview. Though a circumstance perfectly new, he was so far from re- gretting it, that it pleased him to think he had, for once, endeavoured to assert his own independence. Scarcely had he entered his lodgings, than Mrs. De Brooke, perceiving an alteration in his looks, sought with a tender solicitude to learn the cause. Seating himself beside her, and affectionately taking her hand, he briefly revealed to her the subject of DUTY AND INCLINATION. 145 dispute which had arisen between himself and his father ; and though softening, in some manner, the severe expressions used by the latter, naturally de- scribed with fidelity the passionate energy into . which he had been himself betrayed, and which had as yet scarcely subsided. *' Thus, my dear,'^ added he, *^^ our union is made known ; by concealing which for a time, I had hoped finally to have effected your introduction to my father and Lady De Brooke, as well as to my sis- ter and her husband ; an event, however greatly to be desired, now, I am sorry to say, retarded, and, during a certain interval, become wholly impracti- cable. The treasures I possess in you, though to me more valuable than the wealth of the Indies, are not such as my father estimates. The high and affluent circumstances to which he has raised himself, it grieves me to say, closes his mind to all but worldly prejudices and selfish affections. Sad perversion of the human heart ! Who would wish for fame and fortune, if they thus extinguish the best and finest feelings of humanity ?^^ With a mournful countenance AngeUna had at- tentively hstened to her husband. '^ It is I,'* thought she, " w^ho am the cause of estranging him from his father .^^ A heavy sigh escaped her, w hilst tears, precious to De Brooke, in all their liquid VOL.. I. H 146 DUTY AND INCLINATION. lustre^ fell from her beamy eyes. He kissed them away, as they chased each other down her lovely cheeks. She was his hearths best treasure, the partner of his purest pleasures. He clasped her to his bospm, recalled to mind her dying parent, and felt most forcibly the claim she held upon his protection. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 14? CHAPTER X. " Some foe to his upright intent, Finds out his weaker part : Virtue engages his assent, But pleasure wins his heart." Having^ as De Brooke supposed^ made his fa- ther acquainted with his marriage, the motives which had induced him to confine his Angehna within the narrow hmits of obscurity now no longer existing, determined him to exchange his lodgings at Kennington for more sumptuous and commo- dious apartments in the vicinity of Hyde Park^ or St. Jameses. He furnished his house in a style the most fashionable and costly; and made the purchase of an elegant equipage, with all its necessary ap- pendages. His horses were of the finest breed ; and in proportion to this expensive establishment, ser- vants were hired accordingly. Profusely generous as was De Brooke, no draught upon his purse, however great, was deemed ill-bestowed, in aught wherein his Angelina was concerned. Notwith- standing which^ the utmost of her taste and wishes II 2 148 DUTY AND INCLINATION. were never extended beyond the bounds of a decent competency. Born and educated in retirement, the luxuries and superfluities of life added but httle to her happiness ; on the contrary, it was often with regret she observed the extravagances into which her husband launched, and which she had some- times ventured, with a persuasive voice, to check. Regardless, however, of such timely caution, De Brooke remained only the more sensible of the unutterable charm of beholding her, the sove- reign idol of his heart, surrounded by every splen- dour it was in his power to procure. Amidst the scenes of gaiety into which Mrs. De Brooke was introduced, she derived no small ac- quisition from the friendship of Mrs. Philimore ; from whom, also, as her constant companion and chaperone, she became acquainted with the ways and manners of fashionable life. How wholly op- posed was such a dazzling sphere to the still se- renity of that to Avhich she had been accustomed from earliest childhood, was often strikingly exem- plified, by the involuntary admiration and grace- ful naivete of her remarks; those festive novel- ties that now surrounded her being infinitely cal- culated, from the vivacity of her disposition, to nmuse her youthful fancy ; and De Brooke was ex- t;-emely flattered in beholding, that wherever tiis DUTY AND INCLINATION. 149 wife appeared^ she never failed to excite atten- tion. Scarcely had two years revolved^ when they found themselves the parents of a lovely boy. This little being was welcomed into the world by the most lively feelings of mutual tenderness. It is from the indulgence of such sweet affections that the conjugal tie draws its source of increasing joys. But^ alas !^ how short was to be this reign of hap- piness ! Hitherto they had but to experience some passing regrets^ occasioned by the total exclusion of Mrs. De Brooke from the least intimacv with the family of her husband. Retracting his former determination^ De Brooke sometimes called at his father's door^ under the hope that by so doing a reconcihation might be effected : it was seldom^ however, that he gained admittance; and when he did so, it was to be ush- ered into the sitting-room of Lady De Brooke, whose outwardly formal and affected civilities held but a too faithful mirror to his view of his fathei^s preponderating coldness; and from which he could also discover how httle he had to expect from anv conciliating influence exerted in his behalf by her ladyship. Not very different was the tone of feeling, if such it might be called, with which he was greeted 150 DUTY AND INCLINATION. in the occasional interviews he had with his sister Mrs. Arden^ who, in comphance with her hus- band's taste, did not spend so much of her time in her town-house as in the pompous mansion they had purchased on their marriage. But though not regular inhabitants of London, their access to it was easy ; and in their frequent excursions they were transported thither in all the ostentatious grandeur of a carriage and four, showy liveries, outriders, &c. &c. De Brooke was struck by a display of such splendour, in his opinion, un- suitable to one of a rank comparatively but mo- derate in society. Although sometimes induced upon such occasions to pay them a visit, never- theless his reception was uniformly constrained, and to the last degree short of incivihty, formal and ceremonious. With her new name and pretensions, his once much-loved sister, the companion of his child- hood, seemed to have assumed a new character : this was the effect of her constant association with one, who, immersed in worldly-mindedness, re- garded wealth, under whatever name, as the idol and object of this world's adoration ; who despised all others less favoured by fortune ; and who had but too successfully instilled into her mind his cold-hearted maxims ; so that in proportion to the DUTY AND INCLINATION. 151 extension of her purse her affection became con- tracted. How seldom does the human mind preserve in- violable its honest independence ! though contemn- ing the principle, we are insensibly hurried along to bow with the multitude. Thus, while with in- dignant and philosophic severity we would de- nounce, on the one hand, those fortunate, yet capricious and weak individuals, who by receiving encourage the servile adulation of the gaping in- digent, we see no less reason, on the other, for condemning as highly criminal those worshipers of fortune, who, by flattery and falsehood, inflate the vanity of their fellow mortals. De Brooke, of independent mind and principle, scorned the idea of being one of those fawning sycophants. It was the resentment of his father, perpetuated through so long an interval, which might have occasioned him his chief mortification, had he not brought himself to submit to a destiny he could not avert. The sweet sunbeam of con- tent, therefore, might long have shone upon his dwelHng had discretion guided his actions, had he consulted his reason ; and had he not allowed his inclination to triumph over his duty. The new impressions awakened by his attach- ment to Angehna, his intercourse with her hea- 152 DUTY AND INCLINATION. venly-minded parent^ and subsequent circum- stances attending his marriage, had doubtless given rise to subjects for much serious medita- tion ; but like the rest of human kind, when un- der the influence of some strong persuasion or ruling fault, De Brooke, in attending to the re- proofs of his understanding, suppressed for a while his habitual extravagance, so that it ap- peared in a degree extinct ; but weary at length of such an arbitrary control, those inward dictates weakened, and the former propensity was re- newed, with perhaps increased inveteracy, proving that it is by dear-bought experience of the conse- quences, and humiliation resulting from a faulty course of conduct, that man alone derives reform. Had the lot of De Brooke cast him in a circle more remote from the capital, he might doubtless have learned to limit his notions of taste and ele- gance to his circumstances. As the son of Sir Aubrey, arid with a certain rank in the army, he could not but with painful sensibility and feelings of humiliation picture to himself the comparisons the world might form to his disadvantage, did he not support his name, and reflect credit upon him- self by his style and manner of living. Fondly attached to her infant, Mrs. De Brooke was frequently occupied in superintending the DUTY AXD INCLINATION. 153 concerns of her nursery. Unmindful of those tacit rebukes, in the excellent example she upheld, and equally so of the low ebbings of his purse, her husband indulged in the first place, as regarded herself and the object of their mutual affection, a liberality far surpassing his revenue. However, inconsiderate as was such a conduct, it was not so blameable as the indulgences of his own private tastes, ever varying with the w^him or fashion of the times. If not a connoisseur, yet a professed admirer of the fine arts, each in its turn met with his unbounded encouragement. The artist, emer- ging from want and obscurity, owed to his timely patronage a future ease and celebrity. Painful to others was the reflection, that, while extending to the unfortunate the hand of friendly sympathy and support, he was insensibly, because inconsider- ately, adding to their number. For himself, he seemed only bent on verifying the maxim, that generosity when carried to excess becomes a weak- ness. Without minutely entering into a detail of his extravagances, suffice it, therefore, to say, that De Brooke, by an accumulation of debts and complete embarrassment of his affairs, was at last roused by the terror of his situation, in its fullest extent, to a sense of his great indiscretions ; and H 5 154 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Avith a disconsolate eye, he contemplated the ruin threatening his helpless family, — ruin, of which the sole author was himself. Reasoning or reflection, w hat did they then avail him, but to plunge him into a deeper sorrow, the more difficult to endure, in proportion to his efforts to conceal it from the scrutinizing apprehensions of his affectionate wife ? As joys are increased by participation, so griefs are lightened, when they derive not their source from the severe stings of self-reproach. The Avounds of De Brooke were hourly sharpened by the desire of deferring the disclosure from his ami- able partner, of the entanglement of his affairs. For this, indeed, he hoped she might not be alto- gether unprepared, more especially, as by her pro- vident advice, he had been induced to order a sale of some articles she deemed superfluous. His creditors becoming daily more clamorous for pay- ment caused him to think seriously upon an ex- pedient, which upon its first admission was re- jected with aversion, that of borrowing money. However derogatory to his feehngs, it Avould af- ford him instant succour: the temptation was great; and as to its being the means hereafter of bringing upon him a deeper involvement, the pressure of his existing necessities was too weighty to allow of his taking a cool sun'^ey of calamities DUTY AND INCLINATION. 155 in perspective. Thus was his mind absorbed^ still fearing and doubting whether even this last resource might not be too late to avoid a danger every moment awaiting him, the arrest of his per- son. Rising in tremulous agitation from his seat, at the bare idea of an event that would so painfully betray to his Angehna the worst, he would have fled precipitately into the street, in order to put his design into immediate execution; but in this he was prevented by the sudden appearance of a man at the door of his apartment. In the disordered state we have described liim, he could suppose no other than that he was a law-officer come mth the intention he dreaded. Starting back, and changing colour, he eagerly inquired his business. The sound of voice was not unknown to him ; and upon a nearer examination, his alarm gave way to surprise, upon his recollecting to have seen the person, thus abruptly intruding, in the sendee of his father. ^^ I hope no offence, sir,^' said he ; ^^ I was told below that your honour being at home, I had only to knock at this door to be admitted to your pre- sence.'^ So deeply occupied had been De Brooke with 156 DUTY AND INCLINATION. his sad reflections, that he had not even heard the knock. " It is all well, my honest fellow/^ rephed he ; '^ what is your business ?^^ '^ I am sent, sir, by my master. Sir Aubrey, to tell you that he has something of consequence to communicate, and wishes to see you.^^ '^ Wishes to see me ?" muttered De Brooke ; " something of consequence to communicate ? '' '^ Yes, sir ; I w as desired to say, that he wishes you to call upon him without delay ; and that he does not intend leaving his study until he has seen you/^ With this, the man departing, De Brooke pre- pared to fulfil the desire of his father. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 157 CHAPTER XI. " Love, the desire of Gods ! the feast of heaven ! Yet to earth's favor'd ofFsprmg not denied ! Ah, let not thankless man the blessing given Enslave to fame, or sacrifice to pride." De Brooke was received by Sir Aubrey, if not with cordiality, at least with a demeanour free from his accustomed moroseness. " I have sent for you/^ said he, ^^ to congratulate you upon some good news, of which I have been myself but a few hours informed ; and which is, that you may expect in a few days to see your name gazetted in the list of Colonels.^^ Such intelligence, though not altogether unex- pected, was not the less agreeable, and could not but be received by De Brooke with suitable de- monstrations of joy; and, supposing that his father might have been accessory to this his good for- tune, he was about to express his thanks, when, waving his hand. Sir Aubrey hastily returned; ^^ No, no, it is not to me that you are obhged ; I know nothing of the business; I have by no means been instrumental to it: your name^ I suppose. 158 DUTY AND INCLINATION, has been included amongst those who had a right to expect promotion ; and more particularly your- selfj on account of your recent services in Por- tugal/^ Some officious friends of Sir Aubrey, acting as it were Hke spies upon the conduct of his son, and loving to represent defects through the magnifying glass of calumny, had not failed, from time to time, to make reports to his father relative to his va- rious extravagances ; others again, in considera- tion of his many better qualities, or, from motives of benevolence, endeavoured, if not to extenuate them, at least to throw over them the veil of cha- rity : nevertheless, from the entanglement of his affairs, they had become but too plainly obvious to Sir Aubrey ; and his mind in consequence la- boured under impressions of a nature not to allow him openly to acknowledge that it w^as by any intercession of his that his son's promotion had been obtained. Thus, whatever might be the secret motive of Sir Aubrey in forwarding the welfare of his son, he was very far from receiving gratification in the thanks due to him for so doing. ^ The breach of confidence and attachment exist- ing between Sir Aubrey and his son, was to be re- paired but by the compliance of the latter with one sole condition, and he felt a repugnance to any DUTY AND INCLINATION. 159 circumstance, so long as this remained unaccom- j)lished, carrying with it an appearance of recon- cihation. In hearing from his father the flattering tidings of his advancement, De Brooke had been sensible of elation ; but how quickly did such a feeling vanish, upon perceiving Sir Aubrey's indifference manifested, notwithstanding his professions of con- gratulation, by his regulated tones, and cold expres- sion of his countenance ! his mind then naturally recurred to the embarrassed state of his finances. His newly-acquired rank would bring with it a desirable acquisition to his income ; but it would not yield him those more immediate resources of which he stood in such absolute need. Sir Aubrey touched upon subjects as unimportant as they were uninteresting : De Brooke sought to assume a complacency foreign to him : thus each seemed labouring under a forced restraint, as if occupied with thoughts they wished, yet forbore to ex- press. At last, after an interval of silence. Sir Aubrey in accents denoting displeasure, but which he es- sayed to modify, said : ^^ Upon your return from Portugal, Aubrey, you were perfectly free from any incumbrance or debt whatsoever. That you have, since that period, and during a course of 160 DUTY AND INCLINATION. years^ launched into thoughtless expenses and actions, in every way unworthy of my son, from whom a very different conduct might have been expected, your present difficulties testify. Of such I have received information, and it remains for me only to hope the detail has been exagge- rated.^^ Dispirited and perplexed, De Brooke hesita- tingly replied : " It is but too true, sir, 1 stand convicted ; I can but avow my error by the con- fession, that I have unfortunately learned wisdom, alas ! too late. I have akeady made retrench- ments, and I trust, by further economies, I shall in a short time recover my losses.^^ '^ I imagine,^^ said Sir Aubrey, " that you blind yourself with false expectations :'' but after a pause, during which he seemed revolving some important point, he added ; " Attend to me, Au- brey ; attend to the proposals I am going to make you ; if you disregard them, you alienate yourself from me for ever ! If you follow them, and the measm-es I shall prescribe, you will reinstate your- self in my good opinion ; you will entirely restore yourself to my lost favour and esteem : my purse is yours, you may command it ; your present em- barrassments shall be mine, no matter to what extent ; I will set you free from them all. You DUTY AND INCLINATION. 161 will thence rise from the mists by which you arc now surrounded^ to view before you an open and fair day^ full of honours^ grandeurs^ dignities^ such as I myself enjoy : decide ;" said he^ whilst he fixed upon De Brooke his eye^ animated by the exalta- tion of pride ; '^ it remains for you to make the choice !" An appeal^ which spoke so powerfully to his feelings^ from a father w^ho had hitherto conducted himself with such disdain towards him^ operated irresistibly to chann the mind of De Brooke. ^^ Good heavens !^' he ejaculated^ ^^ grant that it may be in my power to comply, — that I may merit that reward above all so flattering, so dear to the filial tenderness of my heart, a perfect reconciliation with my father ! Proceed, sir,^^ continued he : ^^ believe me, it is my most ardent hope, my most unbounded desire, to conform myself in every respect to your wishes. ^^ Sir Aubrey reddened. He feared by this em- phatic reply of his son, that he was wholly unpre- pared for the sacrifice he was about demanding of him, the sole condition on which depended a re- turn to his favour and promised recompense. Nevertheless, strongly bent upon carrying his point, and rendering his son entirely subservient to his views^ with a voice deep and inflexible, he 162 DUTY AND INCLINATION. said ; " Without entering upon further preface^, I shall state at once to you, Aubrey, that it is a dis- graceful passion I urge you to subdue ; a passiotf which holds you in bondage, closes the world against you, robs you of every advantage, and, above all, of your father's friendship/^ De Brooke started. To what insidious calumny had his father listened, or to what peculiar passion did he allude? He had no reproaches to make himself, excepting on the score of prodigality. ^^ No man,'^ continued Sir Aubrey, ^^ was ever guilty of greater weakness, of greater folly, was ever more blind to his proper interests: had you been guided more by reason, and less by the love of pleasure, instead of yielding to so fatal an infa- tuation, you would have exerted all your powers to have resisted it.^^ Still ambiguous as was Sir Aubrey in all he said, De Brooke could only apply his language to that which most prevailed over his thoughts, the deranged state of his finances. In begging, there- fore, his father to spare his further rebukes, he added ; " Having already abjured my errors, sir, I am resolved my future conduct shall testify the sincerity of my reformation." " It is what I ardently hope,'' resumed Sir Aubrey, softening the asperity of his accents ; " and DUTY AND INCLINATION. 163 I trust I shall not be deceived. I am not so much surprised that the novelty of rustic charms might for a time have fascinated your attention^ as that you should have persevered in yielding yourself so devotedly her captive, during an inter\^al now of some years.^^ Pale, speechless with the emotions that rushed upon his heart, De Brooke then but too clearly saw the drift of his father's argument. ^^ I find also,'^ continued Sir Aubrey, regardless of the sud- den change so obvious in his son, ^^ that you have the misery to^be encumbered with a child, perhaps children ; they must of course be provided for ; but happily the ways of doing so, for children of such a description, are many, and but little expensive.'^ Had Sir Aubrey spoken from his real feelings, he would openly and at once, have recommended his son's illegitimate children, as he supposed them, to be sent to the parish ! Fearing, however, to ex- cite indignation, rather than docility to his wishes, he wisely checked himself. De Brooke struggled for utterance, but, com- pletely subdued by the violence of his agitation, remained silent. ^' Aubrey ! Aubrey ?' exclaimed the father, per- ceiving the conflict, '^ act as a man, as my son ; for once in your life, show firmness, resolution, a de- 164 DUTY AND INCLINATION. cision of character^ when an occasion so important^ necessity so imperious^ demands it of you. Sooner or later a breach must be effected ; why not now ? send the girl back to the country whence you have brought her ; her child along with her ; and trust me^ the means shall not be withheld towards the furnishing them with an adequate subsistence.^^ Expecting a reply ;, he paused ; but impatient at not receiving any, nor even the thanks due to a promise, as he conceived, at once kind, conde- scending and generous, he passionately exclaimed, '''' You are now made acquainted with my terms, sir ; choose, — do you resign your mistress or your father? speak, and put an end to this fruitless silence." With a mixed feeling of disdain and sorrow^ too big to find its vent in language, De Brooke had listened to the finish of his father's heart-rending speech ; when, clasping his hands together, with looks of agony he articulated ; ^'^ Your words, sir, act as so many poniards to my heart ; you speak of my Angelina, (for I presume it is her you mean) as if she were no better than the female who proffers herself to abandoned pleasures ; and my child — " ^^ Hold V' interrupted Sir Aubrey ; ^^ not so ; a distinction is due ; her first derogation from virtue doubtless originated in yourself 5 this I will admit ; DUTY AND INCLINATION. 165 but at the same time must freely tell you^ that there is but one way of redressing the injuiy you have done her^ and which is by ceasing to live with her ; by sending her back to the country^ and re- storing her to the simple manners to which she has been accustomed ; and by so doing, her lost honour may not be altogether irrecoverable, or without resource." ^^ In what an abyss of misery am I plunged!'^ again ejaculated De Brooke. ^^ Powers of mercy ! what a mistake, what a fatal mistake, you have laboured under, sir I" Endeavouring to allay the disorder of his mind, he then ^^-ith breathless energy entered into a brief detail of every circumstance relating to his mar- riage, the parentage of his wife ; and glowing with enthusiasm by the retrospect of scenes dear to his memor)^, the personal and mental graces of Ange- lina coming so enhanced to him by the charms of her innocence and virtue, still he would have ex- patiated upon her perfections, had he not been checked in his utterance by the aspect of Sir Aubrey, who, proud, indignant, lowering, paced with hasty strides his chamber ; till, abruptly stopping before his unhappy son, and fixing his enraged and penetrating eyes upon him, a torrent pf invective seemed ready to burst from his qui- ] 6B DUTY AND INCLINATION. vering lips, but again averting his gaze, and turn- ing suddenly away, whilst measuring his steps, the violence of his rage burst inward ; finding vent in terms deep, smothered and incoherent. The space of a few minutes thus elapsed, and De Brooke hesitated whether he should attempt to appease his wrath, by again pleading his suit ; to raise his voice, however, he found impossible, so formidable seemed the pause ; which at last was broken by Sir Aubrey loudly denouncing imprecations upon his son. He then violently flung open a door, closed it afler him, and disappeared. Thus in a fit of passion, as was usual with Sir Aubrey, terminated this dispute, leaving De Brooke in a state easier to conjecture than describe. ^^ A fathei'^s curse !" he inwardly exclaimed ; " my of- fence — is it of so great a magnitude to wed without a parentis knowledge ? does it merit a parentis curse }'' He fervently prayed it might not ; and be- coming less perturbed by the feelings which insi- nuated themselves, he lefl the house. However Sir Aubrey might be aware of the rash and hasty character of his son, he was never- theless far from supposing him so wholly lost and blind to his future interests, as at once to have plunged himself into disasters of such an accumu- lated nature, as those which he had gathered DUTY AND INCLINATION. 167 around him. The new discovery he had made of his having manned without his approbation^ was a circumstance^ that even in his calmer moments he felt he never could forgive; and when he con- sidered to whom he had thus bound himself, then indeed his animosity was raised to its utmost pitch of aggravation : he had given himself to one, who in a worldly sense, possessed not a single re- commendation ; but, above all, to crown his indig- nation, he had given himself to one who, from the ambiguity of the explanation made him during a former interview, he had been led to conclude had first stooped to that state which for ever degrades the sex ; a consideration how powerfully adapted to enforce the conviction, that in despite of every temptation, incitement or seduction to overcome, nothing ought to be held so inviolably sacred, to be prized even beyond existence, as a chaste, un- sulhed fame 1 But whilst under the influence of this gross de- lusion, Sir Aubrey had been occasionally tranquil- lized, in giving way to suggestions that afforded some mitigation to his injured pride. He had allowed himself to hope that the time might arrive when, as is frequently the case, some other fa- vourite, possessing the charm of novelty, might withdi'aw his son from the fascinations which 168 DUTY AND INCLINATION. then enslaved him ; on the other hand^ there was nothing he had so much dreaded^ as the long-con- tinued ascendency of Angelina over his affections, arising from the fatal anticipation that marriage might be the result ; and at once not only finally extinguish his hopes for the future, but also, of what he could never think of but Avith the utmost degree of rage, tarnish his high name, transmitting it to a race degenerate and unworthy ! Under the influence of these predominating feel- ings he had sent for his son, if, possibly, ere it became too late, by holding out a recompense, proportionate to the sacrifice he was about to re- quire of him, he might induce him to relinquish for ever her, for whom he felt such an inveterate aversion, as interposing herself between his lofty ambition and those towering views of grandeur which had so long become the sole and ruling desire of his heart. The newly-acquired rank he had to announce to his son, he vainly supposed might have brought with it that elation of mind, which might prove the necessity of uniting fortune to rank; and in consequence conduct him to the choice of a partner, who might bestow upon him this (in Sir Aubrey^s opinion) most important and essential acquisition. But when, from his son^s own confession, he was given to behold, in all its DUTY AND INCLINATION. 