LETTER XIV.
TO THE SAME.
I hope, my dearest Louisa will not be too much alarmed at a whole fortnight's silence. Ah! Louisa, the event which occasioned it may be productive of very fatal consequences to me—yet I will not despair. No, I will trust in a good God, and the virtuous education I have had. They will arm me to subdue inclinations, irreversible fate has rendered improper. But to the point.
Two or three nights after I wrote my last, I went to the play.—Lady Anne, Colonel Montague, and a Miss Finch, were the party. Unhappily, the after-piece represented was one obtruded on the public by an author obnoxious to some of them; and there were two parties formed, one to condemn, the other to support. Wholly unacquainted with a thing of this kind, I soon began to be alarmed at the clamour which rang from every part of the house. The glass chandeliers first fell a victim to a hot-headed wretch in the pit; and part of the shattered fragments was thrown into my lap. My fears increased to the highest degree—No one seemed to interest themselves about me. Colonel Montague being an admirer of Miss Finch, his attention was paid to her. The ladies were ordered out of the house. I was ready enough to obey the summons, and was rushing out, when my passage was stopped by a concourse of people in the lobby. The women screaming—men swearing—altogether—I thought I should die with terror. "Oh! let me come out, let me come out!" I cried, with uplifted hands.—No one regarded me. And I might have stood screaming in concert with the rest till this time, had not the Baron most seasonably come to my assistance. He broke through the croud with incredible force, and flew to me. "Dearest Lady Stanley," cried he, "recover your spirits—you are in no danger. I will guard you to your carriage." Others were equally anxious about their company, and every one striving to get out first increased the difficulty. Many ladies fainted in the passages, which, being close, became almost suffocating. Every moment our difficulties and my fears increased. I became almost insensible. The Baron most kindly supported me with one arm—and with the other strove to make way. The men even pushed with rudeness by me. Ton-hausen expostulated and raved by turns: at length he drew his sword, which terrified me to such a degree, that I was sinking to the earth—and really gave myself up totally to despair. The efforts he made at last gained us a passage to the great door—and, without waiting to ask any questions, he put me into a coach that happened to be near: as to my carriage, it was not to be found—or probably some others had used the same freedom with that we had now with one unknown to us.
As soon as we were seated, Ton-hausen expressed his joy in the strongest terms, that we had so happily escaped any danger. I was so weak, that he thought it necessary to support me in his arms; and though I had no cause to complain of any freedom in his manner, yet the warmth of his expression, joined to my foregoing fright, had such an effect on me, that, though I did not wholly lose my senses, I thought I was dying—I never fainted in my life before; to my ignorance, then, must be imputed my fears and foolish behaviour in consequence. "Oh! carry me somewhere," cried I, gasping; "do not let me die here! for God's sake, do not let me die in the coach!"
"My angel," said the Baron, "do not give way to such imaginary terrors. I will let down the glasses—you will be better presently." But finding my head, which I could no longer support, drop on his shoulder, and a cold damp bedew my face, he gave a loose to his tenderness, which viewed itself in his attention to my welfare. He pressed me almost frantic to his bosom, called on me in the most endearing terms. He thought me insensible. He knew not I could hear the effusions of his heart. Oh! Louisa, he could have no idea how they sunk in mine. Among the rest, these broken sentences were distinct, "Oh! my God! what will become of me! Dearest, most loved of women, how is my heart distracted! And shall I lose thee thus? Oh! how shall I support thy loss! Too late found—ever beloved of my soul! Thy Henry will die with thee!" Picture to yourself, my Louisa, what were my sensations at this time. I have no words to express them—or, if I could, they would be unfit for me to express. The sensations themselves ought not to have found a passage in my bosom. I will drive them away, Louisa, I will not give them harbour. I no longer knew what was become of me: I became dead to all appearance. The Baron, in a state of distraction, called to the coachman, to stop any where, where I could receive assistance. Fortunately we were near a chemist's. Ton-hausen carried me in his arms to a back room—and, by the application of drops, &c. I was restored to life. I found the Baron kneeling at my feet, and supporting me. It was a long time before he could make me sensible where I was. My situation in a strange place, and the singularity of our appearance, affected me extremely—I burst into tears, and entreated the Baron to get me a chair to convey me home. "A chair! Lady Stanley; will not you then permit me to attend you home? Would you place yourself under the protection of two strangers, rather than allow me that honour?"
