LETTER XIII
MISS BYRON.—IN CONTINUATION WEDNESDAY, APRIL 5.
Miss Jervois came to me this morning by six; impatient, as she said, to communicate good news to me. I was in my closet writing. I could not sleep.
I have seen my mother, said she; and we are good friends. Was she ever unkind to me, madam?
Dear creature! said I, and clasped her to my bosom, you are a sweet girl!
Oblige me with the particulars.
Let me, Lucy, give you, as near as I can recollect, the amiable young creature's words and actions on this occasion.
Sit down, my love, said I.—What! When I am talking of a reconciled mother! And to dear Miss Byron!—No, indeed.
She often held out one open hand, while the forefinger of the other, in full action, patted it; as at other times both were spread, with pretty wonder and delight: and thus she began:—
Why, you must know, it was about six o'clock yesterday afternoon, that my mother and her husband, and Captain Salmonet, came. I was told of their visit but two hours before: and when the coach stopped, and I at the window saw them alight, I thought I should have fainted away. I would have given half I was worth in the world to have been an hundred miles off.
Dr. Bartlett was there, and received them. My guardian was unexpectedly engaged in answering a letter sent him by Lord W——, for which a gentleman waited: but they had not been there a quarter of an hour, when he entered, and made apologies to them in his usual gracious manner. Never, the doctor says, did any body look so respectful as the major and the captain; and they would have made apologies to my guardian, for their last behaviour to him; but he would not let them. And my mother, the doctor says, from the very first, behaved prettily.
The moment she asked for me, my guardian himself condescended to come up to me, and took my hand—Was not that very good of him?—My dear, said he, as he led me down stairs, (and spoke so kindly,) don't tremble so: am I not with you?—Your mother is very calm and composed: you must ask her blessing. I shall ease your tender heart of every pang. I shall hint to you what to do, and how to behave to the gentlemen, as occasions arise.
He had no sooner said the words, but the drawing-room door gave way to his hand, and I was in the room with him.
Down on my knees dropt I—as I now do to you: but I could not speak. Thus I did. [And she kissed my hand, and bowed her face upon it.] And my mother raised me—You must raise me, madam—Yes, just so—And she kissed me too, and wept on my neck; and called me pretty names; and encouraged me, and said she loved me, as she loved her own soul—And I was encouraged.
My guardian then, with the air and manner of a gracious prince, took my hand, and presented it first to the major, then to the captain; and they each kissed my hand, and spoke in my praise, I can't tell how many fine things.
Major, said my guardian, when he presented me to him, you must excuse the dear child's weakness of spirits: she wishes you all happiness on your nuptials: she has let me know, that she is very desirous to do you service for her mother's sake.
The major swore by his soul, I was an angel!—Captain Salmonet said, that, by his salvation, I was a charming young lady!
My mother wept—O, Sir! said she to my guardian: and dropping down in a chair by the window, not a word more could she speak.
I ran to her, and clasped my arms about her. She wept the more: I wiped her eyes with her own handkerchief: I told her, it went to my heart to see her cry: I begged she would spare me this grief.
She clasped her arms then about me, and kissed my cheek, and my forehead.
O, thought I, it is very good of you, my dear mother.
Then came my guardian to us, and he kindly took my mother's hand, and conducted her to the fire-side; and he led me, and placed me by her, at the tea-table; and he made the major and the captain sit down by him: so much graciousness in his countenance. O, madam! I shall be an idolater, I am afraid. And he said, Emily, my dear, you will make tea for us. My sister dined abroad, madam, to my mother.—Yes, sir, I will, said I: and I was as lively as a bird.
But before the servants came in, Let me tell you, madam, said he, what
Miss Jervois has proposed to me.—They were in silent expectation.
She has desired that you, major, will accept from her, for your mutual use, of an additional 100£. a year; which I shall order to be paid you quarterly, during Mrs. O'Hara's life, not doubting but you will make her as happy as it is in your power to make her.
My mother bowed, coloured with gratitude, and looked obliged.
And she begs of you, madam, turning to my mother, that you will accept, as from the Major, another 100£. a year, for pin-money, which he, or which you, madam, will draw upon me for; also quarterly, if you choose not to trouble him to do it: for this 100£. a year must be appropriated to your sole and separate use, madam; and not be subject to your controul, Major O'Hara.
Good God! sir! said the Major!—What a wretch was I, the last time I was here!—There is no bearing of this!
He got up, and went to the window: and the captain said, Blessed Jesu! and something else, which I could not mind; for I was weeping like a baby.
What, sir! said my mother, 400£. a year! Do you mean so?—I do, madam— And, sir, to be so generously paid me my 100£. of it, as if I received it not from my child, but from my husband!—Good God! How you overpower me, sir! What shame, what remorse, do you strike into my heart!
And my poor mother's tears ran down as fast as mine.
O madam, said the dear girl to me, clasping her arms about me, how your tender heart is touched!—It is well you were not there!
Dr. Bartlett came in to tea. My guardian would not permit Antony, who offered himself, to wait. Antony had been my own papa's servant, when my mother was not so good.