169 aiTgravated colours^ the realization of the much- dreaded event, involving the total destruction of his most cherished hopes and projects, as well as a breach of filial respect and duty towards a parent always desirous of bestowing upon his son every advantage in his power, it is not surprising, in the depth of injured and wounded self-love, that his unhappy son became for ever alienated from his place in his affections, and that the rigour of his resentment never ceased to manifest itself, even to the latest period of his existence. VOL. I. 170 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. CHAPTER XII. " If stern remorse, With iron grasp, the tortured bosom wring, Ah, then, even fancy speeds the venom's curse. Even fancy points with rage the maddening sting." Beattie. Returned to his home, the fond, the devoted husband of Angelina, in the retirement of his chamber, beheld in all its enormity the injustice which had been done her, and to which he had been himself so greatly yet unconsciously acces- sory. He who, as a lion roused from its den in defence of its mate, would have upheld the honour of his wife from the slightest imputation, — he it was whom a mistaken judgment, taking its rise from that unconquerable timidity which ever pre- ponderated over him when under the anticipation of his father's displeasure, had caused to shrink from a candid avowal of his marriage, and that at a time when it was of the greatest importance to have acknowledged it. That lovely woman, whom, as the object of his choice and dearest affections, he should have exulted under other circumstances to DUTY AND INCLINATION. I'Jl have introduced to an admiring world^ equally as to every branch of his family^ his fair^ honourable and legitimate spouse, — alas ! that he had been so imprudent, so weak as to seclude her in oblivion during the first critical months of his marriage, as a being of whom he had been ashamed, and after- wards, by the ambiguity of his explanation, to leave his father under the cruel and fatal supposition that his connection with her was but illegal ! — his innocent and deserving wife no better treated than had she sunk so low as to become the object of a criminal amour ! It may easily be imagined that such reflections, impressed on the mind of De Brooke since his last interview with his father, were of a nature too poignant for time even to ameliorate, — leaving him the prey of a gloom and despondence more than seemed natural to one who, from habitual cheerfulness of temper and elasticity of spirit, had ever before possessed, in a degree uncommon even in youth, the happy art of dissipating anxieties and forgetting cares. His hilarity, however, was now banished, and a ner- vous irritability succeeded, which cculd not fail to alarm the ever-watchful tenderness of his wife. But not to amplify our narrative and enter into details respecting the sorrows and vicissitudes of De Brooke and his consort, 1st us, in following I 2 172 DUTY AND INCLINATION. those events the most important in our history, pass over several years of trial and discomfiture, and proceed to that epoch when they had become the parents of three children — in addition to their first-born, little Aubrey, two daughters some years younger. One afternoon at this period, having experienced during the hour of repast a feeling amounting to suffocation, De Brooke arose from the table unre- freshed ; and wishing to fly from himself, but more from her whose unconscious manners and affec- tionate concern did but act as so many probes and bitter reproaches to his heart, laying his hand upon his hat, he was silently and son-owfully quitting the room, when Mrs. De Brooke, spring- ing from her seat, caught hold of him, imploring him not to leave her. '^'^Where,^^ exclaimed she, ^^where would you go at this unseasonable hour }'' '^ Business, my dear,'^ he replied, in tones of grief and impatience ; ^^ business the most urgent and instant : suffer me to go.^^ " No, no ; not in such a state as this ! You are not well ; your hand is feverish ! What can urge you ? nothing but your o^^ti agitated fancy. Stay, I conjure you! Yield yourself to my care to-night ; to-morrow you may be better. Why DUTY AND INCLINATION. 1 73 absent yourself from me ? why that averted look ? Speak^ speak, my Aubrey ! Am not I your friend, your best of friends ? — why then shun me w ith that mysterious air ? You have some secret grief you would fain conceal ; w ith- draw not from me your confidence; let me share your pains as I have hitherto shared your plea- sures. Is it your father w^ho thus disturbs your peace ?^' " Question me not, I entreat you, my dearest love,^^ rejoined De Brooke, with a look of increased distraction ; '^^ another time, and your curiosity shall be fully satisfied — but now 'tis impossible i Detain me not ; one instant longer and I shall be too late V' He tore himself from her tender grasp — he rushed precipitately along the hall, opened the door, and as it closed after him, its reverberation no longer sounding on the ear of his distressed wife, she started from her listening attitude — she flew to the window: De Brooke caught her eye — it strained to behold him. Hurrying onwards, he was nearly lost to her view, when two fellows abruptly coming in face of him gave an instant check to his progress. He was undone ! An- gehna's ill-timed soothings had been the cause of this fatal mischief; a moment sooner, and he 174 DUTY AND INCLINATION. might have escaped from that rude detention of which his wife was then witness. Anxious to discover the bent of her husband^s steps^ with an involuntary movement she had thrown open the casement. In apparent expostu- lation with those rough men, De Brooke slowly approached towards home : he perceived his wife — that form so dear to his view, yet which thus presented communicated a deeper sadness to his soul ; essaying to surmount it, he w^aved his hand in token of peace ; the hue of his counte- nance, however, bore but little analogy to the action. ^' But one moment is all I ask, to say a few parting w^ords to my wife.^^ These last sounds, as they fell audibly on the ear of Mrs. De Brooke, penetrated her very soul. Her husband knocked at the door — it was opened — the men pushed forward after their cap- tive; fearful to lose sight of him, they pursued him even to the apartment of Mrs. De Brooke. Alarmed, confused at an intrusion so unceremo- nious, a faint apprehension of the truth stole across her, that those men, so daring in their aspect, were civil officers sent to arrest the person of her hus- band; and yet her total ignorance as to such proceedings obscured her suspicions, and caused DUTY AND IXCLINATION. IJS her to see as through a mist. He besought her to tranquiUize herself. A catastrophe so afflicting in its nature^ and one so calculated to excite the amazement of his wife, unmanned him — not upon his own account, but from the distressing event about to be revealed in a manner so harsh and abrupt. '^ My dear/^ said he, endeavouring to compose himself, ^Hhese persons have some particular busi- ness with me ; I must go with them immediately.'^ ^^ Go where ? it is impossible ! '^ exclaimed she ; " they cannot insist upon your going with them in such a state as this, at so late an hour of the evening, — such disorder in your looks \'' "Thus was she imploring, whilst the baihfFs, for such they were, began to express impatience of delay ; when, just at that moment, Mrs. Philimore was announced. Her visit could not have been better timed for De Brooke, who, seizing the occa- sion, approached her, whispered a few words in her ear, commended his wife to her friendship, and passing the man in waiting, told them to follow, when he was recalled by an exclamation of grief from Mrs. De Brooke; — allowing himself but one parting embrace he burst from her. Leaving the house he hastened towards a stand of hackney-coaches, entered the first that presented 176 DUTY AND INCLINATION. itself, anxious to conceal himself from the possi- bility of observation^ beset as he was by two «ueh ungracious companions. The driver was ordered to take the road to one of their houses^ but De Brooke countermanding this direction, the coach proceeded to the Bench. In the mean time Mrs, De Brooke remained in a state which it is more easy to conceive than describe. Mrs. Phihmore left nothing unsaid that could in any way calm her, or dispose her mind to view this event in a light less sorrowful, as an accidental misfortune to which so many were every day exposed, and of v» hich so many examples ai'e every day occuning in the capital : that a short interval given towards the procuring of bail might effect the release of her husband. Mrs. De Brooke, who had hitherto sat motionless, apparently absorbed in reflection, no sooner caught the last words of her friend, than the tears, before suppressed, rolled in ton^ents from her eyes. " His release ?' echoed she, " ^tis then to prison they have dragged him ! And must he there pass the night, in so gloomy, so dreary, and so com- fortless a place ^ ^^ Moderate your feelings, my dear Mrs. De Brooke,^^ continued Mrs. Phihmore ; " your fears and uneasiness ma^nifv the evil.^^ DUTY AND INCLINATION. 177 She then essayed to tranquillize her^ by assurinp;' her that early the following morning Mr. Philimore "would call upon the Colonel to offer him his as- sistance^ and would make it a pleasure to do every- thing in his power to serve him. She then, by a well-managed appeal to her maternal feelings, by degrees led her into another train of thought. Suddenly rising from her seat and seizing a lighted candle, Mrs. De Brooke observed she had quite forgotten her httle ones, their usual hour of rest ha\ing passed ; those precious innocents, she considered, might have been deprived of slumber in then* expectation of receiving as usual her last affectionate caress. Mrs. Philimore rose to follow, and they entered the nursery together; drawing near their respective couches, they found each child wrapt in a sofl repose. The contemplation of her infants, the sweet composure of their looks, communicated to Mrs. De Brooke, as from sym- pathy, a heavenly serenity ; and in bending over them she breathed a secret prayer, that an all- merciful Providence would bless her helpless babes and not desert their unhappy father. In leaving the apartment, Mrs. Philimore percei\dng her friend thus resigned to her destiny, availed herself of tlie occasion to take her leave, with the assurance of I 5 178 DUTY AND INCLINATION. renewing her visit the next morning ; at the same time entreating her not to relapse into dejection, but to consider the present crisis of her husband^s affairs, as the necessary means by which he would be restored to happiness and tranquillity. Notwithstanding, however, this consolatory ex- hortation of her friend, short and painful was the repose of Mrs. De Brooke. She rose at an early hour, having determined after a hasty breakfast to set off to see her husband. A witness of the sor- rowful scene which had taken place the preceding evening, but not a passive one, it was to the vigi- lance of his ever faithful servant Robert, who had anxiously followed through various turnings and windings the coach conveying his master to prison, that Mrs. De Brooke was indebted for a know ledge of the direction she was to pursue. At the first dawn he had been up, and had stolen slowly out of the house to retrace the path he had trodden the night before. Hovering about those impene- trable walls, within whose gloomy precincts was confined his beloved master, he awaited in sad expectation the first opening of the gates, in order to gain the earliest admittance. Having fulfilled his object, he returned, with moistened brow and breathless haste, in time to deliver a letter with DUTY AND INCLINATION. I'Ji) which he was charged for his mistress, and to put a stop to the preparations she was making to visit her husband. Unfolding the paper, she ran over its contents, which were couched in the most soothing terms possible ; De Brooke assured her that the chief sub- ject of his regret arose from the abruptness with wdiich he had been obliged to leave her ; that as to himself, he had philosophy sufficient to endure atem- porary ill, for as a passing cloud, such he considered his present misfortune to be, and conjured her also to regard it in no other hght ; for, that the more courage she displayed, the less he should have reason to repine ; the burden of self-reproach being aggravated by the reflection that it was himself who was the author of all the uneasiness she sus- tained. He then exhorted her to repose in the friendship of Mr. and Mrs. Philimore, and by no means to make any attempt at seeing him, as, under the present circumstances, their meeting could not but be attended with painful emotions ; that if he could not as soon as he expected effect liis liberation, he would himself be the first to solicit her coming to see him. He then concluded by as- suring her he was well, as to her additional satis- faction Robert could testify. 180 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Such was the tenor of her husband^s letter: scarcely^ however, had she given it a second pe- rusal, and received from it some degree of comfort, than Robert again appeared. Abruptly advancing, but stopping ere he drew near her, dismay over- spreading each sable feature, he stammered forth something, but his w^ords failed liim : " My dear missus, dese be sad crosses,^^ said at last poor Robert ; he Avalked mournfully aside, and then re- turned to where he stood before ; he was spared, however, the pain of further explanation by the entrance of Mr. and Mrs. Philimore, who could not but perceive the confusion reigning over the countenances of both mistress and servant, nor were they ignorant of the cause. With his head bent down, Robert slowly and silently quitted the apartment. An execution had taken place in the house ; tv*'o baihfFs had planted themselves in the passage, and prevented the free ingress of Mr. and Mrs. Phili- more in their ascent leading to the sitting-room of Mrs. De Brooke, who they supposed would be the first to open to them this new subject of distress. Alarmed at the insinuations of Robert, but far from penetrating into the real cause of his myste- rious manner, Mrs. De Brooke still preserved si- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 181 lence upon a topic that appeared so important to her visitors. Hearing a bustle below^ and Robertas voice in contention with the unwelcome intruders, Mrs. Philimore, exchanging looks with her hus- band, approached her friend, tenderly saying, ^^ Are you not aware of the danger of delay with regard to the seizure of your goods and furniture ? ^^ The tnith thus instantly rushing upon her mind, still wholly a stranger to such proceedings, Mrs. De Brooke found herself involved in a perplexity, which Mrs. Philimore hastily sought to lessen, by telling her that she and their family had also known ca- lamity, and that they had experienced similar cir- cumstances to those to which she was then ex- posed. " All that remains for you,^^ continued she, '^^ is to secrete as many valuables as you can.^^ ^^ But in so doing we shall defraud our creditors,'^ hastily replied Mrs. De Brooke. '^ At all events your jewel-case," rejoined Mrs. Philimore, ^^ your watch, those miniatures," point- ing to a couple of beautiful medalhons suspended over the chimney-piece, the hkenesses of herself and husband. The noise of footsteps ascending did not allow her time to hesitate ; Mrs. Philimore quickly de- 182 DUTY AND INCLINATION. tached the miniatures; they were concealed be- neath her garments ; a few jewels and her watch^ the presents of De Brooke on her marriage^ were deposited with Mr. PhiUmore. The bailiffs before mentioned here burst abrupt- ly into the apartment, followed by Robert, who had done all in his power to prevent the intrusion. Perfectly collected, Mrs. De Brooke, addressing Robert, mildly said, " Since resistance is fruitless, my honest friend, allow these men to proceed in what appears to be their duty ; having visited this chamber, conduct them through the others.^' Soft- ened by such complacent acquiescence, the men submissively bowed, after which they took an inventory, and placed seals upon every cabinet, bureau, and article of value w^hich the house con- tained. Thus was Mrs. De Brooke, to her great incon- venience, debarred from the use of many articles, ornamental or useful, deemed essential to comfort ; but such privations, as we before observ^ed, by a mind hke hers, w^ere but little regarded. She had derived a sensible consolation from the letter of her husband, and Mr. Philimore having intimated that he was about calling to see him, awaited her com- mands. Forgetful of his injunctions in her anxiety DUTY AND INCLINATION. 183 to see her husband^ she earnestly expressed a de- sire to accompany Mr. Phihmore, a step from which the latter exerted the full force of his eloquence to dissuade her ; representing that her sudden and un- expected appearance might not only by the excite- ment agitate his feelings^ but by diverting his at- tention from objects immediately connected with his interests^ embarrass his plans^ and thus pro- long the period of his captivity. Yielding to such prudent advice^ she contented herself by writing a few hasty lines in answer to the letter she had received ; she dwelt forcibly on her wish to see him, stating that the sad necessity, whatever it might be, which kept them asunder, for however short a period, was, and would con- tinue to be her only affliction. She added, that the cherished hope of a speedy reunion, which their present separation must enhance, would sup- port her under far greater inconveniences than had befallen her, and what was the m.ost painful to her to contemplate, the privations and trials to which he was hourly exposed. But little ac- quainted with the extent of her husband^s debts, she touched upon the subject of the execution which had taken place as but a momentary diffi- culty, vainly supposing that an entire sale of their 184 DUTY AND INCLINATION. property might afford a sum sufficient to restore, what she so devoutly wished, her husband to his home, to herself and children, and if to plain un- ostentatious life, still at least to peace, tranquillity, and independence. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 185 CHAPTER XIII. " Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign. Can match the fierce imutterable pain He feels who, night and day, devoid of rest, Carries his own accuser in his breast." Confined within the dark and gloomy walls of* the Bench^ in a remote and narrow chamber^ nearly obscured from the light of day, De Brooke sat melancholy, musing over his fate, and listening in suspense to the sounds of footsteps, awaiting the coming of Mr. Philimore, who, he doubted not, would call to oiier him the faithful services of a friend. Nor w^as he disappointed, for his prison- door w^as at length opened, and the very person upon whom his thoughts were engaged appeared. " Ah, my dear Philimore !" said he, " is that you? have you any tidings for me from my wife ?" Mr. Philimore in reply presented him with a letter, which De Brooke, after briefly apologizing for his abrupt manner and addi^ess, hastened to peruse. " What miserj^,^^ exclaimed he, " have I brought on this incomparable woman, and yet she would 186 DUTY AND INCLINATION. conceal that I have done so ! Why am I here }'' Then recollecting himself, and ashamed of the in- coherence of his expressions, by a violent effort to command himself, he relapsed into silence. After a distressing pause, his friend, though not naturally of a temper easily betrayed into sympa- thetic emotions, yet having learnt not to be insen- sible to scenes hke the present, endeavoured to divert his inquietude by calling his attention to the consideration of the means best adapted to render his present situation less uncomfortable, and of the possibility of procuring bail. De Brooke replied but by a silent shake of the head ; his debts were of too large an amount, he was well assured, to admit of his indulging in hopes of such a nature. ^^ My dear Phili- more,'^ said he, detaining him, ^^make this affair of mine but secondary, and lend your kind as- sistance to my wife, relative to the present emer- gency in which she is plunged ; try to relieve her solicitude on my behalf; and by all means, per- suade her not to visit me in this prison; tell her, my dear Sir, that nothing will inflict upon me gi'eater pain than her taking that step ; that I absolutely forbid it : tell her that I have no other sorrow than the necessity enjoined by the execu- tion, of her quitting her present comforts, and that DUTY AND INCLINATION. , 187 I conjure her^ by all that is sacred, to exert the courage of which I know she is mistress, to support her under this our cruel separation. The stroke, however severe, I entertain hopes of averting, on satisfying the demands of the most pressing of my creditors ; in the meantime you will be so good as to urge, from me, her removal to the small lodgings we before occupied at Kennington, since they can- not fail of affording her, under the present state of our affairs, a suitable asylum.^^ De Brooke paused, but afler an interval of ill-concealed emotion, he added, " The vicinity of those quiet lodgings to your abode, Philimore, will bestow upon my wife the more frequent consolations of your ow^n and your amiable partner's friendship ; in the assurance of which,'' continued he, with a deep sigh, " my mind will be lightened of one of its heaviest grievances." Touched by the sorrowful energy of these words, Mr. Philimore returned in silence the warm pres- sure of his hand, but soon recovering himself, ex- claimed, " Depend upon me ; I now hasten to execute your commands, and will try to effect as early as possible your removal from this horrid abode." Casting a look of concern towards the inner part of the chamber, De Brooke had but time to express 1S8 DUTY AND INCLINATION. his obligations, ere the door closed, and he was gone. The presence of Mr. Philimore had diffiised over the benighted soul of De Brooke one of those gleams of sunshine that in an instant appear, but as instantly vanish, leaving gloom more pro- found and grief more oppressive ; for however he had sought to conceal the depth of his embarrass- ments by a gilded and false colouring, yet he was himself far from sharing in the delusion. The uncertainty involving his affairs was such, that he felt unwarranted in giving way to any expectation of speedy succour. The money to be amassed from the sale of his property, though costly and valuable, would not, he well knew, suffice for the payment of creditors so numerous and importu- nate as his; on the other hand, his quarterly allowance, as colonel in the army, was amply suffi- cient to defray the necessary expenses of his wife's separate establishment, as also his own private exigencies ; but, till his debts were paid, even to their smallest fraction, no possibility existed whereby he might escape from the ignominiovis bondage in which he was then enthralled, and be restored to the embraces of his partner, and the caresses of his lovely children. Estranged as was his father from him, could he look to him for DUTY AND INCLINATION. 189 assistance? — vain was the thought. Cold and sel- fish, timid and calculating, would Mr. or Mrs. Arden, basking in the sunshine of affluence, pos- sessing this world's goods, its luxuries, its super- fluities, would they stretch out to him a helping hand to assist him in this extremity ? By no means. Sir Aubrey had been informed of his son's arrest by Mr. Arden, by whom the news had been carried to him with all dispatch. His proud wTath, not having abated in asperity since his last interview" with his son, from the discovery then made, led him to feel rather gratified than otherwise at his son's humiliating circumstances, which he con- ceived would lead him into a state of contrition for past extravagances, and induce a lasting amend- ment in his future conduct. Wearied by the continual sameness and per- plexity of his thoughts, De Brooke was for a time drawn out of them by the contemplation of his associates in that comfortless abode. For, on ac- count of the many unhappy persons then confined in the Bench, it had been necessary to associate two or three in one room. It had fallen to the lot of De Brooke to meet with two companions, fellow- sharers in affliction. Each by his dress presented an aspect of poverty, but each held a rank above 190 DUTY AND INCLINATION. what the outward appearance denoted. The one, an Enghsh Baronet of middle age ; the other a French Marquis, somewhat older ; the former tall and slender, possessing a mildness of physiognomy, not deeply marked by suffering, seeming to bend and yield with a patient fortitude to what his un- towai'd destiny rendered unavoidable. The Mar- quis was of middling stature, and unlike the picture o'enerally given of his countrymen, rather inclined to corpulency : the expression of his countenance was various ; ease, candour, and good humour had been accustomed to reign there ; but in the present instance they were chased, and a sad dismay pre- ponderated over every feature, with the exception of his brow, which in spite of mental depression maintained its arched and elevated character. The Baronet seemed to avoid alleviation derived from sympathy ; which the Marquis, on the contrary, seemed eagerly to court ; his heart was of a con- genial softness, ever ready to impart, as to receive consolation. The Baronet was single, and his cares concentred in himself; like De Brooke, the Marquis had a ^^nfe whom he tenderly loved ; he had also a little daughter, hvely and playful, the sole object of her parents^ hopes : to be beyond the possibility of clasping this little creature in his arms, and being soothed by her endearments, was DUTY AND INCLINATION. 191 to him the greatest of all privations. He had been himself the first to soHcit the attentionofDe Brooke, who, to an indifferent spectator, might have seemed of the two the most calculated to excite commise- ration, and, judging from circumstances, the mani- festation of his grief, though but little obtrusive, appearing the more to centre within him, height- ened by the anguish and deep wounds inflicted by a self-accusing and tender conscience, gave a pecu- liar poignancy to sufferings to which the others were strangers. *' These external manners of laments Are merely shadows to the unseen grief That swells with silence in the tortur'd soul." The Baronet had hitherto injured no one but himself; on the contrary, the debt which then confined him had arisen fi'om an excess of neigh- bourly kindness, and the law" had taken its course. As to the Marquis, a sharer with so many in his nation^s calamities, fate had robbed him of his pa- trimony, had exiled him from his countiy, had deprived him of the means of sustenance, and his debts had been entailed from his procuring for himself and little family the mere necessaries of existence. Finding De Brooke, in despite of his own pri- vate afflictions, was inclined to lend him a com- 192 DUTY AND INCLINATION. passionate hearing, the Marquis largely expatiated upon the cause of his imprisonment, — dwelt upon the ingenuity and industry of his wife, as also upon the uncommon musical talents of his child, who had scarcely attained her ninth year. The united efforts of each might, with the assistance of a generous public, have afforded them a tolerable support ; but, alas ! he had been persecuted for payment by an unrelenting landlord. The heart, wdth all its warm and natural emotions, accompa- nying every word he uttered, bedew ed his lids with tears, which, when he ceased to speak, overflowed, falling in torrents from his eyes. Such were the prisoners associated with De Brooke, and such w as the scene presented for his contemplation, W'hilst awaiting the return of his friend. The night closed in ; another day elapsed, and still he appeared not; a delay like this, it may be well conceived, failed not to add fresh aggra- vation to his reflections. Forced to abandon his w^ife and children, to what might they not be ex- posed, lefl to the mercy of unfeeling creditors ! Thus was he ruminating, when sounds ^^'ithout indistinctly met his ear; the door w'as suddenly opened, and though the object presented was not the one expected, yet it was not the less welcome to his view ; it was Robert, his trustworthy negro, so DUTY AND INCLINATION. 193 faithful in his attendance upon him, and the more so in this present sad vicissitude. ^^ What of your mistress?^^ exclaimed De Brooke, tremblingly impatient ; " is all well ?^^ ^^ Yes, Sir, my missus is not ill, tank God ; and de shildren be quite hearty, bless deir little souls ; but,^^ presenting a letter, '' dis will tell you all you wish to know/^ De Brooke snatched it from his hand, and has- tily ran over its contents. It was dated from Kennington, where, with satisfaction, he found his wife had now taken up her residence. The tenderness in %<-hich her language was dictated conveyed to him a soothing balm; her regrets seemed principally to arise from his protracted absence ; he thence perceived that Mr. Philimore, in conformity with his request, had kept from her view those circumstances, the knowledge of which could tend, without answering any useful purpose, but to irritate her grief and add activity to her .ap- prehensions. Whilst De Brooke was perusing the billet, Ro- bert, who, not from prying curiosity, but from honest fidelity, made his master's concerns his own, stood transfixed, his eyes riveted upon his countenance, till he started from his position, on VOL. I. K 194 DUTY AXD INCLINATION. the question being put to him, whether he could give any information relative to Mr. Philimore, or the motives which detained him so long absent. " He has not forgot you, my dear massa ; me heard him say he has been about your affairs more dan once, and he has been very goot to my missus and de shildren in conducting dem to Kennington ; and me tink he has been sometimes at the auction of your tings, and he did wat he could to raise de value of some tings, by bidding himself, or dey would have been knocked down at no price/^ He then turned to cast a look of inquiry towards the other inmates of the chamber, but finding them in close conversation, bending over a three-legged table, Robert, lowering his voice, muttered, "Alaclv, who would have tought it, dat dose fine paintings dat cost massa so much, and took many a hundred out of his pocket, should fall into de hands of others for less dan half deir value ? — and your favourite picture, Sir, de view of Lisbon.*' ^^ What of that, Robert, and is that gone for nothing ?'' ^^ Yes, goot massa, you will never cast eye upon it again, nor me neider ; 1 used to lub to see de spot where we lived, enjoying many a happy day, Alack ! who would have tought it ?" DUTY AND INCLINATION. 195 " But those Italian paintings^ Robert, those beau- tiful landscapes, and the Venus, do you knov/ for liow much they were sold ?'