CHAPTER III.
Mr. Barton and the milliner now agreed, that if fair means would not bring the charming Alicia to reason, others must be used; and it was settled that she should be arrested for her debt to the milliner, which was upwards of fifty pounds. “She knows,” said this considerate brother, “that I have neither the power nor the will to pay the money. Sir Plantagenet’s son is as poor as Job; so she must have recourse to Marvel; and, if she gives him proper encouragement, he’ll pay the money in a trice. As to this man, who lodges with you, let her apply to him if she likes it; she will soon see how he will answer her. By your account he is a shrewd fellow, and not like our friend Marvel.”
On Friday morning the charming Alicia was arrested, at the suit of her dear friend and confidant, the milliner. The arrest was made in the milliner’s shop. Alicia would doubtless have screamed and fainted, with every becoming spirit and grace, if any spectators had been present: but there was no one in the shop to admire or pity. She rushed with dishevelled hair, and all the stage show of distraction, into Wright’s apartment; but, alas! he was not to be found. She then composed herself, and wrote the following note to Marvel:
“TO —— MARVEL, ESQ. &C.
“At the Green Man.
“Much as it hurts the delicacy and wounds the pride of Alicia, she is compelled, by the perfidy of a bosom friend of her own sex, to apply for assistance and protection to one who will feel for the indignity that has been shown her. How will his generous nature shudder, when he hears that she is on the point of being dragged to a loathsome dungeon, for want of the paltry sum of fifty pounds! Retrospection may convince the man of her heart, that her soul is superior to mercenary considerations; else, she would not now be reduced so low in the power of her enemies: she scarcely knows what she writes—her heart bleeds—her brain is on fire!
“‘Celestial sounds! Peace dawns upon my soul,
And every pain grows less. Oh! gentle Altamont,
Think not too hardly of me when I’m gone,
But pity me. Had I but early known
Thy wond’rous worth, thou excellent young man,
We had been happier both. Now ‘tis too late.
And yet my eyes take pleasure to behold thee!
Thou art their last dear object.—Mercy, Heav’n!’
“Your affectionate,
“And (shall I confess it?)
“Too affectionate,
“ALICIA.”
Marvel was settling some accounts with Wright when this note was put into his hands: scarcely had he glanced his eye over it, when he started up, seized a parcel of bank notes, which lay on the table, and was rushing out of the room. Wright caught hold of his arm, and stopped him by force.
“Where now? What now, Marvel?” said he.
“Do not stop me, Wright! I will not be stopped! She has been barbarously used. They are dragging her to prison.—They have driven her almost out of her senses. I must go to her this instant.”
“Well, well, don’t go without your hat, man, for the people in the street will take you for a lunatic. May a friend see this letter that has driven you out of your senses?”
Marvel put it into Wright’s hands, who read it with wonderful composure; and when he came to the end of it, only said—“Hum!”
“Hum,” repeated Marvel, provoked beyond measure; “you have no humanity. You are most strangely prejudiced. You are worse than Goodenough. Why do you follow me?” continued he, observing that Wright was coming after him across the inn-yard into the street.
“I follow you to take care of you,” said Wright, calmly; “and though you do stride on at such a rate, I’ll be bound to keep up with you.”
He suffered Marvel to walk on at his own pace for the length of two streets, without saying another word; but just as they were turning the corner into the square where the milliner lived, he again caught hold of his cousin’s arm, and said to him: “Hark you, Marvel; will you trust me with those bank notes that you have in your pocket? and will you let me step on to the milliner’s, and settle this business for you? I see it will cost you fifty pounds, but that I cannot help. You may think yourself well off.”
“Fifty pounds! What are fifty pounds?” cried Marvel, hurrying forwards. “You see that my Alicia must be superior to mercenary considerations; for, though she knows I have a good fortune, that could not decide her in my favour.”
“No, because she fancies that 1 have a better fortune; and, besides (for there are times when a man must speak plainly), I’ve a notion she would at this minute sooner be my mistress than your wife, if the thing were fairly tried. She’ll take your money as fast as you please; and I may take her as fast as I please.”
Incensed at these words, Marvel could scarcely restrain his passion within bounds: but Wright, without being, moved, continued to speak.
“Nay, then, cousin, if you don’t believe me, put it to the test!—I’ll wait here, at this woollen-draper’s, where I am to dine: do you go on to your milliner’s, and say what you please, only let me have my turn for half an hour this evening; and, if I am mistaken in the lady, I’ll freely own it, and make all due apology.”
In the afternoon, Marvel came to Wright with a face full of joy and triumph. “Go to my Alicia now, cousin Wright,” said he: “I defy you. She is at her lodging.—She has promised to marry me! I am the happiest man in the world!”
Wright said not a word, but departed. Now he had in his pocket an unanswered billet-doux, which had been laid upon his table the preceding night: the billet-doux had no name to it; but, from all he had remarked of the lady’s manners towards him, he could not doubt that it was the charming Alicia’s. He was determined to have positive proof, however, to satisfy Marvel’s mind completely. The note which he had received was as follows:
“What can be the cause of your cruel and sudden change towards one of whom you lately appeared to think so partially? A certain female friend may deceive you, by false representations: do not trust to her, but learn the real sentiments of a fond heart from one who knows not how to feign. Spare the delicacy of your victim, and guess her name.”