Nothing but blessings, nothing but looks and words of admiration and gratitude, passed all the tea-time. How their hearts rejoiced, I warrant!—Is it not a charming thing, madam, to make people's hearts glad?—To be sure it is! How many hearts has my guardian rejoiced! You must bid him be cross to me, or I shall not know what to do with myself! —But then, if he was, I should only get by myself, and cry, and be angry with myself, and think he could not be to blame.
O my love, my Emily! said I, take care of your gratitude: that drew in your true friend.
Well, but how can it be helped, madam? Can a right heart be ungrateful? —Dr. Bartlett says, There is no such thing as true happiness in this life: and is it not better to be unhappy from good men and women, than from bad?—Dear madam, why you have often made me unhappy, because of your goodness to me; and because I knew, that I neither could deserve nor return it.
The dear prater went on—My guardian called me aside, when tea was over. My Emily, said he, [I do love he should call me his Emily!—But all the world is his Emily, I think,] Let me see what you will do with these two notes; giving me two bank-notes of 25£. each.—Present pin-money and cash may be wanted. We will suppose that your mother has been married a quarter of a year. Her pin-money and the additional annuity may commence from the 25th of December last. Let me, Emily, when they go away, see the graceful manner in which you will dispose of the notes: and from Mr. O'Hara's behaviour upon it, we shall observe whether he is a man with whom your mother, if it be not her own fault, (now you have made it their interest to be kind to each other,) may live well: but the motion be all your own.
How good this was! I could have kissed the hand that gave me the notes, if I thought it would not have looked too free.
I understand you, sir, said I.
And when they went away, pouring out their very hearts in grateful joy, I addressed myself to Mr. O'Hara. Sir, said I, it is proper that the payment of the additional annuity should have a commencement. Let it be from Christmas last. Accept of the first payment from my own hands—And I gave him one 25£. note: and looking at my mother, with a look of duty, for fear be should mistake, and discredit himself in the eyes of the deepest discerner in the world, gave him the other.
He looked upon first one, then upon the other note with surprise—And then bowing to the ground to me, and to my guardian, he stept to my mother, and presented them both to her. You, madam, said he, must speak: I cannot as I ought: God send me with a whole heart out of this house! He hurried out, and when he was in the hall, wiped his eyes, and sobbed like a child, as one of the servants told my Anne.
My mother looked upon one note as her husband had done, and upon the other; and, lifting up her eyes, embraced me—And would have said something to my guardian, but he prevented her, by saying—Emily will be always dutiful to you, madam, and respectful to Mr. O'Hara: may you be happy together!
And he led her out—Was ever such a condescension! He led her out to her husband, who, being a little recovered, was just about to give some money to the servant, who was retiring from the offer.—Nobody, said my guardian, graciously smiling, pays my servants but myself, Mr. O'Hara. They are good people, and merit my favour.
And he went to the very door with my mother. I could not. I ran back, crying for joy, into the drawing-room, when they went out of it. I could not bear myself. How could I, you know, madam?—Captain Salmonet all the time wiped his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, lifted up his hands, and cried out upon Jesu; and once or twice he crossed himself: but all the time my guardian looked and acted, as if those actions and praises were nothing to be proud of.
When he came in to me, I arose, and threw myself at his feet; but could only say, Thank you, sir, for your goodness to my mother. He raised me. He sat down by me: See, child, (said he, and he took my hand: my heart was sensible of the favour, and throbbed with joy,) what it is in the power of people of fortune to do. You have a great one. Now your mother is married, I have hopes of her. They will at least keep up appearances to each other, and to the world. They neither of them want sense. You have done an act of duty and benevolence both in one. The man who would grudge them this additional 200£. a year out of your fortune, to make your parent happy, shall not have my Emily—Shall he?
Your Emily, your happy Emily, sir, has not, cannot have a heart that is worth notice, if it be not implicitly guided by you.—This I said, madam: and it is true.
And did he not, said I, clasp his Emily to his generous bosom, when you said so?
No, madam; that would have been too great an honour: but he called me, good child! and said, you shall never be put to pay me an implicit regard: your own reason (and he called me child again) shall always be the judge of my conduct to you, and direct your observances of my advice. Something like this he said; but in a better manner than I can say it.
He calls me oftener child, madam, than any thing else when we are alone together; and is not quite so free, I think, at such times, in his behaviour to me, (yet is vastly gracious, I don't know how,) as when we are in company—Why is that? I am sure, I equally respect him, at one time as at another—Do you think, madam, there is any thing in the observation? Is there any reason for it?—I do love to study him, and to find out the meaning of his very looks as well as words. Sir Charles Grandison's heart is the book of heaven—May I not study it?
Study it, my love! while you have an opportunity. But he will soon leave us: he will soon leave England.
So I fear: and I will love and pity the poor Clementina, whose heart is so much wounded and oppressed. But my guardian shall be nobody's but yours. I have prayed night and day, the first thing and the last thing, ever since I have heard of Lady Clementina, that you, and nobody but you, may be Lady Grandison: and I will continue my prayers.—But will you forgive me: I always conclude them with praying, that you will both consent to let the poor Emily live with you.
Sweet girl! The poor Emily, said she?—I embraced her, and we mingled tears, both our hearts full, each for the other; and each perhaps for herself.
She hurried away. I resumed my pen.—Run off what had passed, almost as swift as thought. I quit it to prepare to attend my cousins to St. James's-square.