^ " Dey were knocked down for not more dan sixty pounds de tree." ^^ For which I gave three hundred !" exclaimed De Brooke. ^' Tink no more of it, massa, tink no more of it," said the honest black, wiping a tear from his eye ; ^' preserb your health, let what will happen ; shut up in dis cold chamber, 'tis enough to gib you an ague fit." " Repeat not these expressions to my wife, Robert ; tell her I am well, and keep your kind sympathies to yourself. My father — has there been any message from him ?" '' None, Sir." ^^ It is well ; go, my good fellow ; return to your mistress. I need not commend her to your vigi- lance; I know your worth and hitheno faithful services, which are the best warrant for those of the future." " As long as me hab any blood in my veins, me would stand by your youngest shild." ^* I doubt it not, my honest friend," waving his hand ; ^^ let me see you again tomorrow." Thus did matters rest, and De Brooke was still left K 2 196 DUTY AND INCLIXATIOX. to count the tedious hours in his gloomy confine- ment. One of his companions had met with a better fate ; the Baronet^ though not Hberated, had suc- ceeded in obtaining an apartment to himself. The Marquis had become his exclusive companion, and they were seated together, mutually commiserating their untoward destiny, when the door being open- ed, the jailer said, with a significant nod, that there were persons without who demanded an instant admittance to the prisoner Colonel De Brooke. Sensations indescribable overwhelmed him ; they were no, other than his wife and chil- dren who met his fond, his transported gaze, and w ho were alternately clasped in wild ecstasy to his bosom ; presenting a scene to the humane eye of the Marquis that filled him "sdth the warmest sympathy, forgetting his OAvn griefs in the part he took in those before him. Upon entering that small chamber, an icy chill had pervaded the frame of Mrs. De Brooke ; she led by the hand her eldest child, the young Aubrey, then about seven years of -age ; her little daughters, Oriana and Rosilia, were carried in the arms of Robert. Scared at the dismal objects around her, the youngest uttered cries of fear, till soothed by the caress of her father. Oriana also hung affrighted upon the neck of her sable supporter. Less sensible to the gloom around DUTY AND INCLINATION. 197 hivn, the little Aubrey seemed only affected by the sadness preponderating over the features of his unhappy parents. The representation made to his mother by Mr. Philimore had been so much softened as to bear but little analogy to what she then witnessed; overcome by the afflicting im- pressions of the scene that suiTounded her, faint and feeble, she sunk upon the shoulder of her husband, who exerted every effort in his power to calm and soothe her. Afler half an hour had thus passed, Mr. Phih- more, so long and anxiously expected, suddenly made liis appearance. Unprepared for the sight of Mrs. De Brooke, he hesitated ere he spoke, till at length, in answer to the inquiring looks he re- ceived, with deep concern he expressed the defeat he had met ^\*ith, respecting an immediate grant of a private chamber conceded to the petition of his friend. ^* How dreadful ?' exclaimed Mrs. De Brooke. The importunate cries of her younger children prevented her further utterance ; and their father, aroused fi'om his painful reverie, begged of their mother to return with them to their lodgings. Rising to embrace her, he conjured her to be com- forted, as he did not yet despair but that he should 198 DUTY AND INCLINATION. finally effect his release^ having equal right to the clemency exercised towards persons in his situation as others. But too well aware of the truth of what he said^ fi'om her own experience, Mrs. De Brooke endeavoured to tear herself from his embraces^ who again, with a look of unutterable anguish, pressing her to his heart, and making a motion to Mr. Phihmore, consigned her to his care. His hope, his pride, his darling boy, whom he looked upon as the rescue of his name from obli- vion, still clung about his knees ; raising him in his arms, he took an affectionate farewell of him, as also of his little sisters, borne away in the arms of Robert. The door closed; but ere the harsh sound of the latch was heard in turning, '• Papa, papa ; oh my papa ?' mournfully ailiculated by his son, fell upon his ear. Those melting tones un- manned him, sending from his overcharged heart those bitter sighs which before he had endeavoured to stifle. Supported by Mr. Philimore, mth trembhng feet, Mrs. De Brooke reached the hackney-coach in waiting, that bore her from her husband, her only stay, protector, and staff, in whom every kindred centred, left as she had been a destitute and unfriended orphan ! Alas ! she httle dreamt DUTY AND INCLINATION. 199 of the still greater anguish, the storm ready to break over her head^ the volcano to burst from beneath her feet. On the third day after the visit made to De Brooke by his wife, one person only appeared to interiTipt the sameness of his prison, but whose visit was not to him. A stranger advancing, ac- costed the Marquis in the familiar accents of a friend. ^^ I have no doubt," said he, ^^ my dear Mai'quis, that every day passed here in this vile place has seemed to you an age, but however you may have languished, I have now to announce to you that you are free ; your liberation has been eifected, and you have therefore only to foUow me, the coach being in waiting to conduct us away. On your road home, I shall tell you how this good fortune has been brought about : your friends have been active in your service, and have all contri- buted to bail you ; come, therefore, and let us be- gone hence ;" so saying, he hastily took him by the arm, and began to lead him along. - Joy of heart then resumed its native ascendancy over the Marquis's irregular but pleasing features ; nevertheless, turning a look of kind commiseration upon De Brooke, and stepping nimbly towards him, he made him an offer of his ser\aces, directing at the same time his hand to his heart in token of 200 DUTY AND INCLINATION, his perfect sincerity. With a smile of satisfaction at seeing his fellow-prisoner liberated^ De Brooke heartily congratulated him on his good fortune, and thanked him for his obliging proposal. The Marquis then bowed^ and left him mth that ceremonious elegance of his country^ \yhich, while it too often supplies the place of solid worth, is itself rarely superseded even by conscious goodness of intention^ much less gives place to vulgar familiarity. Thus while his friend the Marquis was conducted to the fond embraces of his wife and child^ De Brooke remained a gloomy inhabitant of the Bench, DUTY AND INCLINATION. 201 CHAPTER XIV. " Woman, the world's appointed light, Has skirted ev'ry shade with white ; Has stood for imitation high, To ev'ry heart and ev'ry eye ; From ancient deeds of fair renown, Has brought ber bright memorials down." Moore's Fables. The following day^ after the release of the Mar- quis, glowing with humanity and the love of doing an act of kindness to a fellow-creature, the first use he made of his recovered freedom was to employ it in the service of his late comrade in bondage, the unhappy De Brooke. Though a foreigner in the countr}'^, and but little acquainted with its laws and customs, and still less disposed, from the na- tural amenity of his temper, to interfere in what might not regard him, yet, from his courteous and affable demeanour, he never failed to make a fa- vourable impression, and to gain a ready hearing to his cause. This was exemplified in the present case. Mr. Philimore had made his appeal to the Mar- shal at a time when his mind was under the in- K 5 202 DUTY AND INCLINATION. fluence of prejudice imbibed through the insinua- tions of Mr. Arden. But when the Marquis ap- phed^ being less compromised in the affair^ he was inclined to listen with due attention to his request^ set forth in a point of view so interesting and touch- ing. For which reason, what had been_, under pos- sibly some feigned pretence, so recently denied to a native, was spontaneously granted to a foreigner. Pleased with his success, and having been favoured with the address of Mrs. De Brooke, he lost no time in communicating to her the welcome tidings, in order that she might be enabled to transmit them to her husband. He then left her, overwhelmed with lier thanks ; rewarded also with that inward joy wliich never fails to accompany a humane and beneiicent action. Informed of the circumstance, Mr. Philimore set off, in the first instance, with Robert for the Bench, there to engage an apartment as commodious as a prison would admit of; in which succeeding to his satisfaction, he left Robert to make the necessary arrangements for the reception of his master. Mr. Philimore next proceeded to De Brooke, who was endming a tedious interval of despondence and fearful anticipation of perhaps other prisoners less congenial than those who had quitted him being admitted to occupy the vacant mattresses they had DUTY AND INCLINATION. 203 left, and on which unrestrained he sometimes flung himself, uttering his complaints aloud. The voice of Mr. Philimore, as the harbinger of better news, gave fresh energy and assurance to his feel- ings. " A private chamber has been obtained for you," , " ^Tis a boon, then," interrupted the other, '• that, so long delayed, seems due to the same ca- price or whim that before denied it me." ^•' No matter ; let us profit by it, and depart hence," continued Mr. Philimore. ^' But first I must tell you, ' tis to the interposi- tion of your late friend, the Marquis, that you owe this better fortune; his influence, it seems, was more persuasive than mine. Indeed, I have al- ways observed, be it said to the honour of Bri- tain, that the petitions or claims of a stranger are seldom neglected by her, and even more attended to than those who own her for their mother soil." Accompanied by his friend, De Brooke pro- ceeded to take possession of his new apartment. Robert was already in waiting. Mr. Philimore then took his leave. Alone with Robert, he be- gan to give utterance to his reflections : ^^ And this, then," said he, "is to be my future dwell- ing!" with a sia'h, called forth not on account of 204 DUTY AND INCLINATION". his own personal privations^ but fi'om the idea it involved of separation from his wdfe. "Ah^ massa/^ answered the faithful ser\^ant, sighing in his turn, ^^ me be sorry it is no better ; me wish dere had been at least a closet alongside, where me could have slept, dat dose two hea-vy ar- ticles of fui'niture might not have encumbered you here/^ pointing to the two chest beds the room contained. ^^ No matter/^ said De Brooke ; ^^ one of them, doubtless, has been designed to serve as a ward- robe.^^ " Begging your honour's pardon, you mistake, dey both are press beds,^^ at the same time un- folding them to view, ^^ and have been placed here by my missus^ orders ; for, w it your permission, she has tought it proper me should stay with you, seeing me am but little use to her at Kennington, having both de missus and de maid of de house to attend her. ^ Go,' said she, ^ Robert, go to your massa, watch ober him, be eber attentive to his wants ; I shall be better satisfied by your so doing dan remaining here wit me.^ Me told her she tought right.'' " Think you so, Robert, truly,'' said De Brooke, interrupting him, ^'^ it will give your mistress plea- sure as well as yourself my keeping you here?" DUTY AND INCLINATION. 205 " Me know it/^ exclaimed he^ brightening as he spoke. ^^ Well, then, you shall stay : your presence will cheer me ; and you shall go once a day to Ken- nington, either to escort your mistress here, or to bring me back accounts of her.^^ Having thus settled the point, De Brooke al- lowed himself to look to the future with less dis- may ; hope, seldom long a stranger to his bosom, began to resume its seat. His eye glanced around his chamber ; it was confined in space, but it was not destitute of comfort. The walls were clean, and fi'ee from damp : on each side of a small grate were two recesses, containing closets ; the one might serve for his linen, the other for his simple fare. In the two further corners stood the two chest beds, which, when opened, transformed his little parlour into the accommodation of a bed-room : half a dozen wicker chairs and a table composed the rest of his furniture. His window overlooked the court destined for the use of the prisoners, and exactly faced that ponderous portal constantly opening and shutting to give entrance, as new victims were added to that gloomy mansion ; the thick and lofty walls surrounding it spiked at their top, and bidding defiance to escape. Nevertheless, even this restraint^ so ignominious and irksome to 206 DUTY AND INCLINATION. many there immured^ they sought to mitigate by occasionally indulging in sports^ such as the place afforded, either in the healthful exercise of ball or rackets, or in taking their daily walk, slowly mea- suring the space they trod, from one end of its length to the other. In drawing a comparison between the busy scene before him and the dark back chamber he had quitted, De Brooke resigned himself with a better grace to his imprisonment tlian but a short period before he thought was possible. Blessed by the sight sometimes of his Angelina and chil- dren, he might steal a moment from languor ; he might even quaff at the godly fountain of resigna- tion; and thence, until some arrangement could be made in his affairs, enjoy a comparative happi- ness. With such reflections the night closed in ; he betook himself to rest, and awaked in the morn- ing refreshed by his slumbers. The sun penetrating a narrow crevice of his shutter, darted its ardent beams across him ; ani- mated by the view, he hastened to arise. Robert had already done so an hour or t^Vo before : fear- ful of shortening the repose of his master, so es- sential he well knew to support him under his sorrows, he had performed with the greatest quiet- ness, yet exactitude, all things necessary for his DUTY AND INCLINATION. 207 accommodation. De Brooke^ therefore^ had no sooner adjusted himself in his moming^s attire^ than he found his table comfortably spread for his breakfast ; and so provident had been his worthy blacky that he had even obtained for his perusal the last Gazette. Alas^ poor Robert ! how much did he lament having done so^ upon perceiving his master turn suddenly pale ! A paragi-aph had met his eye^ that gave to his heart an impulsive throb ; the case might not allude to him^ yet from simi- larity of circumstances he could not forbear in some manner applying it to himself. The passage ran as follows : ^^ A protest is shortly about to be entered upon^ having for its object to annul a mar- riage^ in fashionable life^, on the score of its ille- gality, the parties being minoi^ at the time of its solemnization.^^ Could it be possible his father was meditating such a blow, a persecution so horrid and barba- rous ! " Impossible V' ejaculated he : suspended between conflicting opinions, he let the paper drop from his hands. Robert feared to speak, but marked in silent ©oncern his mastei^'s perturbation. Moving slowly round, he took the paper up; when De Brooke, searching for it, seized it from his hand, in order to read again the fatal para- 208 DUTY AND INCLINATION. graphs and attentively musing over the passage, he began to feel reassured. Though but httle acquainted ^vith the law as regarding cases to be brought under the cogni- zance of the court of spiritual jurisdiction, yet he conceived, from having lived with his wife after both had become of age, such a process as the one then pending must be useless, and regard a more recent case than his. ^' My fears have deceived me," thought he ; " my nei'ves, in a state of irritabiUty, magnify and readily seize upon sub- jects of alarm, arising, doubtless, out of my lonely and melancholy cogitations of late. I will shake it from me, and think no more of it. At all events, I can beg my friend PhiHmore to be on the look- out, and gain every information on the subject ; and should it — but which, I think, it cannot, — re- gard myself, every arrangement may be made con- ducive towards effecting without delay a repetition of the marriage solemnity." Impressed with this more favourable view of' the subject, he turned with a look of complacency towards Robert, who, having the satisfaction of seeing peace again irradiate the brow of his beloved master, now proposed calling upon his mistress, which words reverberating with magical influence DUTY AND IXCLIXATIOX. 209 in the ear of De Brooke^ the proposition was eagerly responded to, and Robert was dispatched with orders to conduct her and his children im- mediately to him. Left during the interval to his own reflections, — " My golden hours of happiness, alas ?' thought he, " how swiftly have they fled !" But still, if possessed of an unrepining spirit, and if blessed with a com- petency, he hoped they might not be quite ex- hausted; intervals of happiness might still exist for him, drawing their source from the ties of hus- band and father, — ties of affection which rendered life so valuable to him ; his misfortunes, far from giving counterpoise, contributing to augment them ; if the torch that formerly illumined his path to the hymeneal altar burnt less vivid, it then emitted a beam more steady. Angelina was the light of his soul ! and he awaited the sound of her footsteps with an impatience that caused every minute to seem an age. Transfixed to the window, his eye rested upon the huge gates opposite, every mo- ment expecting his beloved ^^-ife. She came, the little Aubrey running by her side ; his younger chilcken, as before, were borne in the arms of Robert, who strided foremost in order to point the way. Seizing his hat, De Brooke descended to meet them. Their mutual 210 DUTY AND INCLINATION'. greetings were exchanged with those joyous emo- tions, of which conscious love is sensible when no longer mourning over the tediousness of absence. The little Aubrey, keenly susceptible of the cheer- ing influence of kindly affections, playfully skipped before, whilst his sisters, smiling upon their father, extended to him their innocent arms; catching them alternately in his, he proceeded to lead his wife up the narrow stone staircase that lay before them. Breathless with the fatigue of mounting, Mrs. De Brooke was obliged to repose at each long landing-place terminating the respective stairs^ leadmg to the various chambers occupied by the prisoners. After another painful and wearisome ascent, they reached at last the gallery leading to the apartment of De Brooke, who, to give it a less comfortless appearance, by the good management of Robert, had provided a table neatly spread with refreshments, of a sort gratifying to the \aew of his children, and of which they readily partook. After an interval given to recover herself, and to contemplate the objects around her, though not without a sigh, Mrs. De Brooke expressed her satisfaction at the present improvement in the ac- commodation, the badness of which had in the first instance caused so great a shock to her feel- ings. Cheered by their repast, and pleased with DUTY AND INCLINATION. 211 the presence of their father^ while happily ignorant of the cause that of late had rendered that presence so rare, the elder children indulged in their usual gambols, whilst the younger on her mother's lap lavished her infantine caresses. A long-lost happi- ness was recovered to De Brooke ; it came however embittered by the frequent recurrence that it would be but short ; that presently, forlorn and forsaken, those beloved objects would be shut from his sight. His watch, that telltale of time, counted the hours as they fled. Mrs. De Brooke essayed to chase the mists of disquietude gathering around his brow. Every sudden motion of his frame bespoke the nervous agitation of his system. She longed to break silence, to administer a balm to his feelings, but the moment was not yet at hand. She had a plan, but she wished to suspend its divulgement until the return of Robert, to whose sagacity and circumspection she looked for its accomphshment. In anxious expectation, the minutes, too rapid for De Brooke, crept on but slowly '^ith her. She assumed, however, com- posure ; and to divert her husband's attention du- ring the interval, related some circumstances and anecdotes that had come Avithin her obsen^ation during the period of his removal from her, dwell- 212 DUTY AND INCLINATION'* ing wdth energy" on the kind friendship she had met with from Mrs. PhiHmore. Whilst thus en- gaged^ the auspicious moment at length arrived: Robert^ breathless^ as if big with some unlooked- for agreeable intelligence, flung open the door, his sable features beaming with honest exultation : he pointed to an apartment opposite, divided but by a narrow corridor. "What is it you mean, my good fellow ?^^ said T>e Brooke rising and moving towards the door, followed by his wife : " explain yourself/^ conti- nued he, entering the room, Avhere Robert stood to receive him : " this is a snug apartment.^' " Me mean, massa, dat it be yours ; in obeying de wishes of missus, me hab been lucky, veiy lucky, to get it: to be sure, not witout paying large price to get de late o^\"ner out of it. But he be better off, he be put below stairs ; and dis vnll answer your purpose well, very well; we can all lib here very comfortable togeder.^^ Interrupting the volubihty of Robert, De Brooke turned to his wdfe, who replied, by entreating him to give her a patient hearing \\dth regard to the pro- posal she was about makmg him. With this, seat- ing themselves to indulge in a tete-a-tete conver- sation, Robert, gay as a lark soaring to chant its DUTY AND IXCLIXATION*. 213 matin^ catching Rosilia, held out to him by her mother, danced and frohcked with the other chil- dren in the adjoining apartment. Mrs. De Brooke then introduced her discourse by making a brief but forcible representation of the expensiveness attached to their pursuing a se- parate establishment; that having made herself, through Robert, acquainted ^^ith the particulars relative to the manner in which he was accommo- dated, she concluded thence, that, by the conveni- ence of an additional chamber, many difficulties being obviated, they might hve together; when, in no longer submitting to the pain of absence, they would also derive, what in their situation was of such essential importance, the oeconomizing from his araiy allowance, which in its accumulations could be devoted to the payment and satisfaction of his creditors, and thus shorten the period that placed him under the restraint of the law. Pre- pared as she was to discuss a point so interesting to her feehngs, her mien became animated, her expressions eloquent. De Brooke as she spoke contemplated her with a mixt feehng of wonder and admiration. To part from that beloved object, voluntarily to renounce the charms of her constant society, was a priva- tion great indeed ; but, on the other hand, to see 214 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. her become the companion of his prison^s sorrows, — it was soul-harrowing to think of. If his person was in bondage, hers was free : with a mournful, yet passionate energy, therefore, he enforced the necessity of her returning to her lodgings ; nothing could be more appropriate than they were to her health and comfort : why seek to leave them, and abandon the infinite resources, the congenial friend- ship offered her by Mr. and Mrs. Phihmore, — why divest herself of such advantages to take up her abode with him, and limit herself to at best two small dismal chambers ? " It cannot be, my An- gelina ; but may a thousand blessings shower upon you for the charitable suggestion !^^ "I have come with the determination to stay with you,^^ returned she, in tones of melting pa- thos ; ^^ and judge not of me so iU, as to think I can be so selfish as to admit of all you would say to induce me to leave you.^^ ^^ It cannot be,'^ rejoined De Brooke ; ^^ devoid of every feehng of humanity I should be to suflfer it ; the extreme youth of our. children, demanding as they naturally do the care of a female attendant, to give them your undivided attention, — it is im- possible ! I could not see you perform the com- mon ofiices of a nurse, and see withal you and them linger out your days, weeks, perhaps months, DUTY AND IXCLIXATIOX. 215 in this soiTy habitation; more than essential tomy wants is the use of these tv/o rooms^but not for your more urgent ones, deser\dng of every comfort." ^^And are not your sorrows mine?" inteiTupted she. ^^ Yes, in heart and sympathy ; but that does not imply that you are to be a personal sharer in them : the scenes of a prison are not for you. Go, my dearest; accompanied by your offspring, their innocent caresses wiU console you in my absence." He paused, in expectation of her reply; she spoke not ; the suspense pained him : her coun- tenance was sad, yet thoughtful ; it appeared, in its heavenly illumination, as if some exalted senti- ment had taken possession of her spirit, too great for utterance. Fain at that moment would De Brooke have acceded to all she wished; yet the more pov^erful idea of being the unhappy cause of involving her in those privations, occasioned by the ruin he had himself brought upon her, checked his speech ; and after a distressing lapse of silence on either side, he added, in a sort of hurried agita,- tion, denoting the inward conflict he sustained: " Go, my Angelina, for our dear childi'en^s sakes, for those dear pledges of our mutual affection; go quickly, linger not, and let us save each other the miseiy of renewing these scenes." 218 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. ^ CHAPTER XV. " What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes, No secret fraud, no open rapine stains?" Having attained the object of her wishes^ Mrs. De Brooke lost no time in making every arrange- ment in her power towards rendering her new abode as convenient as its circumscribed Hmits would admit. The chamber which they had taken was soon in a condition to be occupied, even by its present inhabitants, without absolute disgust to its mistress, — from relative considerations more tolerable and delectable than a royal abode where home was wanting. The apartment overlooking the court being de- stined for a sitting-room, its bedroom furniture was presently conveyed to the other, which, with the addition of a few more necessary articles, procured through the activity of Robert, soon gave to the chamber an appearance of positive comfort. The other in like manner underwent a similar change ; the boarded table and wicker chairs were replaced by a Pembroke and neat japan elbow ones, and a DUTY AND INCLINATION. 219 small mirror was suspended over the clilmney- piece : but what conduced more to elate the mind of De Brooke, was the choice collection of myi'tlcs and geraniums, reared by the hand of his wife, suddenly transplanted from Kennington, and now decorating his window, supported there by a little verandah, tastefully, through the ingenuity of his wife's directions, erected by Robert; whilst two birds, the favourites of his children, were hung in brass-wire cages on either side. A metamoiphosis so magical and attractive en- tranced De Brooke, and in a species of delusion, peace and serenity smiling around, he forgot he was the inhabitant of a prison, and that his person was enthralled within its ignoble and narrow confines. The reality of things, however, was not long in forcing itself back upon his thoughts ; the heavenly affections daily manifested before him opened a more true and permanent source of alleviation. The strength of mind of his wife, her domestic regulations, every plan she formed, however apparently trifhng, gave him subject of delightful contemplation. No deficiency was ob- servable ; she seemed to rise above and disregard the adventitious circumstances of fate : what might have been termed privation by others, was nobly sustained by her, as witnessed in the course of L 2 213 DUTY AND INCLINATION. M CHAPTER XV. " What day so sacred, which no guilt profanes, No secret fraud, no open rapine stains?" Having attained the object of her wishes, Mrs. De Brooke lost no time in making every arrange- ment in her power towards rendering her new abode as convenient as its circumscribed limits would admit. The chamber which they had taken was soon in a condition to be occupied, even by its present inhabitants, without absolute disgust to its mistress, — from relative considerations more tolerable and delectable than a royal abode where home was wanting. The apartment overlooking the court being de- stined for a sitting-room, its bedroom furniture was presently conveyed to the other, which, with the addition of a few more necessary articles, procured through the activity of Robert, soon gave to the' chamber an appearance of positive comfort. The other in like manner underwent a similar change ; the boarded table and wicker chairs were replaced by a Pembroke and neat japan elbow ones, and a DUTY AND INCLINATION. 219 small mirror was suspended over the chimney- piece : but what conduced more to elate the mind of De Brooke^ was the choice collection of myi'tlcs and geraniums^ reared by the hand of his wife, suddenly transplanted from Kennington, and now- decorating his window, supported there by a little verandah, tastefully, through the ingenuity of his wife^s directions, erected by Robert; whilst two birds, the favourites of his children, were hung in brass-wire cages on either side. A metamorphosis so magical and attractive en- tranced De Brooke, and in a species of delusion, peace and serenity smiling around, he forgot he was the inhabitant of a prison, and that his person was enthralled within its ignoble and narrow confines. The reality of things, however, was not long in forcing itself back upon his thoughts ; the heavenly affections daily manifested before him opened a more true and permanent source of alleviation. The strength of mind of his wife, her domestic regulations, every plan she formed, however apparently trifhng, gave him subject of delightful contemplation. No deficiency was ob- servable ; she seemed to rise above and disregard the adventitious chcumstances of fate : what might have been termed privation by others, was nobly sustained by her, as witnessed in the course of L 2 220 UtTTY AND INCLINATIOX. each day^s actions. And many \Yere those that re- volved over their heads affording but the variety of good Mr. and Mrs. Phihmore^s visits to chequer them. Sometimes, for the benefit of air and exercise, they walked in the court overlooked by their win- dow; sometimes De Brooke, to vary and amuse the interval whilst his wife was employed at her needle, read to her, till obliged to desist, in- terrupted by the noisy mirth of their little ones. '^ Happy children V^ exclaimed he ; '' with hearts elastic ye bound to the touch of joy in every shape, unmindful of your parents' sighs as they reflect upon your future destiny ! ^' Afler a due lapse of time, De Brooke became acquainted with several who, like himself, were unhappily doomed to bear the yoke of imprison- ment. Count de BeUemare was one of those French noblemen, who, obliged to fly his country, and exiled thence, his person was held in deten- tion within the walls of the Bench; but hght, thoughtless and volatile, he seemed not to regard his misfortune as one requiring much depth of philosophy for its endurance. He was one of those who sometimes called to pass away an hour or two in the apartment of Colonel De Brooke. His person was handsome, his manners were po- DUTY A\D INCLINATION. 