"Ah! excuse me, Baron," I answered, "I hardly know what I said. Do as you please, only let me go home." And yet, Louisa, I felt a dread on going into the same carriage with him. I thought myself extremely absurd and foolish; yet I could not get the better of my apprehensions. How vain they were! Never could any man behave with more delicate attention, or more void of that kind of behaviour which might have justified my fears. His despair had prompted the discovery of his sentiments. He thought me incapable of hearing the secret of his soul; and it was absurd to a degree for me, by an unnecessary circumspection, to let him see I had unhappily been a participater of his secret. There was, however, an aukward consciousness in my conduct towards him, I could not divest myself of. I wished to be at home. I even expressed my impatience to be alone. He sighed, but made no remonstrances against my childish behaviour, though his pensive manner made it obvious he saw and felt it. Thank God! at last we got home. "It would be rude," said he, "after your ladyship has so frequently expressed your wish to be alone, to obtrude my company a moment longer than absolutely necessary; but, if you will allow me to remain in your drawing-room till I hear you are a little recovered, I shall esteem it a favour."
"I have not a doubt of being much better," I returned, "when I have had a little rest. I am extremely indebted to you for the care you have taken. I must repay it, by desiring you to have some consideration for yourself: rest will be salutary for both; and I hope to return you a message in the morning, that I am not at all the worse for this disagreeable adventure. Adieu, Baron, take my advice." He bowed, and cast on me such a look—He seemed to correct himself.—Oh! that look! what was not expressed in it! Away, away, all such remembrances.
The consequences, however, were not to end here. I soon found other circumstances which I had not thought on. In short my dear Louisa, I must now discover to you a secret, which I had determined to keep some time longer at least. Not even Sir William knew of it. I intended to have surprized you all; but this vile play-house affair put an end to my hopes, and very near to my life. For two days, my situation was very critical. As soon as the danger was over, I recovered apace. The Baron was at my door several times in the day, to enquire after me. And Win said, who once saw him, that he betrayed more anxiety than any one beside.
Yesterday was the first of my seeing any company. The Baron's name was the first announced. The sound threw me into a perturbation I laboured to conceal. Sir William presented him to me. I received his compliment with an aukward confusion. My embarrassment was imputed, by my husband, to the simple bashfulness of a country rustic—a bashfulness he generally renders more insupportable by the ridiculous light he chuses to make me appear in, rather than encouraging in me a better opinion of myself, which, sometimes, he does me the honour of saying, I ought to entertain. The Baron had taken my hand in the most respectful manner. I suffered him to lift it to his lips. "Is it thus," said Sir William, "you thank your deliverer? Had I been in your place, Julia, I should have received my champion with open arms—at least have allowed him a salute. But the Baron is a modest young man. Come, I will set you the example."—Saying which, he caught me in his arms, and kissed me. I was extremely chagrined, and felt my cheeks glow, not only with shame, but anger. "You are too violent, Sir William," said I very gravely. "You have excessively disconcerted me." "I will allow," said he, "I might have been too eager: now you shall experience the difference between the extatic ardor of an adoring husband, and the cool complacency of a friend. Nay, nay," continued he, seeing a dissenting look, "you must reward the Baron, or I shall think you either very prudish, or angry with me." Was there ever such inconsiderate behaviour? Ton-hausen seemed fearful of offending—yet not willing to lose so fair an opportunity. Oh! Louisa, as Sir William said, I did experience a difference. But Sir William is no adoring husband. The Baron's lips trembled as they touched mine; and I felt an emotion, to which I was hitherto a stranger.