In a few Days, Monday began the Date of their Journey to the West of England; and in five or six Days more, by the Help of a Coach and Six, they got to Cornwall; where, in a little Town, of little Accommodation, they were oblig’d to take up their Lodgings the first Night. In the Morning (said his Lady to him) My Dear, about a Mile and a half hence lives one Sir Francis Fairname and his Lady, if yet they be living, who have a very fine House, and worth your seeing; I beg of you therefore, that you will be so kind to your self as to walk thither, and dine with the old Gentleman; for that you must, if you see him; whilst I stay here, and send to my Father and Mother, if to be found, and prepare them to receive you at your Return. I must not have no Denial; (added she) for if you refuse this Favour, all my Designs are lost.—Make Haste, my Life; ’tis now eleven a Clock; In your Absence I’ll dress, to try if Change of Cloaths can hide me from them. This was so small a Request, that he did not stay to reply to’t, but presently left her, and got thither in less than half an Hour, attended only by one Footman. He was very kindly and respectfully receiv’d by the old Gentleman, who had certainly been a very beautiful Person in his Youth; and Sir Lucius, fixing his Eyes upon his Face, could hardly remove ’em, being very pleasantly and surprisingly entertain’d with some Lines that he observ’d in it. But immediately recollecting himself, he told him, that having heard how fine a Seat that was, his Curiosity led him to beg the Favour that he might see it. The worthy old Knight return’d, that his House and all the Accommodations in it were at his Service: So inviting him in, he satisfy’d his pretended Curiosity; and after he had shewn all that was worthy the Sight of a Stranger, in the House, he led him into his Gardens, which furnish’d Sir Lucius with new Matter of Admiration; whence the old Knight brought him into the Parlour, telling him, that ’twas his Custom to suffer no Stranger to return, till he had either din’d or supp’d with him, according as the Hour of the Day or Night presented.
’Twas here the affectionate Husband was strangely surpriz’d at the Sight of a Picture, which so nearly counterfeited the Beauties of his dear-lov’d Lady, that he stood like an Image himself, gazing and varying; the Colours of his Face agitating by the Diversity of his Thoughts; which Sir Francis perceiving, ask’d him, What it was that so visibly concern’d him? To which he reply’d, That indeed he was concern’d, but with great Satisfaction and Pleasure, since he had never seen any Thing more beautiful than that Picture, unless it were a Lady for whom he had the most sincere Affection imaginable, and whom it did very nearly represent; and then enquir’d for whom that was drawn? Sir Francis answer’d him, ’Twas design’d for one who was, I dare not say who is, my Daughter; and the other two were drawn for her younger Sisters. And see, Sir, (persu’d he) here they come, following their Mother: At which Words Sir Lucius was oblig’d to divorce his Eyes from the charming Shadow, and make his Compliments to them; which were no sooner over than Dinner was serv’d in, where the young Knight eat as heartily as he could, considering he sate just opposite to it, and in Sight of the two Ladies, who were now exactly like his own Wife, though not so very beautiful.