221 lished ; and as he had passed much of his time at the French court, his conversation was witty and ao;reeable, such as rendered his company an ac- quisition. Sir Henry Hodson also became a very frequent visitor at the door of De Brooke, and his gentle tap never failed to give notice of who was coming; quiet and unassuming in his de- meanour, he took his seat ; though fearful of ob- truding, yet always welcome. Having passed through a variety of chequered scenes in life, his discourse was interspersed by pleasing anecdote, which beguiled attention during the time he in- dulged his friends with his society. Two or three others also, of an address infinitely above the common, men of sense and erudition, aiforded the De Brookes the pleasure of their neighbourly calls. However such guests might diversify the pur- suits of each day, in another point of \iew they might be found unprofitable, as injurious to the in- terests of their purse. Comparatively to those who thus courted their acquaintance, the De Brookes enjoyed easy circumstances ; partners in afiiic- tion, in one common calamity, a nearer sympathy was induced than is found to exist between slight intimates. Glov> ing with kind fellow-feeling, De 222 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Brooke could never turn aside from the voice of sorrow with an unpitying heart. Thus^ too often forgetful of his own and his family^s interests^ he acceded to the requests made to him for the loan of money, and yielded with unsuspecting con- fidence to the promises made of return. The Baronet was one of those who, from his greater speciousness of humility and candour, had drawn upon him the most largely. Still, however, the so- ciety of those well-informed men, who made their visits mostly of an evening, was some compensa- tion, and gave an agreeable close to the day. Mrs. De Brooke had frequent intervals per- mitted her for indulging in the delight of social intercourse with her early and attached friend Mrs. Philimore; but, if precluded from a more general acquaintance with her own sex, the intel- lectual charm derived from the other caused her to be the less sensible of the privation. Time passed with so little even of casual inter- ruption, that, apparently forgotten by his father, his sister, and the world, fallen into complete oblivion, and Hving for his family alone, De Brooke seemed as if he had tasted of the precious Ne- penthe, so seldom did reflection, as formerly, lead him to the contemplation of his miseries. When DUTY AND INCLINATION. 223 man, however, appears the most secure from dan- ger, and the soul in its soft abandonment resigns itself to the stillness of repose ; then suddenly, as clouds gather in the horizon, darken to gloom, nor lighten without the flash of the angry thunder- bolt ; so some fatal calamity, breaking forth in its strength, falls the heavier, desolating the heart, in proportion as, though not unforeseen in its ap- proach, its effect is instantaneous. Mrs. De Brooke was sometimes in the habit of absenting herself for a few hours in the forenoon, accompanied by Robert and her son Aubrey. Thus, one morning, in leaving her husband, she gave her daughters in charge to him. Scarcely was she gone, and De Brooke, in tender concern to her injunctions, was w^atching over his children, than he w as interrupted by a visit from the Ba- ronet. Though somewhat unprepared for his calling at so early an hour, yet he was not the less welcome. Leaving his little girls in play with each other, he stepped with him into the opposite chamber, where, as soon as seated, the Baronet entered upon the business which had brought him. With looks of consternation, and every degree of plausibility accompanying his words, he spoke of an immediate and pressing necessity, much to the distress of De Brooke, begging for the loan of 224 DUTY AND INCLINATION. a certain sum. To have made the offer of a trifling amount^ De Brooke would have felt ashamed, and as to one beyond such, he felt would be acting with injustice to his family. Disconcerted by a repetition of these demands, he had nothing for it but to combat with the natural philanthropy of his disposition, and give a decided refusal ; un- prepared for which, and supposing De Brooke not deficient in the means of obliging him, he again preferred his suit, with a pathetic detail, and solemn promise of a speedy return. The generous nature of De Brooke, ever ready to lend assistance to the wants of others, was be- ginning to yield, when, just at that moment, piercing shrieks met his ear, the sounds being those that burst from affrighted children, proceed- ing from the opposite chamber, into which he precipitately rushed; the door was ajar, and within a fearful bull-dog caught his eye. His children ! where were his children ? He stood as one petri- fied, when a closet-door opening suddenly, relieved him from his anguish ; he beheld the dear inno- cents themselves. Scared at the sight of the fierce intruder, they had run with one accord, and, locked in each other's arms, had sheltered them- selves, till, in gaining courage, they ventured to peep from the covert inclosing them in darkness. DUTY AXD IXCLIXATIOX. 225 Upon seeing his little ones in safety, De Brooke was about securing the door against a further entrance of the terrific animal, causing so great a panic, \yhen Count de Bellemare, who occupied an apartment on the story beneath, leisurely mounting the staircase, in a loose robe-de-chambre and slippers, smiling and bowing to De Brooke with his usual courteousness, told him he was come in search of his dog, who, at the call and well- known voice of his master, crept submissively to his feet. Not in humour to encounter one so vi- vacious as the Count, De Brooke preserved silence : having exchanged salutations, he pointed to the floor, besmeared as it was with blood by the savage dog. With an air half risible, half serious, the Count began to relate his story, till somew^hat awed by the indignant glances of his hearer. '^ I beg ten tousand pardons," said he, ^^ and am very sorry for de circumstance, which arose from an unfortunate hazard dat could not have been foreseen ; dis honest fellow and myself," patting his dog, " were indulging in our usual sport — " " Sport !" exclaimed De Brooke with a look of incredulity. '^^ Yes, certainly, sport," returned the Count ; '' excellent sport ; man is fond of de chase, and fur L 5 226 DUTY AND INCLINATION. de privation of which in dis circumscribed dwell- ing, I create a substitute ; I take a cat, I shut it up in a dark closet, widout food, till it become wild ; I den give de creature Hberty, and set my dog, dis noble bull-dog here, loose upon it ; ren- dered de more ferocious from abstinence, it tirsts for its prey ; dey have togeder a rare battle ! de cat, wit flaming eyes, springing, clinging, leaping to de walls, even to de ceiling ; till, exhausted by her unnatural efforts, she falls nearly into de jaws of de dog ; again she gaders strength, but, closely pur- sued by her enemy, falls at last, his easy victim. Somebody entering my apartment during de height of dis my entertainment, de cat, profiting by de moment, took her flight, and was pursued, it ap- pears, even to your chamber ; encore je demande mille graces for having caused alarm to yourself or de children ;" saying which, and politely bowing, he descended to his own apartment, leaving upon the mind of De Brooke lasting impressions against him of contempt and disgust. The event in itself, however revolting, would from its insignificance, his children having been in no ways affected than by a temporary fright, have been speedily obhterated, had it not been connected mth another of the utmost and last im- portance, bearing with it in its train and superin- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 22? duced consequences the most grievous and fatal evils. Left to himself, he embraced his precious little daughters, rejoicing to think their mother had not been a witness to what had given even to himself so great an alarm. Taking them each by the hand, he returned to the sitting-room, where he had left the Baronet. The demand he had made upon his purse re- tiu-ned to his memory, but he was no longer l)resent. Previous to his visit, De Brooke had been making some arrangement of his papers in an ecritoire, which then lay open on a table before him ; he was about turning the key, but the Ba- ronet^s sad countenance haunting his imagination, with the charitable purpose of sending him a few bank-notes, he laid his hand upon a pocket-case, which inclosed the whole of his savings during the period he had inhabited the Bench, and which he had been enabled, through the strict oeconomy and fmgality of his wife, to amass, towards the liqui- dation in part of the sums he owed. But what unspeakable astonishment took possession of him, when he found the greater part was abstracted, some bills of small value alone remaining ! If ever philosophy was required by De Brooke, it was at that moment. Even the patient endur- 228 DUTY AND INCLINATION. ance of a stoic might have been overcome : with trembhng haste he proceeded to examine and un- fold every separate paper within every niche and corner of his desk^ till^ entirely stripped of its con- tents^ the search he had made left him in hopeless evidence of the fact. Raising his clasped hands and troubled looks^ he exclaimed aloud, " The money here deposited with my own hands, ^tis gone, and how ? robbed ! Good heavens 1 and by whom?^' Leaning his elbow on the table, and pressing his aching temples with his hands, he ruminated upon his unfortunate loss, his cruel and perverse destiny ; but the more he did so, the more confused became his ideas. The Baronet, his friend, a gentleman, a man of rank ; one with whom he had so familiarly associated ; — better to have presented an open w^eapon to his bosom, he might then have parried the blow, — than have acted in a manner so mean, hidden, and despicable. How should he seek redress ? he had no proofs to bring forward ; he had no witness to whom to ap- ply ; nor did he know the number of the notes he had lost. Revolting as were such suspicions to his feelings, he could not suppress them. " Robbed, robbed \" again exclaimed he. Robert, who had just arrived, supposing he had DUTY AND INCLINATION. 229 been called;, burst into the room;, sayings " Missus will be here presently ; she has sent me on before her/^ Starting from his sorrowful recumbent posture, De Brooke turned, and beheld Robert. Seared as was his heart at that moment towards the Ba- ronet, it expanded with more than usual warmth towards his faithful servant ; it had need to dis- burthen itself, and he thought also, that through the skill and address of Robert, some light might be thrown upon the affair, which without his help might be for ever involved in mystery. He con- sidered him also a sharer in his calamity, to whom he owed more than a year's wages, and still he should be obliged to postpone paying him, wrested from him as was now the power of doing so. Having first carefully bound Robert to secrecy, De Brooke hasted to reveal confidentially to him the great misfortune he had sustained in the loss of the money, which previous to the coming of the Baronet was still safe in his possession. The honest indignation of the black broke at intervals from his lips ; concise and few were his words, but of a nature to prove how deeply he felt the injury done his master. Anger and resentment in their most formidable aspect flamed from his eyes, which had the Baronet been present, might 230 DUTY AND INCLINATION. have shaken his every nerve. Even De Brooke^ struck by his appearance^ sought to subdue his violence, urging the absolute necessity, if they hoped to recover what was lost, of proceeding with caution and moderation. ^^ Leabe de affair to me, massa, and let me die, if me do not bring back wat you habe lost ! Did eber Robert vow, and not make his vow goot? But all shall be secret, fear not ; no more for de present. Here comes missus,^^ and he strode out of the chamber. The heart of De Brooke sensibly lightened by the part his sympathizing and attached servant took in his misfortune : collecting in a mass the scattered papers which lay before him, he pre- pared with tolerable composure to meet his wife. The long abstracted fits, however, into which he afterwards fell, might certainly have drawn upon him the observation of Mrs. De Brooke, had not her attention been partially called away as the evening closed in by a visit from the Count. He had called with the view of repeating his excuses to Mrs.De Brooke for the intrusion of his dog, which in the morning he had made to the Colonel. The latter, however, in addition to his personal disap- probation of the Counts levity, was not in a hu- mour to find his company any further agreeable. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 231 than thatj by his supporting a conversation with his wife, it drew her attention from himself, leaving him to the mercy of those reflections, which in spite of his endeavours to banish, nevertheless intruded. In passing flippantly from subject to subject, the Count again touched upon the entertainment he derived between the combat of the infuriated cat and his ferocious bull-dog. Whilst shudder- ing at the relation, the mind of Mrs. De Brooke was led to the event of the morning, as she had from time to time gathered it, partly from her hus- • band, and from the children themselves ; and which she could not but conclude was the cause of the nervous irritation from which her husband was apparently suffering. Interrupting the Count, she could not forbear expostulating with him on so cruel a sport. But, treating her arguments with jocularity, he defended himself with an ad- dress worthy of a better cause. No longer inclined to dispute, Mrs. De Brooke fell into that silence and reserve by which her husband was affected ; she saw in the Count no- thing that could please her, and wondered she had been before so blind to his demerits ; his gaiety appeared but trifling, his conversation insipid, and. 232 DUTY AND INCLINATION. in a word, himself contemptible; proving, that when the congenial sympathies are dissolved, the telescope of human judgment becomes reversed, and we see as through fresh optics. Perceiving a change so visible in the manner of Mrs. De Brooke, the Count would have departed, inwardly deriding what he termed narrow preju- dice confounding with criminal sports a harmless diversion. Dissembling his feelings, not wishing to take his leave abruptly, he spoke of other sub- jects ; ever fluent he was not at a loss ; and amongst his sudden transitions, " Dere,^^ ex- claimed he, " is a lucky fellow, — Sir Henry Hod- son — " De Brooke, who had sunk upon his chair, feign- ing sleep, started suddenly from his seat, fixing upon the Count an eye that would have penetrated his soul. " Echappey' continued the Count, ^^ escaped from prison, is now enjoying liberty at large. Happy man ! it was but dis morning dat I saw him de same woeful knight as usual, and dis afternoon il est libre ! Reserve, profond comme il etait, on n^aurait pas cru que son exit was so near." The hopes of De Brooke died ^^ithin him; secret DUTY AND INCLINATION. 233 torture racked his bosom^ under the supposition of so large an amount being irrecoverably lost to him. The Count rose to take his leave, and De Brooke retired to his pillow. 234 DUTY AND INCLINATION. CHAPTER XVI. " Lo, at the couch, where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps." De Brooke had indeed retired^ but not to rest^ nor did sleep that night convey its wonted balm to his wearied soul and wounded spirit. Like years to his anguished recollection, the hours dragged heavily along their unaccustomed burden^ unre- lieved even by a momentary oblivion of his mi- serable situation ; for though by fits and starts, as it were, by stolen glimpses into the land of forget- fuln,ess, his eyelids closed on the gloom, it was only to see the form of the liberated Baronet with one hand grasping his golden spoils, appear to tri- umph in his escape, and with the other pointing in derision to his hopeless victim, insult his captivity, and brave his vengeance. Awaking with a start, and recovering his con- sciousness, how inexplicable appeared the conduct of the Baronet ! By the commission of so base an action to expose his life to the scaffold, — could it possibly be so ? w^as it not som-C dream, some illu- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 235 sion of the sense ? Alas ! the dreadful reality re- turned with too strong conviction. But recently associates in the same prison^ and now himself without a prospect of release, a prisoner of despair, . — his cruel enemy had escaped alike the claims of his creditors and the calls of justice, carrying away with him every resource that he possessed, not essential only to his present exigencies, but also to the more important one, that of liquidating and lessening debts for which his person was held in durance. Sometimes, losing sight of his own personal suf- ferings and indignation against the Baronet, he was led to accuse himself of inhumanity in not having, in the first instance, acceded to his de- mand; perhaps a sum of comparatively small amount might have satisfied him. Desperate indeed must have been his situation, tempting him to a deed fraught with ignominy and danger to himself, and ruin to his fellow-prisoner and friend. Unsuspicious of any fresh cause for uneasiness, Mrs. De Brooke, awaking earlier than usual from the enjoyment of undisturbed repose of body and mind, was surprised to find her husband already risen. Unable to compose himself, he had stolen gently from her side, his eyes dim, and his coun- 236 DUTY AND INCLINATIOX. tenance dejected. Struck by a change so marked^ Mrs. De Brooke expressed surprise and alarm. " Nothing but the effects of a sleepless night/^ answered he : ^^ my head aches intolerably/^ raising his hand to his forehead ; " but do not be uneasy, I shall be better presently." Mrs. De Brooke^s fears, however, were not to be so soon relieved ; it was not common with him to pass a night such as he described. She hastened to rise, and to perform her usual morning^s avoca- tion, that of dressing her three children : ever with cheerfulness had she performed this necessary of- fice ; hke sweet music to her ears, the soil sounds of her children's endearing prattle amply compen- sating for the care she lavished upon them. But on the present occasion an anxiety op- pressed her ; that inexpressible charm was super- seded by inquietude; not elicited only on her husband's account, but also on that of her youngest child. The languor affecting her seemed to for- bode illness ; she ceased to amuse by her infant sports, or to be amused by those of her brother and sister. Sensibly moved by the change in the interesting child, Mrs. De Brooke left nothing untried that might in any way assuage or lessen her indisposition. The morning advancing, and DUTY AND INCLINATION. 237 her efforts proving fruitless, lifting the innocent sufferer in her arms, she bore her into their com- mon sleeping-room, laid her upon her own couch, and sitting beside her watched in silence the pro- gress of each alarming symptom ; the involuntary chill, quick breathing, and scarlet flush, gradually predominating over the healthful hues of blooming infancy. After an interval thus passed, Mrs. De Brooke returned to her husband, urging the necessity of the immediate attendance of a physician. " My dear,^^ returned he, ^^ your affection for the child leads you to magnify her illness. God for- bid I should oppose you in a feeling so just as that by which you are influenced, — love to your off- spring; but, supposing even that she is under the influence of fever, it may be but temporary.^' He paused to reflect awhile ; in calling for me- dical aid, physician^s fees, a long apothecaiy^^s bill, would be the natural and unavoidable result ; the extent he dreaded, deprived as he was of every resource. Severe were the pangs which probed him upon perceiving his wife anxiously attending his decision. "Let us wait until tomoiTow,^^ he continued; " drugs to a creature so young cannot but be per- 238 DUTY AND INCLINATIONi nicious, and perhaps sei've but to aggravate the S}Tnptoms and render her illness more alarming/^ Submitting to his better judgment, Mrs. De Brooke returned to resume her station by the side of her infant patient. Nothing could have arisen more untinielj, on more accounts than one, or have thrown a greater inconvenience upon them than this illness of their child. For confined as was De Brooke and his family for space, possessing but two small rooms, it was now necessary that their sleeping arrange- ments, at best incomm^odious, should be altered. In consequence the bed on which Mrs. De Brooke had hitherto placed her three children, was now destined to accommodate her husband. Finding himself better as the hour of repose arrived, he would not suffer the little Rosilia to be removed from the place she had occupied during the day ; preferring to throw himself beside the other two children than to take her from the side of her mother. But for his greater ease, Mrs. De Brooke disposed of Ori- ana differently, placing her at the foot of her own couch. With this arrangement she was better enabled to lend her assistance to the little invahd. Sunk into a state which might resemble sleep, a istate of languid inanition, there she lay ahke un- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 239 conscious of the alarm and disturbance she occa- sioned. The reflections of De Brooke, as on the preced- ing night, fell upon the Baronet, and the fresh information gathered from Robert. The honest African, who, ^\»ith his marked character of sobriety and civility had not found it difficult to insinuate himself with some of the jailers, had learnt, that early on the morning of the preceding day, pre- viously to the wrong inflicted on his master by the Baronet, a gentlewoman of apparently some con- dition, but in deep distress, had visited him in his room ; that having held a long conversation with him she departed, but soon returned with the pro- per securities for his enlargement, when they finally quitted the prison together. Such was the report derived from Robert, who, the next day, purposed extending his inquiries without the walls, amongst those who availed themselves of the privilege of-^ the Rules. Thus dubious and interrupted as were the sub- jects of De Brooke's thoughts, and equally so his slumbers, he frequently counted the lingering hours of darkness, whilst the little Aubrey lay by his side enjoying the sweet stillness of rest. Sometimes he beheld his wife, a pattern of maternal tender- ness, devoted to her suffering child, rise, throw a 240 DUTY AND INCLINATION. shawl about her^ and by the faint beams of a lamp, bending over the hearth-stone, fan the expiring embers, in order to warm some dilution to moisten the lips and assuage the thirst of the unconscious innocent. During her intervals of watchfulness and fa- tigue, Mrs. De Brooke, whilst elevating her soul in prayer, sometimes fell into a short repose. So passed the night, and the morning came without any visible amendment in the health of the child. Mrs. De Brooke again urged on her husband the necessity of sending for a physician. " If it will give any satisfaction to your mind,^^ replied he, " send for one by all means ; but you, w^ho have courage, resolution, and fortitude, who have been taught to bend, and will doubtless again bow to the will of the Supreme, let that not too much afflict you, which I think it necessary to prepare you for, — death sits already depicted on the countenance of our dear child ?' Mrs. De Brooke started ; the opinion of her hus- band was unsuspected, and conveyed, though un- designedly, vehement affliction to her dehcate mind, in which, notwithstanding the shock, while her sweet sufferer sustained the lamp of life, the light of hope remained unextinguished. Robert was dispatched for Dr. Beckford, but hastily re- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 241 turned, saying that the doctor, in his daily rounds to his patients, could not possibly reach the Bench until the lapse of several hours. In the mean- while, to keep life from departing its frail tene- ment, Mrs. De Brooke administered a few drops of opium, which in a short time taking effect, the child dropped into a heavy and still slumber. Several hours had thus elapsed, when Dr. Beck- ford presented himself, and examining his young patient, pronounced her malady to be the typhus fever. He repeated his visits daily, and under his fostering care the little Rosilia began to revive, and show signs of convalescence. Scarcely, however, had the fond parents time to exult, and be grateful for the mercy they had al- most despaired of, than her brother was seized by the same complaint. Differing but little from the putrid or malignant fever, the disorder was highly contagious; and from what they then ga- thered, had already made great ravages in the interior of the prison, several having fallen victims, whilst others were taken in such a manner as to leave slender hopes of recovery. The dreadful accounts they had just heard filled Mrs. De Brooke with the most tennfying presages : ^^ What is to be done }" exclaimed she. Alas ! too soon she discovered that all further precaution VOL. I. M 242 DUTY AND INCLINATION. was unnecessary ; the aching head^ feverish hand, and quick pulse afforded but too evident proofs that her husband also had caught the infection. De Brooke had found himself labouring under a depression of body more than might proceed from mental agitation ; nevertheless he had borne it in silence, fearful of accumulating sorroAv upon his amiable partner; but now that the attack seemed decided to declare itself, it was no longer in his power to confceal it. What an awful situa- tion for this unfortunate family ! a jail fever had begun to spread its mahgnancy within their little abode, exhibiting to their view a disconsolate woe, where but late, notwithstanding their confinement, a comparative happiness had reigned. The mother and her eldest daughter Oriana were yet free from contagion ; Rosilia was slowly gather- ing strength, and a relapse was to be dreaded as fatal. Though bewildered for a moment, the judg- ment of De Brooke returning, he clearly discerned that there was but one plan left to adopt, from which there could be no appeal, urgent and impe- rious necessity demanding it. ^' Go, my dear, my best love,^' said he, addressing himself to his wife, ^'^for God^s sake ! go, whilst, you are enabled to do so; take with you your dear girls ; one is partly recovered, the other is at pre- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 243 sent well : you yourself, God be praised, are well also ; delay your going, and it may be too late. Afflicted by this cruel malady, of what use could you be to me or to your children ? Leave your suf- fering boy and myself to the care of our trust- worthy Robert ; after yourself you could not pro- vide us a better nurse/^ ^^But where go?^^ ejaculated Mrs. De Brooke in tones of deep distress. '^ To your lodgings at Kenriington,^^ replied her husband ; ^^ or, if they should be occupied, your friend Mrs. Philimore will provide a place of retreat. Fly, my Angelina, fly this melancholy abode ; such scenes were never fit for you.^^ Fearing that he might exhaust himself by too much speaking, Mrs. De Brooke, with a desolated heart, rose, as she told him, to put his wishes into execution ; inwardly, however, resolving to comply so far only as her children were concerned ; so seizing her pen she wrote to Mrs. Phihmore a hasty outline of the misery into which her family was plunged, and concluded with the necessity of immediately placing her little daughters to board under the care of a confidential and respectable person ; leaving it to her friendship, and extensive acquaintance with the neighbourhood around her, to make the best arrangement in her power. ; M 2 244 DUTY AND INCLIXATION. We have already said^ that notwithstanding the imprisonment of De Brooke^ a constant intercourse had been preserved between his family and that of Mr. Philimore^ and Mrs. De Brooke never had felt the consolations derived from friendship stronger than in the present instance^ in recei\dng a prompt reply to her letter, and finding its contents favourr able to her views. She lost no time in the exe- cution of her plan. In a state of extreme debility, supported upon the sofa with cushions, De Brooke made an attempt to bid his wife and children farewell. The former, however, gently checking an effort she feared might be attended with pain, left the room, telluig him she would return ^presently. Beckoning to Robert, she gave her two children to his charge, whilst she pre- pared herself to follow ; but, ere she did so, paused awhile at the door of the chamber where she had left her husband and son. The latter, subdued by his illness, had insensibly sunk into a fit of drow- siness : putting her hand on the lock, she remained an instant undecided whether to see those dear objects once again before going ; but as all was still within, and as her intention was soon to return, she thought it better to depart at once. Moving slowly away, and mournfully descending the staircase, after traversing the court, she reached the coach in DUTY AND INCLINATION. 