To this note, from one “who knew not how to feign,” Wright sent the following reply:
“If Miss Barton knows any thing of a letter that was left at Mrs. Stokes’s, the milliner’s, last night, she may receive an answer to her questions from the bearer; who, being no scholar, hopes she will not take no offence at the shortness of these lines, but satisfy him in the honour of drinking tea with her, who waits below stairs for an answer.”
The charming Alicia allowed him the honour of drinking tea with her, and was delighted with the thought that she had at last caught him in her snares. The moment she had hopes of him, she resolved to break her promise to Marvel; and by making a merit of sacrificing to Wright all his rivals, she had no doubt that she should work so successfully upon his vanity, as to induce him to break off his treaty with the Lincolnshire lady.
Wright quickly let her go on with the notion that she had the game in her own hands; at length he assumed a very serious look, like one upon the point of forming some grand resolution; and turning half away from her, said:
“But now, look ye, Miss Barton, I am not a sort of man who would like to be made a fool of. Here I’m told half the gentlemen of York are dying for you; and, as your friend Mrs. Stokes informed—”
“Mrs. Stokes is not my friend, but the basest and most barbarous of enemies,” cried Alicia.
“Why, now, this is strange! She was your friend yesterday; and how do I know but a woman may change as quick, and as short, about her lovers, as about her friends?”
“I never can change: fear nothing,” said Alicia, tenderly.
“But let me finish what I was saying about Mrs. Stokes; she told me something about one Mr. Marvel, I think they call him; now what is all that?”
“Nothing: he is a foolish young man, who was desperately in love with me, that’s all, and offered to marry me; but, as I told him, I am superior to mercenary considerations.”
“And is the affair broke off, then?” said Wright, looking her full in the face. “That’s in one word what I must be sure of: for I am not a man that would choose to be jilted. Sit you down and pen me a farewell to that same foolish young fellow. I am a plain-spoken man, and now you have my mind.”
Miss Barton was now persuaded that all Wright’s coldness had proceeded from jealousy: blinded by her passions, and alarmed by the idea that this was the moment in which she must either secure or for ever abandon Wright and his fortune, she consented to his proposal, and wrote the following tender adieu to Marvel:
“TO——MARVEL, ESQ. &C. At the Green Man.
“SIR,
“CIRCUMSTANCES have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.
“ALICIA BARTON.”
Wright said he was perfectly satisfied with this note; and all that he now desired was to be himself the bearer of it to Marvel.
“He is a hot-headed young man,” said Alicia; “he will perhaps quarrel with you: let me send the letter by a messenger of my own. You don’t know him; you will not be able to find him out. Besides, why will you deprive me of your company? Cannot another carry this note as well as you?”
“None shall carry it but myself,” said Wright, holding fast his prize. She was apprehensive of losing him for ever, if she opposed what she thought his jealous humour; so she struggled no longer to hold him, but bade him make haste to return to his Alicia.
He returned no more; but the next morning she received from him the following note:
“TO MISS ALICIA BARTON, &C.
“MADAM,
“Circumstances have occurred, since I had last the honour of seeing you, which make it impossible that I should ever think of you more.
“JOHN WRIGHT.
“P.S. My cousin, Marvel, thanks you for your note. Before you receive this, he will have left York wiser than he came into it by fifty guineas and more.”
“Wiser by more than fifty guineas, I hope,” said Marvel, as he rode out of town, early in the morning.
“I have been on the point of being finely taken in! I’m sure this will be a lesson to me as long as I live. I shall never forget your good-nature, and steadiness to me, Wright. Now, if it had not been for you, I might have been married to this jade; and have given her and her brother every thing I’m worth in the world. Well, well, this is a lesson I shall remember. I’ve felt it sharply enough. Now I’ll turn my head to my business again, if I can. How Goodenough would laugh at me if he knew this story. But I’ll make up for all the foolish things I have done yet before I die; and I hope, before I die, I may be able to show you, cousin Wright, how much I am obliged to you: that would be greater joy to me even than getting by my own ingenuity my uncle Pearson’s ten thousand pound legacy. Do, Wright, find out something I can do for you, to make amends for all the trouble I’ve given you, and all the time I have made you waste: do, there’s a good fellow.”
“Well, then,” said Wright, “I don’t want to saddle you with an obligation. You shall pay me in kind directly, since you are so desirous of it. I told you I was in love: you shall come with me and see my mistress, to give me your opinion of her. Every man can be prudent for his neighbour: even you no doubt can,” added Wright, laughing. Wright’s mistress was a Miss Banks, only daughter to a gentleman who had set up an apparatus for manufacturing woad. Mr. Banks’s house was in their way home, and they called there. They knocked several times at the door, before any one answered: at last a boy came to hold their horses, who told them that Mr. Banks was dead, and that nobody could be let into the house. The boy knew nothing of the matter, except that his master died, he believed, of a sort of a fit; and that his young mistress was in great grief: “which I’m mortal sorry for,” added he: “for she be’s kind hearted and civil spoken, and moreover did give me the very shoes I have on my feet.”