The Table being uncover’d, Sir Lucius desir’d to know why Sir Francis said, He doubted whether the Original of that Picture were yet his Daughter? To which the Mother return’d (big with Sorrow, which was seen in her Tears) That her Husband had spoken but too rightly: For (added she) ’tis now three Years since we have either seen her or heard from her. How, Madam! three Years, (cry’d Sir Lucius) I believe I can shew your Ladiship a dear Acquaintance of mine, so wonderfully like that Picture, that I am almost perswaded she is the very Original; only (pardon me, Madam) she tells me her Parents are of mean Birth and Fortune. Dear Sir, (cry’d the tender Mother) Is she in this Country? She is not two Miles hence, reply’d Sir Lucius. By all Things most dear to you, Sir, (said the Lady) let us be so happy as to see her, and that with all convenient Expedition! for it will be a Happiness to see any Creature, the only Like my dearest Arabella. Arabella, Madam! alas! No, Madam, her Name is Peregrina. No Matter for Names, Sir, (cry’d the Lady) I want the Sight of the dear Creature. Sir, (added the worthy old Knight) I can assure you it will be an eternal Obligation to us; or, if you please, we will wait on you to her. By no Means, Sir, (return’d Sir Lucius) I will repeat my Trouble to you with her, in an Hour at farthest. We shall desire the Continuance of such Trouble as long as we live, reply’d Sir Francis. So, without farther Ceremony, Sir Lucius left ’em and return’d to his Lady, whom he found ready dress’d, as he wish’d he might. Madam, (said he) where are your Father and Mother? I know not, yet, my Dear, she reply’d. Well, (return’d he) we will expect ’em, or send for ’em hither at Night; in the mean Time I have engag’d to bring you with me to Sir Francis Fairname and his Lady, with all imaginable Expedition. So immediately, as soon as Coach and Six and Equipage was ready, he hurry’d her away with him to Sir Francis, whom they found walking with his Lady and two Daughters in the outward Court, impatiently expecting their Coming. The Boot of the Coach (for that was the Fashion in those Days) was presently let down, and Sir Lucius led his Lady forwards to them; who coming within three or four Paces of the good old Knight, his Lady fell on her Knees, and begg’d their Pardon and Blessing. Her affectionate Father answer’d ’em with Tears from his Eyes; but the good ancient Lady was so overcome with Joy, that she fell into a Swoon, and had like to have been accompany’d by her Daughter, who fell upon her Knees by her, and with her Shrieks recall’d her, when she strait cry’d out, My Daughter, my Daughter’s come again! my Arabella alive! Ay, my dear offended Mother! with all the Duty and Penitence that Humanity is capable of, return’d the Lady Lovewell. Her Sisters then express’d their Love in Tears, Embraces, and Kisses, while her dear Husband begg’d a Blessing of her Parents, who were very pleasantly surpriz’d, to know that their Daughter was so happily marry’d, and to a Gentleman of such an Estate and Quality as Sir Lucius seem’d to be: ’Twas late that Night e’er they went to Bed at Sir Francis’s. The next Day, after they had all pretty well eas’d themselves of their Passions, Sir Francis told his Son-in-Law, that as he had three Daughters, so he had 3000l. a Year, and he would divide it equally among ’em; but for Joy of the Recovery of his eldest Daughter, and her fortunate Match with so worthy a Gentleman as Sir Lucius, who had given him an Account of his Estate and Quality, he promis’d him ten thousand Pounds in ready Money besides; whereas the other young Ladies were to have but five thousand a Piece, besides their Dividend of the Estate. And now, (said he) Daughter, the Cause of your Retreat from us, old Sir Robert Richland, has been dead these three Months, on such a Day. How, Sir, (cry’d she) on such a Day! that was the very Day on which I was so happy as to be marry’d to my dear Sir Lucius.
She then gave her Father, and Mother, and Sisters, a Relation of all that had happen’d to her since her Absence from her dear Parents, who were extremely pleas’d with the Account of Sir Christian and his Lady’s Hospitality and Kindness to her; and in less than a Fortnight after, they took a Journey to Sir Lucius’s, carrying the two other young Ladies along with ’em; and, by the Way, they call’d at Sir Christian’s, where they arriv’d Time enough to be present the next Day at Sir Christian’s Daughter’s Wedding, which they kept there for a whole Fortnight.
FINIS.
[ Notes: Critical and Explanatory:]
The Wandering Beauty.
[p. 451] two Pinners. A pinner is ‘a coif with two long flaps one on each side pinned on and hanging down, and sometimes fastened at the breast . . . sometimes applied to the flaps as an adjunct of the coif.’—N.E.D. cf. Pepys, 18 April, 1664: ‘To Hyde Park . . . and my Lady Castlemaine in a coach by herself, in yellow satin and a pinner on.’
THE UNHAPPY MISTAKE; OR,
THE IMPIOUS VOW PUNISH’D.
[ THE UNHAPPY MISTAKE, &c.]
The Effects of Jealousy have ever been most fatal; and it is certainly one of the most tormenting Passions that an human Soul can be capable of, tho’ it be created by the least Appearances of Reason: The Truth of which this following Story will evince.