245 waiting for her ; stepping in, taking Rosilia on her lap, and placing Oriana by her side, with tears be- dewing her eyes, she gave to Robert her parting injunctions ; then waving her hand, she needed not words as a surety for the fulfilment of her wishes, — the tears of Robert were an attestation the most forcible she could receive. The coachman was or- dered to di'ive to Mrs. Herbert's, Sunderland-place, such being the direction given by her friend, who recommended Mrs. Herbert as a person every way suited to take charge of her children. Major Herbert, the husband of the lady in question, had by a death as awfully sudden and violent as it was premature, left a disconsolate widow and several youthful children to lament the loss of an affectionate relative, from whose army allowance their principal means of support had been furnished. The impression too by wliich the manner of his decease was attended, herself a wit- ness, were such as to have produced in a frame of mind, naturally none of the weakest, a temporary subversion of intellect. Scarcely, however, had the arduous and absorbing duties devolved on the vi- duated mother, and she began to withdraw her mind from the contemplation of a tragic scene, when she was called to undergo fresh sorrow : she beheld, one by one, her orphan family fade and 246 DUTY AND INCLINATION. perish under her eye, two sons excepted, who had alone survived to bless and cheer her widowhood. It was by means of remittances occasionally re- ceived from her eldest, a captain in the East India service, united to a slender income gained by taking in private boarders, that she Avas enabled to live with tolerable comfort and ease. Mrs. Her- bert, by the exemplary propriety of her conduct, had won the esteem and goodwill of several in cir- cles far superior to her own, and was not unknown to Mrs. Philimore, who, in acceding to the views of her friend, had conceived that as a temporary asylum for her children, no place could be more appropriate than the peaceful dwelling of the re- spected widow. Accordingly she had lost no time in paying her a visit, and having her opinion con- firmed by her extreme partiality for children, as w^ell as having ascertained that the proposition was agreeable, she had written without delay to her friend accordingly, and had left her to make the necessary arrangements for the expected arrival of her young charges. Mrs. De Brooke found the good lady of the house in readiness to receive her. She was of a slender frame, with a countenance more worn than is usual at the age of fifty, yet expressive of good humour ; w ith much volubihty of speech, she con- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 247 ducted her newly arrived guests into a small^ but neatly furnished parlour^ to which a cheerful fire gave an appearance of additional comfort. Never- theless^ the children seemed not a little dejected^ which their kind hostess quickly perceiving, and supposing it to result from intimidation at being left alone in a strange house, exerted herself by acts of maternal kindness to comfort them, taking each by turns on her knee, and endea- vouring with an affectionate famiharity to soothe and amuse them. But the little Rosilia, so lately pronounced out of danger, trembled like an aspen- ieaf, and Oriana in her turn showed signs of indis- position. What a trial ! what a conflict of feelings for the mother ! Still as her disasters accumulated, it be- came evident to herself that providentially and un- expectedly her strength of mind was proportionally sustained. Encompassed as was this tender wife and parent on every side with sorrow, divided between her absent husband, son, and the dear children then present ; the two former unhappily afflicted within the narrow^ confines of a prison^ presented an image torturing to her mind. Having now therefore no alternative, she earnestly com- mended with prayers her littlo- ones to the pro- mises and sympathizing feelings of the worthy 248 DUTY AND INCLINATION. widow, who, from her own experience, could well appreciate those innumerable anxieties of mater- nity, and for her part left nothing unsaid that could tend to lessen the uneasiness of Mrs. De Brooke, assuring her that no care that a mother could be- stow should be wanting to render her children happy and comfortable. Thus assured, Mrs. De Brooke had the additional satisfaction of seeing them carried to their respective beds, after par- taking of various little attentions impossible to have been paid them by their mother in their pre- sent situation. Regarding Mrs. Herbert as a ministering agent in this her great calamity, she took a grateful and affectionate leave of her, and invoking heavenly blessings on her children, she left them with an agitated heart to return to their father. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 249 CHAPTER XVII. " Poor little one ! most bitterly did pain, . ^ And life's worst ills assail thine eai*!}'^ age ; And quickly tired with this rough pilgrimage Thy wearied spirit did its heaven regain." KiRKE White. Entering the coach, Mrs. De Brooke, in a faint voice, ordered the driver to return ^vith all speed to the Bench. Her imagination, though greatly worked upon by so many successive impulses, was yet but little prepared to witness the terrifying scene that awaited her. Ascending the long wind- ing staircase, breathless with the hurry of her spirits and the rapidity of her motion, she at last reached the door of the apartment in which she had left the dear invalids. For a moment she paused, in listening suspense, to catch the sound of their well-known accents. But none meeting her ear, she burst precipitately in. What language can depict her horror ! Her husband lay apparently lifeless before her, stretched upon his bacli ; Robert extended over him, cover- M 5 250 DUTY AND INCLINATION. ing his whole body^ endeavouring to recall life in its last low ebbings^ by breathing into him his own breathy seeking by such means to reanimate the vital spark, to Mrs. De Brooke seeming entirely extinct ! In all the agony of grief she threw her- self by the side of her expiring husband, uttering aloud the most lamentable complaints. His cold hand falling inert from her touch, was again raised to her quivering lips or palpitating bosom. Her attached husband ! her friend ! her solace ! her all that, in sharing, could help to allay the bitter cup of adversity, she supposed lost to her for ever ! Her apprehensions, nevertheless, were ground- less. It was but the image of death thus presented to her affrighted vision, not its reality ! " Leabe massa to me, leabe massa to me," at length ejaculated Robert ; ^^ massa not dead, massa not dead." The morbid pallidness of De Brooke^s . features by degrees assumed a more living hue ; each feeble extremity, beneath the kindly warmth imparted by those of Robert's, gradually gave resistance to the pressure ; the power of motion retui^ning, he raised his heavy eyes, which for a time were fixed in va- cancy : as when some dreadful dream still agitates the fancy, so De Brooke, in his confused gaze, seemed doubtful of his real state. A few inco- PUTY AND INCLINATION. 251 herent words escaped him, and the name of his wife; but, unmindful of her presence and her efforts to make herself known, he turned himself about, lost and overwhelmed, then sunk into a profound languor, bearing the likeness of repose, which his deeply afflicted friends were cautious of disturbing. Mrs. De Brooke felt persuaded that it was through the admirable and prudent measures of Robert that she owed the resuscitation of her hus- band. She lavished upon him her warm enco- miums ; " May the inward consciousness of having performed your duty to the utmost, reward you,^' said she, " for I fear it will never be in our power to do so according to your deserts.^^ " Talk not of dat, missus,^^ returned he, " me be rewarded enough in seeing my massa not dead: me tought de iron hand of death was on him.^' Though Mrs. De Brooke was desirous of being informed of the particulars leading to a cata- strophe so alarming, yet, having recollected that in her fears for her husband she had forgotten her son, she suspended her curiosity. Fearfully ap- proaching, the child, though wrapt in a still lethar- gic slumber, appeared to her to exhibit scarcely more of life than his father had done. Turning 252 DUTY AND INCLINATION. away, Avith a despondent sigli, she could not divest herself of the melancholy conviction, that the can- ker-worm of mortality was making rapid inroads to deprive her of that young blossom; carrying her fears still further, she thought if her beloved husband could yet be pronounced safe ? and her little daughters at Mrs. Herbert's, what might not be their situations? It was then that Mrs. De Brooke exerted that fortitude, that noble energy of soul so peculiarly her own ; it was upon such great and trying occasions that she manifested the su- perior usefulness of a religious education. The father's precepts, the mother's example, as im- pressed upon her heart and mind, gave subhmity and energy to her thoughts more than human, diffusing a holy trust in Providence over her affec- tions, and beaming in heavenly lustre from eyes destined to behold scenes of the most touching, awful, and heart-rending description, connected and interwoven with the tenderest sympathies of her existence ! Natural feeling, if not to be sub- dued, was yet, she was well persuaded, capable of moderation, and if, in her occasional sinkings, she felt its triumphs over the lessons she had taught herself, again Divine consolations imparted renewed strength to sustain her. Thus, awaiting in dread suspense, although with mingled feelings of hope DUTY AND INCLINATION. 253 and devotion, the issue of life or death, her station was alternately at the couch of her husband and son. Meanwhile Dr. Beckford was punctual in his attendance, and failed not also to bring her in- formation respecting her children, whom he visited at Mrs. Herbert's. She had the satisfaction of hearing their convalescence confirmed. The good lady had watched over them with unremitting at- tention ; often during the long dull interv^al of night had she stolen to their pillows, had placed her ear near them, striving to catch the sound of their soft respiration, so still, so faint, and almost expiring, that she was sometimes left in doubt whether or not her sweet charges were really in existence. Her cares, however, being crowned with success, she had the gratification of seeing them gradually recovered from convalescence to the enjoyment of perfect health. But although the anxieties of Mrs. De Brooke were thus from time to time agreeably relieved by intel- liccence from Mrs. Herbert's, it was far otherwise with respect to those dear sufferers who, besides being the theme of her thoughts, were the objects of her immediate personal attention. Her hus- band, from the natui'e of his slow and lingering malady, indifferent to all things passing around 254 DUTY AND INCLINATION. him^ spoke but little^ and from the excessive lan- guor which oppressed him^ unconscious that he slept^ seemed equally so of the watchful solicitude bestowed upon him by his excellent wife and faith- ful servant. The little Aubrey was^ if possible, re- duced to a state of greater feebleness and decay, and given up continually to a sort of delirious drowsiness. To add to the misery of such a situation, Mrs. De Brooke began to find that the resources from whence hitherto the innumerable demands inci- dental to a sick family had been supplied were beginning to fail her. In examining the ecritoire of her husband, where she knew he was in the habit of depositing his cash, she had found there, for the support of another week, but a sum barely sufficient for the common necessaries of domestic existence. She was sensible that a few articles had been purchased by Robert from his own pri- vate means; a circumstance the more painful to her feelings, knowing that on the score of wages they were so much his debtor. To avoid the re- currence of such an additional, and, even to her meek mind, humiliating obligation, she had from time to time divested the room of every article of furniture not in immediate connection with her absolute wants, and also herself of her jewels and DUTY AND INCLINATION. 25 5 all she deemed superfluous in her wardrobe^ not merely to the destitution of its ornamental^ but also its useful contents. Even her husband's army allowance had been finally resorted to^ and advanced by his agent for the purpose of defraying the hire of their apartments ; and^ to add to their distresses^ she had been under the necessity of re- nouncing the comforts of a second chamber, to yield it to the claims of another, and confine her- self wholly to that one which had become the dark abode of poverty, disease, and misery ! There, meagre, pale, and wasted, her beloved husband and son represented every moment to her afflicted view the awful picture of mortality. " Oh, could Sir Aubrey now behold his son \" burst from her lips, '^ and that young drooping flower, his unoffending grandson !" Often she had been tempted to write to him, to make a strong and pathetic appeal to his feelings as a father ; but as often the risings of indignation and the intolerable sense of unmerited insult, as felt in the person of her husband, had hitherto re- strained her. Dishonoured and slighted, spurned and disowned as De Brooke had been, and all for her sake, was she to risk by repeated humihations a renewal of indignity; or could she hope, even by a faithful deUneation of the present scene, to 256 DUTY AND INCLINATION. awaken sympathy in a breast so callous ? With her conjugal feelings thus highly wrought, and by her afflicting situation incapacitated from an impartial and calm estimate of things, she could find no extenuative plea for a chai'acter and con- duct so opposite to her own. Driven, however, to the last extremity, she weighed again the subject, no longer hesitated, but wrote the dictates of her aching heart. With such a scene before her, as she was then called upon to represent, forcible was the colouring, emphatic and powerful the language which flowed from her pen. Several copies w^ere written, but none pleased her. Notwithstanding the moderation she wished to throw into her style, some slight flashes of invec- tive ran through it. The child of nature, she knew^ not how to flatter or use dissimulation; such as were her heart and feelings, such they appeared. Amidst the discouraging calamities around her, a noble independence reigned. Truth, piety, and justice inspiring her sentiments and animating her diction, though she had endeavoured in some de- gree to soften the asperity of reproach, yet she was conscious she had not completely succeeded. Whatever might be the result of her intended appeal, it was fortunate for her purpose that Ro- bert had either never suspected, or else had pru- DUTY AND INCLINATION, 257 dently concealed from her the causes (real or ideal) which had led to the alarming scene that presented itself on her return from Mrs. Herbert's. The whole truth, as it appeared to the mind of De Brooke, shall be briefly related. Two men, apparently creditors of his, rudely breaking in upon the stillness of the sick chamber, on being interrogated as to their business, answer- ed that they were come from Sir Aubrey respect- ing the amount of their claims, the justice of which being allow^ed, they trusted would no longer be withheld from them ; at the same time they pro- duced a paper, exhibiting to the astonished De Brooke the signature of his father, as if authoriz- ing their proceeding, and aiding in the prosecution. Stunned by this cruel demonstration, the unhappy De Brooke, already weakened and disturbed, as well by the inroads of disease as irritation of mind, now the victim of a father's vengeance, reeling from the sofa on which he lay, had sunk into that deep and dreadful sw^oon, in which upon her return his W'ife had found him ; unable therefore to ob- tain further information, those hard-hearted men had departed that prison of soitow, leaving, as the result of their visit, De Brooke apparently lifeless ! But thoush to Mrs. De Brooke the cold-blood- ed behaviour of these wretches had never been 258 DUTY AND INCLINATION. mentioned^ at least in connection ^\-ith the name of Sir Aubrey, yet, as it has been observed, it required scarcely any further development of his character to make him appear in her eyes too callous for entreaty ; unnatural as did his conduct appear to her in every light in Avhich she was capable of viewing it. Sometimes during the \^T:'iting of her letter she had left off to ask herself, '^ Can he be reaUy his father ? Is it to the father of De Brooke I write ?'^ She thought of her OAvn parent ; how opposite in character and feeling to him, the vene- rable sire of the Parsonage ! and the contrast, added to the memory of his virtues and his aifection, by bringing on a flood of tears, afforded a temporary relief to her oppressed feelings. The letter, at length finished and sealed, was dispatched by the hand of Robert, that devoted minister, (well worthy of so honourable an appel- lation,) who, amidst the wTctchedness and desola- tion in which the family he served was plunged, had not only discharged his duties with scrupu- lous fidelity, but had evinced a strength and dis- interestedness of affection deserving the name of freedom and of friendship : frankly and mth a right good will his time and talents were bestow- ed, without hope of other reward than what his liberal heart largely afforded. With such a dispo- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 259 sition there is little room to doubt^ that if need re- quired^ this noble creature would have cheerfully undergone death^ rather than that the interests of those he so dearly loved and respected should have received through any fault of his detriment or compromise. To return to Mrs. De Brooke; though herself inno- cent of the cause, it might truly be said that poverty had come upon her as one that travelleth, and want as an armed man*. But it was not until the last resources had failed, that her condition became be- wildering in the extreme, and all the terrors that can afflict virtue appeared in array against her. Surrounded by inextricable difficulties, and to which every hour threatened some fearful addi- tion, bereft of the solace of conjugal sympathy, while there scarcely remained an earthly refuge which hope could suggest or despair embrace, what could have supported her under such com- plicated trial, but a meek surrender of herself and the dear objects of her continual solicitude to the Supreme Disposer of events ! Bending at his omni- present shrine, she would often fervently implore the Di\4ne mercy to grant her in its own good time deliverance, and a patient endurance of the ills * Proverbs. 260 DUTY AND INCLINATION. allotted to her. There alone^ reader, in that meek dependence of mind, and submission to the Divine will, lies the solution of many a miracle of patience and of endurance. It is true she possessed a con- stitution by nature pure, and elastic from education, that, nurtured by the taintless breath of a country air, not undermined by the midnight fete, had en- abled her but as a means, to sustain, and to achieve prodigies of suffering, privation, and toil. It was only at intervals, during the tedious si- lence of night, interrupted by the sighs and plaints only of the weary sufferers, that, reclining on a mattress, she snatched a hasty slumber, then start- ing awake, and kneeling at her husband^s couch, administered to his necessities, or to those more urgent ones of her almost expiring son. ^^ A mira- cle alone can save him :^' such was the expression that, faint and mournful, often died upon her fal- tering lips. But to pass over further detail. De Brooke, as if suddenly awaking from a long and fearful dream, fixed upon his wife his wildly looking eyes, as if to be assured it was really herself; and in the next moment, sending his gaze around the cham- ber, said, '^ God be praised ! it is over. I have been haunted by a frightful vision.'^ Though with a memory greatly impaired, yet intellect returning, DUTY AND INCLINATION. 261 he gave to Mrs.De Brooke the most sanguine hopes^ and, through the persevering and humane skill of Dr. Beckford, he at length arose from the bed of languishing. It would be unnecessary to paint, in his pro- gress towards recovery, those many afflicting scenes, deprivations, and anxieties which the sorrowing parents mutually partook of and witnessed. Alas ! the keenest arrow of adversity that ever pierced their united souls now seemed pointed against them ; for while himself so nearly snatched, as if by miracle, from the verge of death, the rising thankfulness diffused over the mind of De Brooke for that providential blessing had been checked ere it had time to expand into the higher emotions of gratitude. For alas ! his trials and probation had not yet ceased, and he was to en- dure, in common with his afflicted partner, the irreparable loss of his beloved boy. Seated together in heartbroken anticipation of what they most dreaded : " Alas \" sighed the fa- ther, ^^ how fruitless are the hopes of man \" his eyes riveted upon that once sweet animated coun- tenance, then overshadowed by the pale complexion of death. In melancholy suspense they awaited the coming of the physician, under the impression 262 DUTY AND INCLINATION. that his visit might be too late. Respiration seemed nearly extinct ; it struck Mrs. De Brooke to admi- nister the same expedient which^ to all appearance, had formerly saved his sister. In order, therefore, to keep Hfe and hope awhile unextinguished, if perchance they could be prolonged until the dawn- ing of day, raising the d}dng child in her arms, she gave him a few drops of that potion, which, has the power of subduing and even suspending for a time the operations of nature. She saAv it take effect, she saw him sink to sleep : she kept her station, still and breathless, by his side. The morn- ino- beamed, but he awoke not ; that sleep, was it the sleep of death ? Sometimes she was tempted to think it was, and blamed herself, as the cause of perhaps hastening his dissolution. The doctor, however, at last presented himself, and approved of what she had done. The disorder, he said, had arisen to the greatest degree of malignancy ; but that, until his patient awoke, nothing could be de- cided upon. The mournful interval elapsed. The child raised his weary lids, cast upon each of his trembhng sensitive parents one long, silent, and tender regard, seeming to caiTy in its peculiar, heavenly, yet heartrending expression, ^^ I go to a better world ! farewell for ever ! ^' A slight con- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 263 vulsion passed his features^ which^ in the next in- stant, became fixed in the marble stillness of death. The distracted mother, uttering a piercing shriek, fell senseless into the arms of the doctor, whilst the father, perhaps a greater object of commisera- tion, threw himself upon the lifeless body of his son, — his first-born child ! his darling boy ! his Aubrey ! wildly clasping him in his arms, and be- dewing him with his tears. Deep were the wanderings, the language of de- spair, resounding in that miserable chamber. The sorrow of this unfortunate couple seemed then to have attained its climax. Hearkening to the voice only of their inconsolable feelings, they remained deaf to the intreaties of the doctor, as he endea- voured to call their attention to the disease of which their son had fallen the victim, and conse- quently the precaution to be taken to avoid fi-esh communication of infection ; — but how vain his ex- hortations ! whither go ? Whether the spirit had forsaken its earthly habitation or not, the same chamber must contain them. It was to Robert alone, as capable of compre- hending a distinct idea, he could address himself. His indeed was a sympathizing heart, and had well nigh ovenvhelmed him; yet grieving, as he 264 DUTY AND INCLINATION. well might, rather for the Hving than the dead, he essayed, in conformity with the regidations given, to ventilate and fumigate the chamber ; that com- fortless chamber of death, where presently wrapped in his shroud lay the youthful Aubrey, once so blooming, innocent, and joyous, who in the first short di'ama of his existence had, in the sweetness and intelhgence of his heart and mind, given to his fond approving parents so fair an earnest of the future. As waters inundate the earth, so affliction in the shape of poverty, sickness, and imprisonment poured heavy upon the head of De Brooke and his partner ; but when weighed against that greater one, the loss of that endearing, that amiable child, all their former sorrows appeared but as drops of rain amid the sunshine. S>UTY AND INCLINATION. 265 CHAPTER XVIIL Banished I am if but from thee : Yet now farewell." Shakspeare. After a miserable night, the morning ray dawned upon that melancholy chamber, containing the re- mains of the young De Brooke. The father's heart, though torn with grief for the loss of his only son, still melted with com- passion for the mother, as, faint and exhausted from suffering, she continued weeping over her lifeless child. The bereavement they had mutually experienced was attended by that overwhelming emotion too recent to admit of consolation. Sad and silent, they sat in mournful expectation of that final scene, the interment of their son. Alas ! the dreaded hour arrived ; and oh ! to paint the an- guish of that disconsolate couple, whilst taking a last look of their Httle Aubrey, at that cherished VOL. I. N 266 DUTY AND INCLINATION. object in whom so many fond hopes had centred, now borne away from their sight for ever ! A deep swoon a second time entranced the senses of the hopeless mother. But not to enter too minutely into the melan- choly detail, the first days of mourning passed over, those afflicting moments to which, at length, succeeded the calm of resignation, and these sor- rowing parents began to feel a solace as sharers in one common calamity, derived from sympathy and rehgion. The ingenuous look and artless smile that used to respond to theirs, would never delight them more ; their child had fled beyond their mor- tal ken; but it had fled to those bright realms where its youthful spirit, in acquiring strength, would develope into saintly energy, and its form assume the seraphic lustre of the angel. Rapt in such tender, and as it were hallowed reflections, correspondent to the purity, the sweet innocence of their child, its exemption from, and perfect un- consciousness of sin, at the time of its dissolution, gave to the bereaved parents ideas above all sub- lunary things. In vain endeavouring to chase the tear, Robert had accompanied the bier, and marked the spot where his master's eldest child, the youthful Au- brey, lay interred. He then retraced his way home- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 267 ward ; and, as time helped to allay the so^^o^vful recollections in which he had indulged, now that he had the satisfaction of seeing his master on his legs again, as he called his recovery, and felt himself relieved from the consequent cares attendant on his late illness, he renewed his inquiries respecting the Baronet. But every attempt proving vain, he found he had entered upon a labyrinth of perplexities ; led here and there by erroneous directions, the end of his pursuit appeared unattainable ; and yet to re- linquish it, seemed in a manner to forswear himself, having vowed to his master that he would come to the bottom of that nefarious business or perish ! In truth he would rather have perished than not to have had it in his power to restore the money. With a temper so ardent, without proportionate education to moderate its impulses, he became the prey of an inward disquietude, not more on his master's than his own personal account. In the range his fancy took, it appeared to him, keenly susceptible as was his nature, under the adverse circumstances of his master, that he might be considered as an encumbrance, and as a tax upon him ; more particularly, as they hved alone, without their children, his - services might be dis- pensed with. This idea once suggested, and by N 5? 268 DUTY AND INCLINATION'. degrees refined upon, was a source to him of con- tinual and still greater dejection, even made mani- fest in his conduct. Often withdrawing to give way to his secret cogitations, his services were not per- formed with such alacrity and punctuality as for- merly, which, though without losing him the con- fidence of the De Brookes, they could not fail to remark, and they were pained to think that per- haps whilst devoting an unwilling attendance he wished to quit them ; the thought of his doing so, and that without adequate compensation, being still more grating to them, and certainly a circum- stance, as they imagined, in itself calculated to cancel all sense of obligation on his side. Hopeless as seemed the term of their miseries, ever struggling with mortifications and trials, no- thing remained but to live within the bounds of the most rigid self-denial and ceconomy. De Brooke felt for Robert the truest affection, but under the circumstances above stated, he came to the decision of parting with him, and of paying off his wages from time to time as they could best afford the means. It was a decision which cost him dear, to lose -him who, in his' opinion, possessed a soul worthy the breast of a king ; him who had ever shown himself above all selfish interests, whose heart glowed with every generous sympathy, whose DUTY AND INCLINATIOJT. 269 presence had gladdened his children^ who had nursed them from their cradles^ and particularly so that young plant, which had bloomed a short- lived fragrance, and then sunk beneath the pesti- lential blast assailing them in their prison ; him to whom he might be even indebted for his own present existence ; him who, when his every func- tion was suspended, re-animated him by his living warmth, till the heart resumed its throb, the lungs their office ! Alas ! to be reduced to such a dread- ful alternative, and say to him, that best of earthly friends, unconnected by the ties of blood, " Robert, you must be gone ! ^^ — him whom he regarded as a brother, to speak to him in a language so harsh, so ungrateful 1 "Poor honest fellow!