“I wish I could see her,” said Wright; “I might be some comfort to her.”
“Might ye so, master? If that the thing be so,” said the boy, looking earnestly in Wright’s face, “I’ll do my best endeavours.”
He ran off at full speed through the back yard, but returned to learn the gentleman’s name, which he had forgotten to ask; and presently afterwards he brought his answer. It was written with a pencil, and with a trembling hand:
“My dear Mr. Wright, I cannot see you now: but you shall hear from me as soon as I am able to give an answer to your last.
“S. BANKS.”
The words, “My dear,” were half rubbed out: but they were visible enough to his eyes. Wright turned his horse’s head homewards, and Marvel and he rode away. His heart was so full that he could not speak, and he did not hear what Marvel said to comfort him. As they were thus riding on slowly, they heard a great noise of horsemen behind them; and looking back, they saw a number of farmers, who were riding after them. As they drew near, Wright’s attention was roused by hearing the name of Banks frequently repeated. “What news, neighbour?” said Marvel.
“The news is, that Mr. Banks is dead; he died of an apoplectic fit, and has left his daughter a power o’ money, they say. Happy the man who gets her! Good morrow to you, gentlemen; we’re in haste home.” After receiving this intelligence, Wright read his mistress’s note over again, and observed that he was not quite pleased to see the words “My dear” half rubbed out. Marvel exclaimed, “Have nothing more to do with her; that’s my advice to you; for I would not marry any woman for her fortune; especially if she thought she was doing me a favour. If she loved you, she would not have rubbed out those words at such a time as this.”
“Stay a bit,” said Wright; “we shall be better able to judge by and by.”
A week passed away, and Wright heard nothing from Miss Banks; nor did he attempt to see her, but waited as patiently as he could for her promised letter. At last it came. The first word was “Sir.” That was enough for Marvel, who threw it down with indignation when his cousin showed it to him. “Nay, but read it, at least,” said Wright.
“SIR,
“My poor father’s affairs have been left in great disorder; and instead of the fortune which you might have expected with me, I shall have little or nothing. The creditors have been very kind to me; and I hope in time to pay all just debts. I have been much hurried with business, or should have written sooner. Indeed it is no pleasant task to me to write at all, on this occasion. I cannot unsay what I have said to you in former times, for I think the same of you as ever I did: but I know that I am not now a fit match for you as to fortune, and would not hold any man to his word, nor could value any man enough to marry him, who would break it. Therefore it will be no grief for me to break off with you if such should be your desire. And no blame shall be thrown upon you by my friends, for I will take the refusal upon myself. I know the terms of your uncle’s will, and the great reason you have to wish for a good fortune with your wife; so it is very natural—I mean very likely, you may not choose to be burdened with a woman who has none. Pray speak your mind freely to, sir,
“Your humble servant,
“S. BANKS.” Marvel had no sooner read this letter than he advised his friend Wright to marry Miss Banks directly.
“That is what I have determined to do,” said Wright: “for I don’t think money the first thing in the world; and I would sooner give up my uncle Pearson’s legacy this minute than break my word to any woman, much less to one that I love, as I do Miss Banks, better now than ever. I have just heard from the steward, who brought this letter, how handsomely and prudently she has behaved to other people, as well as to myself: by which I can judge most safely. She has paid all the debts that were justly due, and has sold even the gig, which I know she wished to keep; but, seeing that it was not suited to her present circumstances, her good sense has got the better. Now, to my mind, a prudent wife, even as to money matters, may turn out a greater treasure to a man than what they call a great fortune.”
With these sentiments Wright married Miss Banks, who was indeed a very prudent, amiable girl. Goodenough sneered at this match; and observed that he had always foretold Wright would be taken in, sooner or later. Goodenough was now in his thirty-second year, and as he had always determined to marry precisely at this age, he began to look about for a wife. He chose a widow, said to be of a very close saving temper: she was neither young, handsome, nor agreeable; but then she was rich, and it was Goodenough’s notion that the main chance should be first considered, in matrimony as in every thing else. Now this notable dame was precisely of his way of thinking; but she had more shrewdness than her lover, and she overreached him in the bargain: her fortune did not turn out to be above one half of what report had represented it; her temper was worse than even her enemies said it was; and the time that was daily wasted in trifling disputes between this well-matched pair was worth more than all the petty savings made by her avaricious habits.
Goodenough cursed himself ten times a day, during the honey-moon; but as he did not like to let the neighbours know how far he had been outwitted, he held his tongue with the fortitude of a martyr; and his partisans all commended him for making so prudent a match. “Ah, ay,” said they, “there’s Wright, who might have had this very woman, has gone and married a girl without a shilling, with all his prudence; and, as to Marvel, he will surely be bit.” There they were mistaken. Marvel was a person capable of learning from experience, and he never forgot the lesson that he had received from the charming Alicia. It seemed to have sobered him completely.