^' exclaimed De Brooke aloud, as he finished his soliloquy; "never shall I have it in my power to reward you, Robert/^ Having imposed upon himself the task of clean- ing the passage outside the door, Robert, upon hearing himself named, entered to know his mas- ter's pleasure. De Brooke hesitated ere he made reply ; but in the next instant, seizing an occasion which presented itself unsought for, " No, my good friend," said he, " I did not call ; but since you are here, I will speak to you confi- 270 DUTY AND INCLINATION. dentially^ and which it behoves me to do^ seeing* that you yourself are concerned in what I was me- ditating upon ; had you not broken in upon me I might still have delayed this communication/^ After making a brief recapitulation of his pecu- niary embarrassments, he then proceeded to the more immediate subject, causing him so much pain to reveal. Transfixed and mute, his eyes cast downward, Robert attentively listened; at length gathering strength to disburden his feelings, as if the thought of parting had never before crossed him, he exclaim- ed, " Leab you, my good massa ! is it come to dis ? and must me leab you den? me dat tought to hab ended my days wit you, and would hab laid down my life to hab preserved yours 1 oh, dat me should hab lived to hab seen dis day \'^ These few pathetic phrases, as they dropped from the lips of Robert, pierced De Brooke to the soul, insomuch, that upon attempting to speak, his utterance failed him, and his words expired ere they were pronounced. Upon witnessing this strong emotion, of which he knew he was the cause, Robert, in a wild agony clasping his hands and looking upwards towards Heaven, invoked its blessing on his master, and was about rushing DUTY AND INCLINATION, 271 from the apartment, when De Brooke, recovering his articulation, called after him to return: he did so. ^^My honest fellow," said De Brooke, endea- vouring to command himself, ^^why precipitate yourself away from me ? why such haste ? I have something more to tell you; 1 cannot immedi- ately; my memory has been impaired of late; wait awhile longer." De Brooke paused to ruminate concerning the wages due to Robert. At last, in the fulness of awakened energy, starting from his seat, a sudden recollection seized him. " I hope I may not be deceived," exclaimed he, lifting himself upon a chair ; and raising his head above a beam, projecting just over the head of his bedstead, leaving a space between that and the ceihng, his hand laid hold of a book ; he opened it, and to his inexpressible joy found what he then per- fectly weU recollected to have deposited there for safety, being destined for the purpose to which he was then applying it ; the remnant of what he had lost by the robbery he had sustained. The several bank notes amounted to thirty pounds : reserving but a few for his pressing neces- sities, he put the remainder into the hands of Robert, saying, "'Tis but a trifle, and but ill 27^ . DUTY AND INCLINATION. acquits me of the debt I owe you ;'^ giving him at the same time a written certiEcate, extolHng his^ invaluable qualities. " Go now^ my w^orthy friend/^ said he,, ^^ and seek your fortune with a master who may be better enabled to recompense your merits than I can/^ No sooner had De Brooke finished speaking, than Robert, who had stood absorbed in thought, approached the table, and laying the money on it, ^^ Na,^^ said he, ^^ me will hab none of dis ; of wat use is dis to Robert ? Do not be an^y, massa, if me refuse to take wat you may please to call de^ wages of my servitude, and as such my due. It was from my heart me served massa ; it was my lub to him and for my pleasure ; let dem wha serve for interest, it is for dem to seek deir hire. Mine was free service, and seeks for noting; na recompense but wat comes from de heart. Let, dose who lub demselves more dan deir massas accept the lucre for which dey sold deir labour^ ^Tis not mine dat selfish feeling/^ Though deeply afiected, De Brooke attempted to expostulate, with an air that nevertheless car- ried with it decision. Whilst the honest Afi-ican, the big tear rolling from his large dark eye, exclaimed, " Do not force it upon me, do not oblige me to take it ; let me feel dat I have acted DUTY AND INCLINATION. 273 as a freeman and not as a slave. Oh massa ! " rejoined he^ ^^ me hab enough from my savings, out of all your former bounty, to carry me whider I am going, far, far away ; even so far as de land me was brought from, when lilly negro boy, by de American Captain who parted from me to your moder.'^ " And why, Robert, why leave the country }'' " It is wat I always meant to do,'^ replied he, '^'^if I should eber quit your service. But me will always tink of massa ; me will remember de day we hab passed • togeder, when we were bote of us boys." "And I too," said De Brooke, viewing him at once with admiration and regret, " I have my views in going, massa," added Robert. ^^ Call me no longer master," said De Brooke, " my friend, my equal, fit associate for a prince ; happy could I have retained you with me till death had closed these eyes ; adversity, sad ad- versity forbids." " Neber mind it, massa," repUed Robert : '' yes, I shall always call and tink of you as my massa> my goot massa, since it formed my happiness to Serb you and dear missus; but I hab my views in going." Hope, in its bright exultation, chased n5 2'J4 DUTY AND INCLINATION. the tear from his swarthy but honest countenance. ^'Yes/' added he, "me hab my views, and may de goot Fader above prosper dem ! " "May he bless and prosper all your worthy, noble, laudable endeavours," warmly ejaculated De Brooke. He turned ; but Robert, who had burst at the close of his last sentence from the room, was no longer to be seen. He recalled him, but he an- swered not, he was already beyond hearing ; De Brooke sighed deeply, and mournfully paced his narrow chamber, giving vent to that aching void of which the heart is so sensible, when it has bid a long and last adieu to a well-tried, confidential, and beloved friend ! As soon as his convalescence permitted, he had been informed by Mrs. De Brooke of the step she had taken in addressing his father. She had shown him a copy of her letter ; various and mixed feehngs had accompanied him on the perusal of it : in the sentiments she had expressed, he had beheld a re- flection of herself; the dignity, or rather that lofty independence of thought, usually attending upon an unerring soul, united with those softer shades, justly delineating her refined, susceptible, and feminine character. Though he could not blame his wife for having written it under the DUTY AND INCLINATION. 2/5 pressure of such heavy calamities, he would have been better pleased had she not done so. Amongst the many afflictive billow^s pouring on De Brooke in his " sea of troubles/^ was one arising from the total neglect he experienced from his sister, Mrs. Arden. Whatever cause for displeasure he had given to his father, he never supposed it could have been resented by his sister, she to whom he had been endeared in childhood, had harmonized with and united, as young branches germinating from one stock ; — in the proud ostentatious union she had formed, if in disposing of herself to a wealthy suitor it might be so considered ; that those tender ties, those kinder feelings, should be torn asunder, was an enigma not to be solved. How perplexing and harassing to think of by one like De Brooke, whose heart was so utterly opposed to such a con- duct! Giving herself wholly to the splendid felicities, reigning in the world of fashion, was it possible she could enter those scenes of gaiety and dissi- pation, arrayed with pomp, glittering with the gems bestowed by her opulent husband, without casting one thought upon a brother, one tender recollection of him, the playmate of her infancy, then groaning under the iron rod of misery and oppression ! — time, in its course rolhng on, with- 276 BTJTY AND INCLINATION. out one interior dictate operating to induce her to hold out the hand of succour, and soften, in some measure, the rigours of his prison ! '^ Impossible ! but that she is deceived, she is kept in ignorance as to the extent of my sorrows ! ^^ ejaculated De Brooke ; " she knows of them but in part ; strict to the prohibitions given her, faithful also to the duties imposed upon her as a wife and daugh- ter, such naturally supersede in her judgment -*^ considerations of compassion regarding myself/^ Lingering out his days in confinement, so hope- less of release was De Brooke, that sometimes the thought Avas suggested to him of selling his colonelcy, of making a compromise with his cre- ditors, and of retiring with the overplus to some distant and cheap country, where he could have at least the enjoyment of hberty, '^ fly as a bird to its mountain,^^ range unmolested the expansive soil, behold its verdant prospects, canopied by the sethereal arch of Heaven ; unknown, unpitied, and forsaken by all but his faithful partner and two surviving children. In this melancholy mood, time past, till sud- denly recollecting himself, his eye ran quickly upon the dial of his watch, suspended over the chimney. The expected hour for the return of his wife had passed. What new miseiy might await DUTY AND INCLINATION. 277 him ! the mere suggestion was sufficient to rend his soul. Immoveable he stood contemplating the minute-hand^ when sounds of footsteps ap- proaching along the gallery met his ear ; he rushed towards the door^ and burst it open ; ^twas his wife ! his beloved Angelina who entered^ to cheer and gladden him by her presence. She had been to see her old friends the Philimores^ and also her daughters ; they were happy, and in the full enjoyment of health ; it is true they had been sen- sibly grieved at the idea of never more beholding their brother, but this was beginning to dissipate, the joy of seeing their mother predominating over their other feelings. Mrs, De Brooke also recounted that from what she had gathered from Mrs. Herbert, some mes- senger from his father had inquired at her house. Though unable to give him any satisfactory infor- mation, yet upon perceiving the curiosity of her husband, she added to her relation that she could not suppose any hostihty was meant ; on the con- trar\^, the person addressing himself to Mrs. Her- bert, as she said, seemed uncommonly struck by the children, whom Mrs. Herbert, in the exultation she felt upon the occasion, pointed out to him as the grand-daughters of his master ; upon which, smiling and bowing, he passed many very warm 27S DUTY AND INCLINATION. encomiums upon them^ and which, in all proba- bility, would be repeated to Sir Aubrey: "there- fore/^ continued she, '^ we may at least infer a good report will be made to hira of our daughters.'^ De Brooke would gladly have been of her opi- nion, but knowing his father's character, he turned away, replying with but a deep and heavy sigh. Having by his successive afflictions been accus- tomed to view things under the hues of a darkened imagination, even this, that might at any other period have appeared unimportant, was then cal- culated to strike a degree of sadness on his mind. In her endeavours to withdraw her husband from his griefs, Mrs. De Brooke poured into his ear the most consolatoiy reflections ; however, upon finding they were unattended to, she rose and went to the window, in order to conceal the unbidden tear which, in spite of her, dropped upon her cheek. Scarcely was it chased, than those ponderous portals meeting her view, so long bar- red against her husband, she then saw thrown open to admit a stranger ; who, coming forward in a straight direction in front of where she stood, a sudden impulse seized her that his visit was to their chamber on business to De Brooke. The person of the stranger was tall and gaunt, his gait firm, his attire neat. In follo^^ing his DUTY AND INCLINATION. 279 motions from her elevated station above the court he trod^ she could not ascertain precisely whether he had entered the door of the staircase leading to the story they inhabited. She feared to indulge hope ; nevertheless^ an irresistible emotion ominous of good throbbed at her hearty and to which she was about to give utterance : having already apprised her husband she suspected the stranger was to him^ a sudden paleness overspread his countenance^ his mind still haunted by some recollection of the brutal intrusion of his creditors, supposed to have been at the instigation of his father. Footsteps now approached^ a knock was heard without; De Brooke hastily demanded who was there. The reply was in a voice unknown to him. Giving his name, he begged admittance, adding that his business was important, and that it would be inconvenient to call again. His suspicions dimi- nishing, De Brooke obeyed, whilst his unconscious wife, ignorant as to any cause that could give rise to agitation, as the door opened, the object who had previously engaged her scrutiny stood before her. His deportment was by no means such as to keep ahve the favourable impression she had felt upon first seeing him. Unprepossessing, cold, and distant, he accepted De Brockets offered chair. With a downcast eye he surveyed the scanty cham- 280 DUTY AND INCLINATION* ber, then raising it upon De Brooke^ with a look that seemed to denote he was unaccustomed and equally disincHned to free communication, he entered con- cisely upon the business which had brought him. ^^ I am come/^ said he, '^ as the confidential law- yer of Sir Aubrey De Brooke, who desires an im- mediate statement laid before him of your debts." Expectation and curiosity succeeded to that deep anxiety before visible on the brow of De Brooke, who would have spoken, but the stranger inter- rupted him. '^' From family and prudential motives,'^ said he drily, ^^ Sir Aubrey has conceived the intention of appropriating a certain sum for the liquidation of your debts, provided it will come within its com- pass, and that you prepare immediately upon your liberation to leave the kingdom; such being the conditions only upon which Sir Aubrey means to interfere.^^ " Prepare to leave the kingdom !" echoed De Brooke ; ^^to what banishment does he intend sending me?'^ Impatient for a direct reply, the stranger added, he supposed it did not require much time to satisfy his demand ; and asked w he- ther he had by him a list, as desired by Sir Au- brey, that without further delay he might proceed to execute his commands. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 281 A kind Providence might be acting in his fa» vour^ thought De Brooke : at all events^ liberation^ if it could be effected upon any terms, was infi- nitely preferable to lingering out his days in prison. He rose, therefore, and put a paper containing the information required into the hands of the unfeel- ing stranger, who, without further speech or cere- mony, depositing it safe in a pocket-case,^ coldly bowed, and withdrew. The lai^yer being gone, De Brooke interchanged with his wife those thoughts and reflections which such an unlooked for circumstance, involving his release, naturally produced. It was evident to per- ceive, the intentions of Sir Aubrey had for their object his removal from the kingdom; an event which could no otherwise take place than by his enjoining upon himself the sacrifice he meditated. Whatever the motive which dictated this compro- mise with his creditors on the part of his father, it was one of the greatest services it was possible at that moment of time to confer upon him, and which, previous to the last few hours, had appeared to him a circumstance as devoutly to be "svished as it was utterly hopeless of fulfilment. On the other hand, this kindness, in the discharge of his debts, came attended by conditions, in themselves apparently so cold and heartless, when considered as coming 282 DUTY AND INCLINATION. from a father, that even his rescue from those ig- noble bonds that had held him so long a prisoner, seemed exchanged for others of more gaUing obh- gation ; the contumacy and pride of Sir Aubrey so far governing the deed, as in stifling the warm feelings of gratitude, would scarcely leave any other than those arising from the contrast of his own littleness with his father^s greatness. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 283 CHAPTER XIX. ..." Mercy is above the scepter'd sway, It is enthroned in the hearts of kings ; It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice." Shakspeare. After the expiration of a few days^ the lawyer employed by Sir Aubrey again called upon De Brooke. His aspect bore the same appearance of indiiference and mercenary restraint as before. As soon as seated, he proceeded to state that Sir Au- brey pursued the business he had entered upon with the greatest reluctance; menacing a discon- tinuance of it, from the difficulty of gaining any satisfactory compromise with his creditors ; some of whom were wilHng to accede to the propositions made, but others, and by far the greater number, remained obstinately bent upon recei\qng the en- tire amount of the debts due ; " in short,^^ added he, " if it were not for the command to which you 284 DUTY AND INCLINATION. are appointed in Ireland^ and the consequent ne- cessity of your repairing thither immediately. Sir Aubrey would at once throw up the business." Dispiriting as was this language, yet the intelli- gence gained by De Brooke as to the place of his destination was by no means so. If he was doom- ed to no worse an exile than to Ireland he had no cause to complain ; but ere he allowed himself to give way to exultation, the point in question de- manded his serious attention. Dry and laconic in his speech as was the lawyer, he was entirely checked in his attempt of procuring from him fur- ther intelligence respecting the post allotted him by Government. " As long," continued he, " as one creditor holds out our hopes are frustrated ; I am come therefore, by the special order of Sir Aubrey, to inform you of the fact, under the possibility that you yourself may have the power of making a better compro- mise, by writing to those who more particularly oppose our views, promising that as soon as your circumstances permit, you will afford them by in- stalments the entire liquidation they demand." Having thus dehvered his message, scarcely w aiting a reply, he seized his hat and departed. ^•^ How cruel is it," said De Brooke to his wife, ^^ to feel myself so absolutely dependent, on an oc- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 285 casion like the present^ upon the compulsory bounty of my father ! a misfortime that renders doubly un- fortunate the robbery I have sustained, since I am well assured, that what will now be advanced for the purpose of my release, will be so much de- ducted from my children's future inheritance. It is a melancholy truth, and in common justice it is but myself I should blame, the culpable extrava- gance of my past conduct having led to this. I would fain think otherwise ; but, beheve me, if I outlive my father, you will find these words but too well verified.'^ Surrounded by the multiphcity of duties attend- ing his high station near the crown, Sir Aubrey was sensible of a wound, ever probing his heart, inflicted by the mortifications he endured on his son's account ; and that to a degree preventing the entire subjugation of his mind to those important councils and affairs of state that demanded his deepest attention. In the full unbounded confidence and favour of His Majesty, there was no unreasonable request which the Royal bounty would withhold, either for his own aggrandisement or that of his family : so great were his talents, public virtues, and de- votion to his monarch held in estimation, that in recompense for the valuable services he afforded 286 BUTY AND INCLINATION. the government of his country, it was but for him to suggest the mode of advancing his interests, to have them ratified to the fullest extent. Satisfied, however, with the many dignities and honours al- ready conferred upon him, he deemed it would be an abuse of the royal clemency to solicit more. Every distinction hitherto obtained had come un- sought for, and he might even have profited by greater, a peerage having been lately offered him; he might have exchanged his title of knighthood for that of lord ; he had declined the honour. But why (the reader will exclaim) such moderation in one aspiring after fame ? The answer is evidently because he sought to reflect lustre on himself alone; the angry and disappointed feelings engendered against his son, caused him to reject every here- ditary privilege, however worthy of his ambition. Though tracing his line of pedigree even to the Norman conqueror, yet, being in his first military onset comparatively but an obscure individual, it was not by good fortune alone, the martial glory which beamed around him, or celebrity accom- panying his name, — he had certainly sprung to eminence from causes superior to mere adventi- tious ones ; and thus he had successively risen to the honourable station he then filled. Good for- tune may ensure success to the general in the DUTY AND INCLINATION. 28? field; but something more than good fortune must attend the statesman^ in whom the utmost pro- fundity of intellect and solidity of judgment are es- sential, — holding, as did Sir Aubrey, in connection with his military titles, the rank of Right Honour- able Member of His Majesty's Privy Council. And the simple title of Sir, prefixed to his name as a badge of the distinguished order bestowed upon him, was prized infinitely above any loftier title, since it would cease wdth himself, nor be transferred to successors with whose name he did not choose that, in future ages, his individual fame should be confounded. Sir Aubrey, therefore, though unable to forget he had a son who bore his name, the legitimate representative of his race, yet endeavoured carefiilly to shun all occasions that might lead to inquiries concerning him. Frustrated by the means he had proposed in forwarding his aggrandisement, by presenting him to his sovereign as an object worthy of his patronage, it only remained that while, under the circumstance of his imprison- ment and painful persuasion, obloquy on his son's account might attach to himself, he, the father, should be the first to throw over him an impene- trable veil, by erasing if possible the name of Colonel De Brooke from the court. ^88 DUTY AND INCLINATION. Such was the public hue of conduct pursued by -Sir Aubrey against his son^ whilst his private feel- ings, burning with indignation on account of his clandestine marriage, decided him to let him re- main in prison. The better fortune of De Brooke, however, ordained it to be othersvise ; and suc- ceeding events, if they disarmed not wholly Sir Aubrey^s resentment, suspended for awhile its ef- fects. By an act of special favour, notice was com- municated to him from a high quarter, intimating the command to which his son was appointed, and which would require him to hold himself in readi- ness to embark for Ireland. The alternative to which, by this timely intimation. Sir Aubrey found himself reduced — of abandoning on his son^s be- half the fair prospect of honour and advancement, or of taking openly an active part in his affairs — could admit no longer of hesitation. Incensed as he was, to have so punished his son at the expense of his own pride and ambition w^s a measure more foreign to his character than to have disowned him for ever. He was determined, therefore, to inquire without delay into the affairs, with a view to the liberation, of his son. But in a proceeding of this nature Sir Aubrey was constrained, as Avell by predominant pride as habitual policy, to move with secrecy and circumspection. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 289 He had consequently remained some time inac- tive, for want of instruments, in an affair of more delicacy than difficulty. Fortunately at this time a written communication, purporting to be from the two principal creditors of De Brooke, con- taining an exaggerated statement of their dues, was forwarded to Sir Aubrey, accompanied with an intimation threatening, in default of a speedy ad- justment, an exposure of their grievances through the medium of the public journals. Such a mes- sage, to the haughty temper of the knight, was intolerably galling, and irritated him afresh against De Brooke. But the menaced appeal to the pub- lic, while it stung his pride, bade defiance to silent contempt. There was therefore no alternative but a compromise ; for which Sir Aubrey, disdaining an immediate communication with the claimants, refeiTed them to De Brooke, as the party best fitted for the discussion of their claims, and the most in- terested in the result, — intimating, however, that on an equitable accommodation being made, and a fair estimate of theu' total claim being presented, with the mutual sanction of either party, they might expect satisfaction. Thus modified in prac- tice, but unmitigated in principle, were the coun- sels of Sir Aubrey respecting his unhappy son. Encom-aged by the result of their manoeuvre, VOL. I. O 290 DUTY AND INCLINATION. the two creditors lost no time in seeking their vic- tim — such was their impatience, aided by an apprehension lest some change in the humour of Sir Aubrey, whom they feared to put to any fur- ther proof, should arise, and blast their hopes. Especially were they apprehensive lest in the meantime the other creditors might take the alarm, and, by a similar expedient, anticipate any advan- tage they hoped would accrue to themselves, both from the son^s inexperience, and the supercili- ous oversight of the father in disdaining a personal inspection of their charges. Determined to avail themselves of every incident which might occur in the course of the debate favourable to themselves, they had intruded upon their sick prisoner under every disadvantage which hope or fear, weakness or surprise, could occasion. With this purpose in view, instinctively guided by their selfish in- terests, they began to intimate, for they could hardly be said to explain, the object of their visit ; and in doing so were guilty of the greatest de- ceit, disguising the truth under the veil of am- biguous language. They were willing to mislead their unfortunate debtor, by insinuating that their claims had been allowed on the part of Sir Au- brey, which w^as false, and by concealing at first, what would have re\dved his heart to know, the DUTY AND INCLINATION. 291 part which his father had truly undertaken^ under certain conditions, to act in his favour. From this instance of dishonest concealment they did not, it is true, clearly contemplate any certain advantage ; being, as was said, governed only by a bUnd and selfish policy, bent on communicating nothingwhich it was consistent with their interest to conceal, and resolved to profit by any inadvertence or weakness their own ^dgilance and audacity might extort from their captive. It is a painful consideration, how far these wretches were guided in the mode of their proceed- ing by a mean spirit of low maUce, arising from disappointed cupidity, against one on whose re- sources they had too liberally calculated, if not for their present indemnity, at least for their future profit. Far be it the decision to what extent a petty desire might actuate them to feast their eyes on the misfortunes of their betters. Certain it is, that most if not all of their hopes were for this time thrown into abeyance by the un- expected, and, as it were, magical effect, mth which (as is shown in a former chapter), the sound of Sir Aubrey^s name and a glance at his well-known seal had operated, in connection with their ap- pearance, on the ah'eady irritated nerves of their o 2 292 DUTY AND INCLINATION, debtor^ and^ for such he fancied himself, perse- cuted son. Stupified in their turn by the sudden and un- iooked for catastrophe, and beheving De Brooke to be either dead or dying, these ill-omened visi- tors, fearful of consequences, were hesitating how to act, when Robert, alarmed and terrified by the noise of the fall, rushed wildly into the apartment. Scared at the sable apparition, which their guilty, alarmed consciences suggested could be no other than Satan himself or one of his emissaries, the two worthies held no longer consultation, but quitted the chamber with even less ceremony than they had entered it, leaving De Brooke to his fate, or what seemed worse, to the tender mercies of him whom in their confusion they had identified with the enemy of mankind. Scarcely, however, had the fugitives, — who had never once cast " a lingering look behind,^^ — reco- vering their first consternation, found the prison- gates interposed between them and the object of their terror, than they recollected that De Brooke was usually attended by a black servant, whom their fears had prevented from recognising in the person of Robert. Being more ashamed of their past fears and precipitate flight than of their cal- t)VTY AND INCLINATION. 293 lous indifference to the supposed dying state of their debtor, it is not surprising that they felt no hesitation in abandoning him to his destiny, con- sidering into what better hands than those to which, dreading the worst for themselves, they had so readily resigned him, they now believed him fallen ; — but it does seem a paradox disgrace- ful to fallen human nature, that these same fel- lows, who had been so reluctant to impart good tidings to the distressed, should have been most impatient to make known, in a quarter where they had reason to presume the nevrs would be most unwelcome, the distressing scene they had just witnessed. Nor did they affect to mince matters, but in wTiting to Sir Aubrey a memorial of their visit and its disastrous results, they bluntly stated that they had left Colonel De Brooke, whom they supposed expiring, to the hopeless effoi'ts of his servant to reanimate. Such a picture, though given in its coarse out- line by those unaccustomed to pity, was, never- theless, adapted to disarm even fate itself. And Sir Aubrey, with whom the parental feeling was so completely subordinate, yet doubting not the truth of Avhat was told him, the consciousness of vindictive severity exercised against his dying son struck awfully at his heart. But little used to the 294 DUTY AND INCLINATION. intrusion of sucli reflections^ they were soon dissi- pated from his mind^ from the firm belief that his misguided son was then suffering under a just chastisement^ brought upon him by his irre- gularities, and disobedience to his wishes and advice. Sometimes, from that period, an occasional thought of the imhappy De Brooke, whether in existence or otherwise, chequered with gloom his broad and far-extended ^istas of ideal glory, and sent a cloud over his brow. It was afler the lapse of some weeks, when nothing had transpired that might give reply to his secret inquiries, that he was awakened from the apparent indifference into which he had sunk by the letter from Mrs. De Brooke, from which he learnt that his son, though still ahve, was Hngering at the last ex- tremity. This epistle, dictated in terms that might have penetrated the soul of any but himself, shielded as it was by the annoui' of offended pride, and the self-accusing interpretation he naturally put upon expressions, conveyed but too faithfully a picture, the reahty of which alone was a tacit reproach to his cruelty, while conscience " held the mirror up to nature^^ : there needed no colouring of hers, however chaste and softened by the fear to offend ; DUTY AND INCLINATION. 295 the bare outline had sufficed. Couched in the in- sulting language of one whom he scorned to ac- knowledge as a member of his family, and yet concluded in the name, the arrogated name of De Brooke, nothing could have been more calcu- lated to increase, if possible, the fierceness of his indisjnant wTath. She dare to dictate to him the course he should pursue w ith his own ! or did she hope to beguile him with glowing descriptions and eloquent pathos ? Such finespun sentiment might pass upon the weak, but to him they were but the coverings of artifice, seeking to introduce herself to his notice, and which would avail her nothing. The letter was consigned to the flames; but its spirit, or rather his own constructions, self-applied, were, however despised, indehbly imprinted on his memory. Thus the writing of Mrs. De Brooke, which, if it did not do good, she had supposed could not do injury, was to act as a perpetual memorial against herself. Through the blessing of Divine Provi- dence her husband was restored to her, but not through any relief obtained from his father. Such was the more than unsuccessfiilness of her inter- cessions : and long would have existed that apathy and disregard of Sir Aubrey towards his son, had he 296 DUTY AND INCLINATION. not been roused from such a state by the circum- stance we are about to relate. Notwithstanding the vigilance of Sir Aubrey to keep his son out of view, the memory of princes, like those of other men, may be sometimes equally faithful. If Sir Aubrey was held in the confiden- tial friendship of the King, his son was not oblite- rated from the flattering recollections of the Prince, then heir-apparent to the Crown, in reverting to those times when the young Aubrey, with others of his age, sons of the nobility attached to the Court, lent their aid to heighten the pleasure of his juvenile exercises. De Brooke, ever having been more particularly a favourite of the Prince, had received repeated and distinguished tokens of his friendship, of which, far from being forgetful, he sometimes made the inquiry to himself, what could have befallen his former playmate De Brooke, what employment he held, or under what disgrace he lay, since he was never seen in company with his father Sir Aubrey : he recollected him to have been a frank, gay, and generous-spirited youth. Taking an occasion to express these sentiments of surprise and ciu-iosity to His Majesty, he was listened to with attention; and the thought oc- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 2^7 curred to his royal father^ that in promoting the fortunes of Sir Aubrey, that zealous, meritorious, and faithful Minister, he might have been too indifferent to those of the son. The recollec- tion of the father's having recently declined a peerage came afresh upon the mind of the King, who was far from guessing the cause, which, had he done so, might have seemed rather worse than ambition, and less than modesty in Sir Aubrey, — evincing a disposition to confine his ho- nours to himself, and to preclude his posterity from sharing in them. However disproportioned the equivalent, yet in order to afford some immediate compensation to De Brooke for what he, the rightful heir to Sir Aubrey, had been, from some pecuhar motives of his father, deprived of, it was ordered by His Majesty, Avho had ascertained that the name of Colonel De Brooke was on the list of those entitled to the rank of Major- General, that some highly lucrative as well as distinguished post of honour, in short the first faUing vacant, should, upon the Gazette of promotions appearing, be con- feiTed upon him. Meanw^hile nothing was hinted on the subject to Sir Aubrey, to whom the pleasure, he supposed, w ould be the greater, as it was to be unexpected. Thus graciously thought His Majesty, having in o 5 298 DUTY AND INCLINATION* view to bestow a favour equally upon the father as upon the son ; considering it but just that the oft- spring of one so worthy should also share his royal regard, and possess a rank that would pre- vent the father from longer blushing for his son^ as might appear to be the case, from the late circum- spection of the former in withholding the latter from notice. Having the good fortune to be thus remembered by the Prince, had De Brooke, previously to his embarkation to Portugal, consulted less his plea- sures, and made some sacrifice to ambition, inde- pendently of his father^s greatness, how splendid was the prospect which lay before him ! Alas ! that such faded from his view he had no one but himself to blame. The existing cause leading Sir Aubrey to the inspection of his son^s affairs has now been traced. Suddenly and unexpectedly elevated by the special favour of the King, he considered it an indispen- sable obligation no longer to leave him concealed within the walls of a prison. And since the extent of his debts called for so large a disbursement, he determined, on making the sacrifice, to make also a virtue of necessity, by turning it to his own pri- vate views, and procure if possible his son^s re- moval from the kingdom. DUTY AXI) INCLINATION. 299 But to give Sir Aubrey the credit due to him^ it is necessary to state that he entertained the good intention^ in removing his son from London, to remove him, not only from his own immediate vici- nity, but also from that society which had hitherto led him into extravagance. A staff appointment, and one highly lucrative, at this particular juncture in his son's affairs, becom- ing vacant in Ireland, Sir Aubrey, fearing to lose sight of so favourable an occasion, delayed not to solicit it for his son. Nor was he disappointed ; De Brooke was named to succeed Major-General Haughton in the comma^d of the district compri- sing the county of , v, ith the injunction of repau'ing thither immediately. Thus pressed. Sir Aubrey, by the advice of Mr. Arden, employed the attorney whom we have al- ready introduced at the Bench, — where, yielding to a painful suspense, De Brooke but little knew of what had been operating in his favour, and was about effecting so desirable a change in his destiny. If not to his immediate intercession, thought he, it was certainly to his father^s high consideration at Court he owed this distinguished militaiy ad- vancement, at a period of life when, in truth, lie was the youngest Major-General in His Maiesty's service. 300 DUTY AND INCLINATION, According to the advice given by the lawyer, he had TVTitten letters of accommodation to those of his creditors found to be the most refractory ; but finding them difficult to deal with, and unwilhng to enter into terms, De Brooke was reflecting on the perplexing dilemma into which he was thrown, when, hearing a knock without, he rose, and per- ceived a stranger at his door, who after handing him a packet instantly retired. De Brooke hastened to break the seal. The arms and crest were not unknown to him ; and in looking for the signature, it proved even as he had conjectured. The envelope inclosed a letter from Sir Henry Hodson, together with the money of which he had been so long deprived, and of which he then stood in so much need. His heart beat quick w ith expectation ; his deliverance seemed now secure, and could not but be speedily ac- complished. In reckoning over the amount, he found that with the addition of what his father be- stowed upon him, he should now have sufficient to satisfy the most exorbitant of his creditors ; so that much as he, and still more his wife, had found cause to deplore the loss of his money, it came returned to them most opportunely. Handing the letter to his wife, who, if not always a participator in the secret of his woes, was a welcome sharer in DUTY AND INCLINATION. 301 all his joys^ he begged of her to read it for him aloud. Sir Henry began by sayings that^ doubtless, when the money from the ecritoire had been missed, from a coincidence of circumstances, it was not improbable that suspicion had fallen upon him- self. Mean, despicable to a degree, must such an action have appeared, and never on his own ac- count could he have thus exposed himself to its infamy. Sooner, for his part, would he have en- dured the tortures of the rack, or the horrors of famine. It was and could be for no other motive than to relieve misery in a most aggravated shape — one dearer to him than all the world, — to rescue from ruin and desperation a helpless woman and a sister, that this act, apparently so s'ilfish and un- principled, had been committed. But let it not be imagined even for a moment that she was acces- sory to the deed or should be a partaker of its shame. He knew not even whether, next to the crime itself, he had ever had greater cause for regret than in having communicated to her sensi- tive and delicate soul the shock of an after dis- covery. He almost despaired of her forgiveness, who best knew and could best appreciate the cir- cumstances, under whose extenuating plea, only 302 DUTY AND INCLINATION. short of actual necessity, he had dared in some measure to palUate the guilt of his own trans- gression. '^ If I have appeared/' he continued, " g^^ilty ifi her eyes, trust me, I seem very far from innocent in my own estimation, though impelled at the time by the strongest affection for that amiable being, my only surviving relative, and the afflicted wife of one, whose hard fate seemed only recom- pensed in his having such a wife. As her brother, and the most devoted of her friends, she had in the first instance applied to me in her distress; not having sufficient by me to answer the whole extent of her husband's debt, I put my signature to the remainder, and the bill being protested, I was in consequence arrested ; to which previous accident I owe my first introduction to Colonel De Brooke. " We became companions in prison and in mis- fortune. Sympathy for each other under such circumstances led to a frequent interchange of visits. Disgraceful to myself as might appear the termination of this intimacy, believe me, the sen- timents I professed for you and yours were per- fectly disinterested, and would ever have remained so, had not unforeseen circumstances of the most DUTY AND INCLINATION. 303 bewildering nature hurried me to the commission of an act at variance with every law of honour and of humanity. " The picture of grief and distress_, overwhelmed with despair, my beloved sister a second time came, but to apprise me of the cause, not so much in hopes of assistance as in search of a brother's sym- pathy. Her husband, while yet hopeless of re- covery, and exhausted by sickness, lingering in existence, was menaced with the terrors of instant imprisonment. It was to avert this imminent and fatal result that I then called upon you, so ur- gently soliciting your aid — if, perchance, by an addition being made to my own trifling stock in hand, the immediate rigour of the prosecutors might be mitigated by a compromise. ^^ Unexpectedly the means of making her at once happy by the rescue of her expiring husband from the grasp of his merciless oppressors, were momen- tarily placed within my reach. As fate would have it, your pocket-book lay before me ; I hesitated one instant ere I opened it ; but affection, op- portunity, desperation conquered. I seized the notes, rushed precipitately, and deposited them in her hands — received a thousand blessings from one whose destiny had seemed from earliest in- fancy to command mine. Pity, if you can, and 304 DUTY AND INCLINATION. blame as you will, but do not hastily or too harshly condemn. '^ After Hberating her husband from the hands of persecution, her first act was to procure bail for myself. I could not refuse to accom^pany her, nor did I dare to remain ! ^^ Nothing now remains but to inform you, that when, her husband having sunk under the weight of sorrow and of sickness, she has turned away to weep her loss in secret, I have acted as her com- forter. In a w^ord, I have ever been to her a brother, she more to me than sister, from our childhood. But little did she guess how dearly preserved, how severely tried, had been my devo- tion for her. " In a moment of confidence, while speaking of the empire she had exercised over me from infancy, I was hurried on to avow the trespass, to give it nO'W^orse a name, of which, in her behalf, I had been guilty towards you. She was thunderstruck ; but it was too late to recall my words ; she fainted away. After she had recovered from her first stupor of grief and astonishment, I began to fear the loss of her esteem even more seriously than of her life before. Indeed since then she can scarcely be said to live, and assures me shall never know peace until a full acquittal has been made. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 305 The effect my involuntary disclosure had upon her was weU adapted to probe afresh the wounds so long rankling within me of humihating self-abase- ment From that time I redoubled my exertions, and through my improving finances have been fortunately enabled to return that of which I de- prived you. "This, together with the accompanying explana- tion, I fe'rvently hope will afford fall proof of my sincerity, and some atonement for my offence. Never, I fear, can it restore me to your good opi- nion; nor can I expect it, not having forgiven my- self. It is not that I dread, however justly deserved, the effects of your resentment, but to banish, if possible, my own recollections, that I hasten, so soon as this act of restitution is completed, to exile myself for ever from England, the scene of my transgression. « That you may the sooner be enabled to bury the past in oblivion, I pray Heaven to grant you a recompense of prosperity proportioned to your high deserts, in the better fortune awaiting you. And believe me sincere when I add, that not any of your friends rejoiced more truly than 1 did, when reading in the Gazette among the promo- tions the name of De Brooke. But while I feel that the deep interest I take in your welfare entitles 306 DUTY AND INCLINATION. me to be considered amongst the warmest of your weliwishers, I am at the same time conscious how unworthy I am, since the unpardonable wrong I have committed, to subscribe myself " Your friend, « H. Hodson/' DUTY AND INCLINATION. 307 CHAPTER XX. " And mighty souls with gen'rous pity melt." Gay. Notwithstanding thegenerosity of their natures^ the deep regret and manly avowal of Sh' Henry Hodson^ accompanied with the restitution of their property ; — notwithstanding also the distressing circumstances^ so analogous to their own, that had led to the robbery ; — the De Brookes might still have coincided in some measure with the senti- ment which had elicited from the offender so full, impartial, and elaborate a sentence of self-con- demnation. But there was one feature in the mingled portraiture of vice and virtue now lying before him that, relieved and heightened by a contrast of incidents which his own fortunes pre- sented, had the effect of magnifying the merits and of diminishing the demerits of the case to the mind of De Brooke, in a degree favourable to the Baronet far beyond the most romantic of his hopes ; and, indeed, if truth alone were to decide, far beyond what the Christian duty of forgiveness would either exact or justify. 308 DUTY AND INCLINATION. In estimating the strength and devotedness of fraternal affection there exhibited^ the mind of De Brooke naturally recmTed to the simihtude of relation and situation^ unaccompanied with the corresponding affections^ that existed between Mrs. Arden and himself. On the one hand^ he beheld an instance of brotherly love and tenderness in- creasing from youth to maturity^ and strengthen- ing amidst the trials of adversity ; on the other, •he saw the picture reversed. There he contem- plated a heinous offence, atoned for in some man- ner by unparalleled affection ; here, the absence of actual evil, supphed by no positive demonstration of good. Cheerfully, for the sake of a sister and her sick husband, the true brother had suffered imprisonment ; while, ^^ sick and in prison,^^ he had long languished, and yet might have lain, ere — sister but in name — his father's daughter had once deigned to visit him. How differently would he have acted if, under similar circumstances, their situation had been reversed ! He blushed not to think that his own conduct in such a case would of the two rather have resembled that of the Baronet to his sister, than of Mrs. Arden to himself. If there was much to condemn in the practice, there was also much to admire in the motive. If severe justice forbade him to excuse. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 309 or wholly to exculpate, humanity and congenial affection prompted De Brooke to pardon an act of erring virtue. In fact so little had the Baronet to dread his re- sentment, that it may be questioned whether his appearance in person would at that moment have been disagreeable to the injured but magnanimous De Brooke. If his judgment in this case was erro- neous, be it remembered it was his own ; nor let the narrator be accountable for an excess of lenity and good nature pecuharly characteristic of the man. " I hardly know,^' exclaimed he, " whether I should most admire or censure the character of the Baronet, as displayed throughout the whole of this astonishing business. To his sister what a depth of devoted affection ! To his friend, in the first instance, what apparent ingratitude and vil- lany I Even if he had not so frankly confessed and redressed all, I could hardly find it in my heart to condemn him. What is your opinion, AngeUna?" ^^ Really, I don't know ; I am almost afraid to trust my judgment in so nice a case. I had not deemed it possible I could ever look upon an act of that nature in any other light than that of an inexcusable violation of Divine and human laws. But,"— '^ But/' interrupted De Brooke, " necessity, you 310 DUTY AND INCLINATION. know^ my dear^ acknowledges none ; and the cir- cumstances under which he acted^ the feehngs he habitually cherished, were paramount, and the first and great commandment of life, to love, would in such a case have extinguished even the first dictate of nature, to live/^ ^^ That may be,^^ replied she ; ^' in his individual case, I am inchned with all my heart to hope and believe ; but I fear, lest in avoiding the fault of an uncharitable judgment, we incur a danger of an opposite kind/^ '^ How or what danger can there be in an excess of charity? Often have I heard your reverend and truly venerable father maintain, that the whole of Religion was comprehended in that one word. And I have read also in his favourite book, the Bible, — to which he always referred in questions of this nature, — that ' Love is the fulfilling of the law/ '' " And well I remember,^^ she replied, " how af- fectionately my dear father used to dwell upon those words ; the sentence was indeed familiar to his hps, but not more so than the sentiment was manifested in his life. He felt, he thought, he feared, he practised it.'^ "True,^^ responded De Brooke, ^^benevolence with him was beneficence ; and indeed I also per- DUTY AND INCLINATION. 311 ceive^ that without good practical effects^ goodwill is nothing better than an empty name. But what is your opinion of the Baronet ?^^ ^^ That he is very much to be pitied/^ ^^ Pitied V' retorted he ; ^^ commiseration for his jcase, and what more^, admired I suppose ? This I might have expected of womankind in general^ and of you, my love, in particular. But I asked not your statement as a woman, but your sentence as a judge.^^ '^ I fear you will make but indifferent lawyers of our sex. Shall I answer then as my father's re- presentative, according to what I remember of his pious precepts as a Christian moraHst ? '^ '^ Do so, and be my Aspasia or Hypatia.'' ^^Let me rather represent Aspasia ; you,Theron." " With all my heart ! as a disciple, then, I beg to inquire why sentence of condemnation should be pronounced against Sir Henry Hodson, who, rather than witness the evil that was about to be- fall his nearest and dearest relative, compromised that which was dearer to him than hfe — his ho- nour. Was not this Love ? — and is not ^ Love the fulfilling of the law ' ? If not, what is Love, what is Law ? '' ^^ It appears to me that if we allowed ourselves to be governed by mere natural affections only, we 312 DUTY AND INCLINATION. should rise but very little in the scale of Christian perfection; for the love of our neighbour com- bines a very extensive sense^ and is far from being confined to mere natural affection/^ ^* But yet it is most certain/^ observed he, " that natural love is agreeable to our natural states in this world, and he who does not feel it must be regarded as a monster/' " That I wiUingly admit/'' rephed she : " all that I wish to affirm is. that those who have no other loves are defective. The merely natural man acknowledges no other, as witnessed in the case before us. But Christian minds, like that of my revered father, know how to keep aU natural af- fections in subordination to higher ones, the love of the Lord and his kingdom, and aU that is heavenly and eternal.*' "'* Admirably reasoned, my dear, and therefore I will not put your defence of truth any longer to the test. To sum up your observations, they seem to amount to this, that natural love, when not grounded on a soHd, that is a Scriptural base, is apt to degenerate into what may, in some degree, resemble animal instinct ; and to prove your rea- soning good, it is well known, I beheve, that bad men, men of perverted principles, whose love of self is allowed unhmited sway, with proportionate DUTY AND INCLINATION. 313 strength love their own ; the ties of kindred are car- ried^ we have seen, in some instances, hke the love of Sir Henry for his sister, to the utmost enthu- siasm, and even to idolatry. Whereas better regu- lated minds, impressed with the Divine command, ' Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,^ in the indulgences of their more general and extended affections, regard mankind as one united family, or as brethren under one common Father. The former imperfect love is liable to fluctuate, to wither, possibly decay altogether, under time and circumstances ; the latter, on the contrary, outlives such vicissitudes, and may therefore endure in time and in eternity. Is it not so, my dear ? You smile assent, ^ and smiles from reason flow.^ Thus having fully entered into your pious and pure un- derstanding of the subject, let us drop the argu- ment, and leave Sir Henry with the hope, that by leisure and reflection he may cultivate nearer ap- proaches to the Deity, and acquire strength to sub- due his governing Inclinations, learn to be guided by Duty, and rise above yielding to a temporary good, how fair soever or seductive it may seem.^^ ^^ In combating with, and conquering himself,^^ added Mrs. De Brooke, " I rejoice to think he may yet become an ornament to human nature.'^ Dismissing from their thoughts the painful re- VOL. I. P 314 DUTY AND INCLINATION. collections with which the subject was inseparably connected^ they turned to the brighter prospects Avhich the future presented. The letter of the Baronet had not only restored to De Brooke what he had been long deprived of, and thereby rendered his liberation certain ; but had also communicated tidings with which the heartless la\syer had not thought proper to gratify him. He had attained to the distinguished rank of Major- General^ to which a command in Ireland was attached. What had he more to desire, than to burst the ignoble fetters confining him to his prison-house, and fly to take possession of the new appointment awaiting him ! • " Even nature pines by vilest chains oppress 'd. But when their chains are cast aside, See the glad scene unfolding wide," To pass over details unessential to the progress of the narrative, let us behold De Brooke and his wife quit for ever those sombre gates which scarcely a twelvemonth before had heavily closed against the former as their prisoner, and were now thrown open to restore him to liberty and life, home and happiness ! But alas ! how seldom is the sum of human joy complete ! Even in bidding a final adieu to that dark dwelling, regret for that dear and mutual object, there for ever lost to their DUTY AND INCLINATION. 315 earthly regard^ intruded : and even Robert dwelt upon their thoughts ; how gladly would they have recalled that faithful domestic to have shared in their better fortune, as he had hitherto done in their adversity ! — but no clue could they obtain by which to trace him. Proceeding, however, on their way, they endea- voured to chase the mournful recollections of the past, to indulge in the brighter images which the present enabled them to contemplate, until they found themselves at the door of their new lodgings in Pall-mall, previously taken by Mrs. De Brooke for the space of a few weeks, in order to receive visits and transact business preparatory to leaving the kingdom. The first consideration of moment to De Brooke was to give publicity to his marriage covenant, and particularly so by circulating amongst his family a copy of the certificate registered at the parson- age of Whitby, in the county of York, the only document necessary to hear legal testimony of his union. His next care was to bring home his daughters, and to make Mrs. Herbert a handsome compen- sation for their charge. The kind-hearted widow had become much interested in the young ladies, p 2 316 DUTY AND INCLINATION. but more particularly the younger, whose infantine graces and charming display of character had also strongly impressed her son ; and though re- joicing in the ameliorated fortune of their father, she was tempted on her own account to lament a change involving, as a certain consequence^ the re- call of his daughters from under her roof. The young Edward Herbert was then about twelve years of age, and the disparity between him and his elder brother had occasioned his remaining con- stantly at home with his mother ; thus, from hav- ing been almost her exclusive companion, she lived but in his presence, and loved him with a species of idolatry, so far unfortunate for the young Ed- ward, as it induced a neglect of the means which might have afforded him a suitable education. The daughters of De Brooke, though by many years his juniors, he fondly regarded as playmates. Oriana, however, though chatty and vivacious, and possess- ing an intelhgence beyond her years, was not so given to join in his mirthful sports as RosiUa. Upon her, therefore, he naturally lavished his tenderest caresses, made her a sharer in all his little joys and sorrows, and took delight in styling her his little wife. The parting scene was mutual em- braces and tears on either side. The most fervent DUTY AND INCLINATION. SI? protestations and vows fell from the lips of the youthful Herbert never to forget his beloved Rosilia. '^ Remember/^ said he^ dissolved in boyish ten- derness, " when I am older, and a man, remember what I have often told you, — I will go to the Indies, where my brother is, and make my fortune, — I shall return and give it all to you, — I will bring you every- thing I can obtain the most precious and beautiful. I will give something to Oriana, because she is your sister, and I like her ; but it is you whom I love the most ; you are not so spirited, so full of humour as she, but you are the handsomer, the gentler, and the more tender .^^ Such was the impassioned parting speech of the infatuated boy, who, the remainder of that sorro\^^ul day, which robbed him of his lovely playmate, sat silent at the corner of his mothei'^s hearth ; nought could call forth the wonted smile of peace or pleasure ; the time hung heavy ; he yawned at ever}^ interval ; and by his own request, left the room at an early hour to bury his dis- content in slumbers, interrupted by dreams of his Rosilia. On seeing the improvement that had taken place in the appearance of his daughters, it was natural that to the sensitive souls of the De Brookes should 318 DUTY AND INCLINATION. recur^ with grateful feelings, the thought of Phili- more and his amiable wife, whose conduct, as regarded themselves, had formed an agreeable rehef to that of Mr. and Mrs. Arden, though, from the absence of the same analogy in the circum- stances and relation, not so striking and bold a contrast as was exhibited in the affairs of the Ba- ronet and his sister. No sooner were the most urgent of his duties over, than, attended by his family, De Brooke hastened to discharge this debt of, gratitude and friendship for the only instance, amongst his former fashionable acquaintance, of disinterested regard and actual kindness during his reverse of fortune. To the great disappoint- ment, however, of the whole party, Mr. and Mrs. Philimore were absent from town. Having availed herself of the opportunity al- lowed her, Mrs. De Brooke provided an instruc- tress for her daughters, one who might aid her in bestowing upon them those accomphshments of mind best adapted to heighten and embellish their personal charms. She had also redeemed the jewels and miniatures which she had found herself, when reduced to extremity, under the painful ne- cessity of disposing of for a time. — In the joy and prosperity then attending them, the grave of their son was not forgotten. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 319 Often had Mrs. De Brooke bent her footsteps to hover over that spot, pointed out to her by Ro- bert; and often, in poring over the inscription with moistened eyes and an aching heart, had she read the awful and impressive lesson of what we are, and of what we must become when the immortal spirit, no longer confined within its earthly tenement, expatiates free in the regions of incorruption. Flowers were again thrown over the grave by the mother and sisters. De Brooke mournfully lingered by the side of his wife, and took a last and tender farewell of the spot. This affecting task over, he seized an interval for presenting himself at the Royal levee, in order to thank His Majesty for the favour conferred upon him ; but here he was unaccompanied by Sir Au- brey, who, purposely to avoid a rencontre with his son, affected to be confined by indisposition ; yet was not his reception the less gracious. The ceremony being performed, Major-General De Brooke and his partner elegantly equipped themselves with the various articles of ornament and splendour, the most approved by taste and fashion, suitable to their exalted station; this necessary preparation occupied them two days, when, in a genteel and neat travelling carriage, they pursued the road leading to Holyhead, where 320 DUTY AND INCLINATION. after the space of some days they embarked for Ireland. The wind proving favourable^ the follow- ing morning they anchored in the beautiful bay of Dublin. After reposing a few days in the capital of the kingdom in which they were to dwells they pro- ceeded to their place of destination. The town of W presented an aspect the most picturesque, skirting the sea — rich, large, and populous. It was commanded by the Fort of D , where, with his family, the General went to take up his summer quarters; having previously passed a month at W , with the view more particularly to ex- amine the country then devolving under his au- thority. Elevated upon a lofty perpendicular rock stood the fort, in the interior of which was the edifice assigned the General, with other lesser ones, com- prising a range of buildings in the form of barracks for the field officers and subalterns of the various detachments, artillery and line, under his com- mand. These nearly hned the parade, with the exception of the northern and part of the w^estern side, where were erected double tiers of ramparts, suspended over the wide and boundless track of ocean. The eye, in following the eastern direction, might trace rock rising upon rock, succeeding each DUTY AND INCLINATION. 321 Other in nearly a vertical line, terminated by one, the most elevated and craggy, casting its huge broad surface into the bosom of the seas. Such was the bold and grand display presented from that romantic eminence. The mansion of the General was spacious, and gave ample scope for the exercise of Mrs. De Brooke's judicious taste. The windows from the back commanded the striking scene we have de- scribed ; those in front the parade, at whose furthest extremity the soldiers and recruits performed their military evolutions. Beyond them stood those massy ramparts, mounted with heavy cannon, which, when discharged, spread far and wide peals of rolling thunder, resounding through the coast, and reverberated amongst those stupendous rocks upon which the spray foamed with turbulent vio- lence. All other objects might haply fleet away in the course of nature and events of things, and still the narrowest chink or smallest bay in the vicinity of D Fort, into which the poor fish- eiTiian was wont to drive his Uttle bark, vrould continue visible to the gaze, indelible and un- changed by time or tide ! How little can the private individual, in his nar- row walk through life, form to his fancy an idea of the entirely opposite course pursued by those p 5 322 DUTY AND INCLINATION. under the immediate exercise of authority and power ! Wishes anticipated ; the acquiescence and obedience of every moment ; the flattery of cour- tiers; the pomp of mihtary disciphne; parade of arms; sentinels at their post; the warhke sound of the drum in successive roll ; the sounding instru- ments of a military band^ ever within orders to pour the martial air ; all doing honour to the Ge- neral^ who was attended as a prince. And so De Brooke moved, was courted, observed, and almost worshiped; add to all this, the private enjoy- ment of a handsome income, with everything state, equipage, and retinue could bestow. Raised to a just sense of his own importance by the necessity of subordination in the different ranks beneath him, De Brooke, notwithstanding this pomp surrounding him, tempered his control by moderation and philanthropy; assuming no- thing but what his high command rendered impe- ratively his duty to execute as due to his office, nor placing himself personally above the level of ordinary society. Possessing the warm sympathies of humanity, often were the poor in his neighbourhood seen to follow him, invoking blessings upon his head : ^^ Ah, there he goes ; there goes the General, that even one poor like I can speak to !'^ When not DUTY AND INCLINATION. 323 engaged in the public functions of his station, the General, mindful that he had himself ex- perienced adversity, received a pleasure in re- dressing the grievances of his low but not despised fellow-mortals, equally journeying with himself through a temporary scene to one that is eternal, — ^where haply the honest poor might reign above the proud and lordly rich. Open to the boundless main, and, consequently, exposed to its rude tumults and vicissitudes as was the rock which they inhabited, yet an excur- sion of a few miles brought them into a lovely country, where verdure and cultivation displayed themselves. The laborious oxen were yoked to the ploughshare, and, generous as was the earth, plentiful harvests were the result. " A land flow- ing with milk and honey '^ well might be applied ; no dearth existing ; the boards of its hospitable natives ever crowded by the rich produce of their prolific soil. A few estates, the property of some of the Irish nobility, though thinly scattered around the neigh- bourhood, and but rarely visited by their owners, afforded to the General and Mrs. De Brooke the delightful recreation ofarui'al drive; on which occa- sions the latter, having a spare seat in her carriage, was often accompanied by one of the officers^ la- 324 DUTY AND INCLINATION. dies^ whom her own choice had selected as the most congenial to her. Sometimes the General, accompanied by his suite, was of the party ; and sometimes, to give a greater diversity to these amusements, she engaged them in marine excur- sions. It was then, while sailing along the coast, and enjoying at the same time the charms of mu- sic, that the sublimest scenery expanded before the eye. Sometimes in these parties they took with them domestics, bearing refreshments, of which, uncere- moniously arranged, either amidst the deep re- cesses of the rocks or on the soft green herbage, they participated with much more zest than if they had been seated at the most sumptuous boards. Scenes such as these afforded by con- trast a pleasing relief from the monotony of mili- tary routine within the garrison. To this agreeable summer winter succeeded, when the General exchanged his head-quarters at the Fort for the town of W , equally under his command as the former; where, by the order o* Government, he had also a handsome abode ap- propriated to him. The most respectable and worthy inhabitants of the town afforded to Mrs. De Brooke a circle of select and well-chosen ac- quaintance, which, with the military of distinction who paid their respective devoirs and attention to DUTY AND INCLINATION. 325 the General^ rendered his house a temple^ where every elegance of rational society, taste, Avit, and beauty resided. Here it was that Mrs. De Brooke exhibited to the greatest advantage an innate affection — we may call it a talent — of pleasing, that showed itself in the uncommon versatility of manners and tem- per with which she accommodated herself to the humour and character of her guests. With the grave and sententious she could be serious and sentimental ; with the gay she was animated and cheerful ; yet, with all her powers of accommoda- tion, — which is perhaps the true secret of pleasing, — nothing was more foreign to her manners than an affectation of conforming ostentatiously to the temper of others, or indeed any affectation what- ever. From the evenness and uniformity of her spirits and disposition, it might be suspected that the change was in others unconsciously acceding to the attraction of her sphere. The appearance, however, was so far otherwise, that the proudest felt pleased when constrained by the sunshine of her presence and bewitching address to throw aside the mantle of reserve, and thus to step as it were out of themselves. From the humble sphere to which by her birth she had seemed destined, and the softer feelings 326 DUTY AND INCLINATION. which alone she had hitherto displayed, it could hardly have been conceived to what extent she possessed those more brilliant qualities which the present scene called forth, and how well nature had fitted her to adorn the highest walks of life ; nor was it possible that they who had experienced only the magic influence of her graceful and win- ning conversation, and felt the attraction of which she was the centre in the high circle where she now moved, could ever have imagined her to have been the daughter of a country curate ! Thus thought De Brooke. And there were mo- ments when he could reflect on those days as some of his happiest that had been spent with his wife in the parsonage of her father, the venerable Basil. Mrs. De Brooke held nights for a more general reception of company than those dedicated to the friendly intercourse of a few: upon these occa- sions her apartments were crowded by more pro- miscuous guests than were suited to her taste ; nevertheless the public situation of her husband demanded of her this sacrifice. Dancing and music vied with each other, creating mirth and enjoy- ment to the young ; while cards or conversation afforded entertainment to the more mature. Little dreaming of the revelry filling that saloon of state, Oriana and Rosilia, two unconscious buds DUTY AND INCLINATION. 327 of beauty, lay innocently reclining on their soft pilloAvs. Short as might be the period of their childhood, yet fate had so ordained it, that how- ever formed to shine and eclipse, the seasons ad- vancing in their successive changes were to contri- bute only to deepen the mists encompassing their future destiny. Unable to fathom the hidden ways of Provi- dence, building upon a continuation of prosperity, how pleased, how elated, the parents^ eyes contem- plated the expanded graces and accomplishments of their daughters ! It ever gave a delight un- bounded to Mrs. De Brooke to steal from the busy scenes of the world, which then so much en- gaged her, to visit the young plants of her culture, and inspect the progress of their education. Com- petent as was their governess to instil into the minds of her pupils moral, scientific, and rational knowledge, yet Mrs. De Brooke^ when occasion offered, lost not the means of perfecting them also in the more elegant branches of female ac- quirements. Thus it might be said that, though so young, they were as ' polished corners,^ and thus diffused joy through the breast, conjuring visions of hap- piness before the mental eyes of their fond pa- rents. 328 DUTY AND INCLINATION. CHAPTER XXI. " Whereto we 're bound? Alack or we must lose The country." However agreeable the town of W proved as a winter residence^ yet it by no means afforded the advantages sought for in summer, when na- ture, blooming in vegetation and sweets, invites to the more peaceable and retired walks in life. A continuation of company and midnight parties had become irksome even to weariness ; no sooner, therefore, had the winter months, with their gay festivities and amusements, passed away, than, anxious to diversify a mode of existence so httle congenial to then' sober tastes and former domestic habits, the General and his Lady hastened to re- sume their summer quarters at the Fort of D — ■ — . Thither then they resorted in the month of May, when the spring breezes are everywhere the most dehghtful and refreshing, but doubly so when in- haled from so elevated a position as the Fort. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 329 The summer passed away joyous and pleasant as the former had been^ and season succeeded to season^ until three years had elapsed in uninter- rupted prosperity and tranquillity. Contented with the department he held^ and bounding his ambi- tion to the sphere in which he then moved^ De Brooke neither sought nor desired higher honours ; happy in quiet possession of that station^ the ad- vantages of which were the more endeared to him as it had succeeded to so many trying afflic- tions. Having obtained, by a timely application to Government, the object most agreeable to him, a renewal of his command, the General was the more gratified as it gave him a degree of assurance in the bright anticipations he indulged relative to the future welfare of his little family, independent of aid derived from his father. In such reflections the past turmoils of his life were often forgotten, whilst he looked forward to years of increasing happiness. But of the deceit- fulness at best of all earthly hopes, those of the General, erected on the same sandy foundation, proved an example. Such were the views which the present peaceful and even tenor of General De Brooke^s existence suggested during his three years^ residence at the 330 DUTY AND INCLINATION. garrison^ where he had then taken up his almost constant abode. It was one afternoon, when all nature seemed to slumber in a still and deep repose, when scarce a sound was heard to vibrate, even from the foaming spray of Ocean as it laved the flinty rock, or even amongst the haunts of the soldiers, or more rude and undisciplined recruits ; — fore- boding fears, impending destiny, seemed to hang upon the silence — prophetic seemed the pause! Sud- denly an express arrives — the drawbridge is thrown down — the gates are opened, and Captain Curtis, acting aid-de-camp to the General, spurring his courser w^hite with foam, encrusted with dust, bounding forward at full gallop as he rode, dis- mounted at the door of his General, urging the necessity of an immediate interview. He was ushered breathless into the dTawing-room, where Mrs. De Brooke, beguiled by the calm serenity of the evening, had sat later than usual at her tea- table. Captain Curtis, poHtely declining her of- fered cup, retired wdth the General, and entered at once upon the business which had caused his re- turn to the Fort at so sudden and unexpected an hour. Captain Curtis had been for a short time profit- ing by a leave of absence to reside with his family DUTY AND INCLINATION. 331 at the town of W , where terminated the district under the GeneraPs command. But a short time previous to his leaving his native town^ he had privately received information of a con- spiracy^ of a nature calculated to endanger the peace and safety of the country^ which he had every reason to beheve was actually at the pre- sent moment in a state of rebelHon. His au- thority was unquestionable^ and supported by facts of a most convincing kind^ that ere tomor- row's sun the Irish peasants would be in arms, and to an incalculable amount : under such fearful tidings he had therefore conceived it incumbent upon him to lose no time in the communication of it^ — thence hoping that^ by the adoption of timely measures, the insurrection might be quelled, and consequently the blood of those ill-judged, despe- rate people spared. Giving due and deep attention to what he heard, the General expressed amazement that the rebels had so well concerted their plans, that, like a mine ready to explode, the insurrection had been kept bmied in silence and secrecy until the favour- able moment had arrived, — or, like hidden embers, smothered, yet gathering strength till ready, as appeared the rebelhous spirit at present, to burst into open flame. 532 DUTY AND INCLINATION. '^^ Infatuated and deluded people ! '' exclaimed he ; ^^ ever groaning under fancied wrongs^ and sighing after imaginary blessings^ ye cannot rest satisfied to enjoy the bounties which the hand of Providence has so amply lavished on your country. Arbitrary and coercive measures^ therefore^ must be resorted to ; and I^ contrary to my feelings and wishes^ yet having your true interests at hearty am constrained to take up arms against you.^^ In a case so critical and dangerous, what other steps should he pursue ? The fate of thousands, or even that of the country, might rest upon his decision : the consideration w^as awful. By sending an armed detachment against the re- bels, he might check in its beginning their insur- gent measures ; but, on the other hand, a defeat, which their numbers rendered no improbable re- sult, would aggravate the ill. His aid-de-camp stated, as his firm persua- sion, that the sending a body of troops to encounter the rebels could not but be attended with the hap- piest effects ; that when brought into action against regular troops, an undisciphned force, such as they could bring into the field, must speedily surrender or be dispersed. Flattered by the profound at- tention with which he had been listened to, he continued to deliver himself in animated language. DUTY AND INCLINATION. 333 " Let us gather laurels. General/' said he, ^' by gaining an instantaneous and therefore decisive victory over this lawless band ; let us strike a panic into the enemy, and Ireland, so long disturbed, will be restored to peace." Captain Curtis, in the meridian of his years, of a sober judgment and undoubted discretion, led the General to give an over- weight to his opinions. Thus actuated, urged and impatient of delay, the General rose from his seat with looks of fire that spoke his martial zeal in the cause. " To business,'' said he ; ^^ our time is precious ! Apprise the officers commanding their respective detachments of my intention ; call them instantly before me, that I may issue my orders preparatory to their march — Captain Blackwood of the ar- tillery. Major Harrold of the line." Scarcely an interval elapsed, when they were in the presence of their General, who conferred with them upon the necessity of marching without de- lay, to anticipate the view^s of the enemy : between their respective divisions of artillery and line, a body of three hundred men could be raised to act as a skirmishing party or advanced guard, in order to reconnoitre the strength of the enemy. Giving his orders to Major Harrold in particular, as the commander, the General, with the strictest in- 334 DUTY AND INCLINATION. junctions, warned him not to make any rash attack, but to await his coming in person ; for such was his design, — ^intending, at the head of a second de- tachment, consisting of a larger number of troops that were quartered in the vicinity, as soon as night favoured the circumspection of his move- ments, to take the enemy by surprise at the first break of day. This being arranged, Major Harrold, having promised faithful obedience, accompanied by his officers, descended to the parade, there to employ himself with the utmost dispatch in the muster of his men, who in less than an hour w^ere under arms, and in readiness, previous to their departure, to be passed in review by their General. It is true that the Fort, being but thinly armed, in sending thus forth the most effective of its forces, the garrison during the interval would be comparatively divested of power ; but naturally impetuous, excited also by zeal in the country's cause, the General, under such urgent circum- stances, felt that active measures were necessary to be adopted, and hoped, by one decisive blow, to extinguish the flames of rebellion. Thus animated himself, he exhorted the subalterns, and even the privates, with these words : '^ Go, my gallant friends ; tomorrow we return victorious ! '' Then DUTY AND INCLINATION. 335 turning to Major Harrold, he for the last time re- peated his instructions^ peremptorily forbidding him to advance further than the Killaway Hill, but there to rally his forces and await his arrival, as being, not a point of view very favourable for making observations, but a most desirable position to be occupied ; and from whence, ere the rebels had time to extend themselves, by their joint attack they would be instantly routed, as it was not to be supposed that so undisciphned a horde, however numerous, could stand against the assault of the brave men he had the honour to command. So saying, the word being given, and the draw- bridge let down, the General saw them depart. Sorrowful and alone, Mrs. De Brooke had ob- served from her window the active preparations which had been making, and which, notwithstand- ing a few minutes' interview, employed in words of comfort and re-assurance from her husband, in spite of the courage she had summoned to her aid, sent an involuntary chill to her heart. In fearful expectation of the future, she looked with anxiety for his re-appearance. The General soon returned, but it was to employ himself in writing an express to collect the several companies of the foot regi- ment quartered within his district but a few miles distant, — ordering the officer in command to march 336 DUTY AND INCLINATION. with all diligence for the Fort, where he himself awaited their arrival, and was in readiness to head them, that with so considerable a reinforcement, in addition to those he had sent forward to recon- noitre, he might be enabled to make a successful attack upon the enemy. These important orders w^ere dispatched; and after an anxious interval of two hours, when even- ing had spread her sombre hues upon the earth, the stillness that had succeeded to the previous bustle was interrupted on a sudden by the arrival of the forces, and all was again in immediate mo- tion ; again the rattling of the artillery, the clash of arms, struck like a discordant knell upon the ears of Mrs. De Brooke. By an order from the General, the troops had halted beyond the draw- bridge, where, every arrangement being made, ac- companied by his aid-de-camp, he hastened to join them, giving but one parting embrace to his afflicted wife. With straining eyes she strove to catch the last parting glimpse of him who was aU the world to her, but he had fled ; he had turned the corner of the magazine, well stored with am- munition, and whose doors were now closing, hav- ing been opened to deal out the means of warfare. The words ^^ Tomorrow we shall meet again ! '^ lefl on Mrs. De Brooke's ear their echo ; they DUTY AND INCLINATION. 337 had been the last words of her husband. The night closed in^ and she retired to her chamber^ but not to rest ; a sad presentiment and a thousand terrific images took possession of her^ and when weaiy nature at last gave way, and she sunk asleep, it was but to start from her pillow, awakened by some tor- turing dream. ^^ How awfully passes this night ! " thought she ; ^^ Heaven grant it may only seem so from the effects of my own distempered fancy !" Having pursued his course through this rebel- lious countr}^ during the dead of night, the General, with his forces, arrived at the spot determined upon at the foot of the Killaway Hill, where he had given orders to Major Harrold to await his coming. But alas ! to his astonishment, no trace of troops was there. The first suggestion occur- ring to the General was, that they had met with some forcible detention on their march ; or they might have mistaken their route, notwithstanding the repeated explanations he had given. But what flashed across his mind with the most poignant apprehension was, the thought that they might have proceeded further, encouraged on their march by an apparent tranquillity, until too far advanced to retreat, and that a rash engagement had followed ! Thus impressed, in all the impe- tuosity of his character and disappointed zeal in VOL. I. Q 338 DUTY AND INCLINATION. . the cause in which he had engaged^ the General poured forth the most passionate invectives. ^^ I am betrayed ! '^ exclaimed he ; ^^ my honour is compromised ! 1, who have always served my King with credit — what is life to me ? I have never shrunk from danger^ nor shall I now from death, let it come but with glory ! Nothing remains^ from the disobedience of my orders by Major Har- rold^ but to advance, let what will be the result V' The General proceeded a few paces, and then called to his men to halt ; he listened, anxious to catch some sound that might re-assure him that all was as it should be ; the sound of steps, foretelling the approach of men, was all he heard; the night he considered would soon give place to the rising morn, when his troops must necessarily be in action, and might require some previous rest ere encountering the enemy. Thus reflecting, he decided they should halt for the space of one hour ; when, dismounting, he gave his horse to his orderly, and entered with his aid- de-camp a small farm-house, being officiously in- vited to do so by the owner, who, instantly upon the drawing near of the troops, had appeared on the look-out. Under the most painful solicitude, the General asked him hastily whether a miUtary force had DUTY AND INCLINATION. 339 passed his house ; with a seeming air of stupid in- difference the man answered in the negative^ and then quickly placed refreshments^ such as came within his reach, before his guests, urging them to partake with a zeal even greater than common hospitality demanded : his importunities, how^ever, were in vain. Captain Curtis, who had fixed a penetrating eye on his host, did not let pass unobserved the con- strained look and air accompanying his words and actions, nor the sullen shade that passed his brow on their refusing his offered fare. Unable to prevail on them to taste anything, the farmer next solicited them to repose, '' having upstairs a room,^^ he said, ^*^ at their service, con- taining a couple of beds.^' ^' That I cannot accept under the present cir- cumstances,^' said the General ; ^^ but, booted and spurred as I am, I will sit here on this bench within doors, provided that you,^' addressing him- self to his aid-de-camp, ^^ keep watch without, and give me the signal the moment the detachment appears in sight. May Heaven grant that the man speaks truth ! delay in such a case is more to be desired than precipitation; ere one hour re- volves I shall know better on what to decide. I am thirsty," added he, '^ and will even quaff of q2 340 DUTY AND INCLINATION. this pure beverage/^ pouring water from an earthen pitcher that stood on the table. The glass was raised to his lips ; but before he tasted its contents it was grasped from his hand. " ^Tis poisoned, General ; beware !" whispered his aid-de-camp ; '^ we are under the roof, or I am greatly mistaken, of a most notorious rebel. Ex- amine the jug ; it contains a sediment tiiily sus- picious.^^ Not wishing to entertain private discourse, under the persuasion that it would be better to avoid showing mistrust, the General, turning hastily aside, fixed a searching eye on his host, in whose aspect nought appeared that might in any way dispel his doubts ; but seeing no reason, whilst in expectation of the arrival of the troops, under Major Harrold, against taking a short repose, he followed his conductor into an adjoining room. Accoutred as he was, with hat and sword, he sat himself down, the host having closed the door after him on retiring. Harassed in mind by the non-arrival of the troops, his thoughts were far too busily engaged to slumber; every moment irksome to him, he was on the point of suddenly rising, had not his impatience been diverted for an inten^al by the movements of his host. Feigning sleep, which his recumbent posture favoured, he had seen his DUTY AND INCLINATION. 341 door gently opened, and twice had the man thrust in his head, and peeped behind the wide opening made by its worn-out hinges, or skulked near to where he sat, stretched on the bench, his body supported by the wall ; at last, starting up, the General's glance of fire fell upon that face of low cunning and mischievous expression. " Villain !" exclaimed he, ^' what brings you here ?" '^ No offence, plase your honour ; I came but to see if your honour slept/^ ^' My aid-de-camp — my attendants ! — where are they y furiously rejoined the General. " Without, an plase your honour; they be about kaping a look-out, as your honour desired.'' ^'^ Whatever your design was, scoundrel, in break- ing in upon me," said the General, ^^ you may sup- pose it to be hidden in yom* own dark breast, but" — he hesitated ere he proceeded, thinking it better to make his way out of the house, rather than give aggravation to the villain's murderous designs. Descending therefore the broken staircase, he flung open the outer door, when he was joined by those he sought, and to whom he instantly com- municated his conviction that the rebel from whose hands he had just escaped had deceived him. ^^ The hour of halting has not yet expired," 342 DUTY AND INCLINATION. exclaimed he ; " but we must hence, for that Major Harrold has advanced, contrary to my orders, so strongly enforced, there can be no longer doubt ; perhaps he has even entered upon the attack ; and no alternative remains but to hasten our march, that we may yet arrive in time to afford him assistance/^ END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. PRINTED BY RICHARD AND JOHN E. TAYLOR, RED LION COURT, FLEET STREBT. a o U O '-M a o .»-< 4-> o o u Oi 1 OJ • tH O 0) Oi CO a (D > . • • 1-H bJO ^ o C/3 »— ( • T-( o o u o bJO ^ a o o • 1— 1 a O J=i o c3 T 1 0) .1-1 o a • 1-t CO ^-1 CO o ::3 o g O P-i c/^ '^ o o o CO CO O o o • T-l S u O < u u W fe f^