Contains a very brief account of every material occurrence that happened in regard of our fair widow, during the space of a whole year, with some other particulars of less moment
Mr. Thoughtless was not at home when the news of Mr. Munden's death arrived; but, as soon as he was informed of it, he went to his sister; and, on finding her much more deeply affected at this accident than he could have imagined, pressed her, in the most tender terms, to quit that scene of mortality, and return to his house: the persuasions of a brother, who of late had behaved with so much kindness towards her, prevailed on her to accept of the invitation; and, having given some necessary orders in regard to the family, was carried away that same night in a chair, with the curtains close drawn.
She saw no company, however, till after the funeral; and, when that was over, Lady Loveit was the first admitted. As Mrs. Munden was still under a great dejection of spirits, which was visible in her countenance, 'If I did not know you to be the sincerest creature in the world,' said Lady Loveit, 'I should take you to be the greatest dissembler in it; for it would be very difficult for any one less acquainted with you, to believe you could be really afflicted at the death of a person whose life rendered you so unhappy.'
'Mistake me not, Lady Loveit,' answered she; 'I do not pretend to lament the death of Mr. Munden, as it deprives me of his society, or as that of a person with whom I could ever have enjoyed any great share of felicity, even though his life had made good the professions of his last moments: but I lament him as one who was my husband, whom duty forbids me to hate while living, and whom decency requires me to mourn for when dead.'
'So, then,' cried Lady Loveit, 'I find you take as much pains to grieve for a bad husband, as those who have the misfortune to lose a good one do to alleviate their sorrows: but, my dear,' continued she, with a more serious air, 'I see no occasion for all this. I am well assured that your virtue, and the sweetness of your temper, enabled you to discharge all the duties of a wife to Mr. Munden while alive; and with that I think you ought to be content: he is now dead—the covenant between you is dissolved—Heaven has released you—and, I hope, forgiven him; decency obliges you to wear black—forbids you to appear abroad for a whole month—and at any publick place of diversion for a much longer time; but it does not restrain you from being easy in yourself, and chearful with your friends.'
'Your ladyship speaks right,' said Mrs. Munden: 'but yet there is a shock in death which one cannot presently get over.'—'I grant there is,' replied Lady Loveit; 'and if we thought too deeply on it, we should feel all the agonies of that dreadful hour before our time, and become a burden to ourselves and to the world.'
It is certain, indeed, that the surprize and pity for Mr. Munden's sudden and unexpected fate had at the first overwhelmed her soul; yet, when those emotions were a little evaporated, she rather indulged affliction, because she thought it her duty to do so, than endeavoured any way to combat with it.
It was not, therefore, very difficult to reason her out of a melancholy which she had in a manner forced upon herself, and was far from being natural to her; and when once convinced that she ought to be easy under this stroke of Providence, became entirely so.
The painful task she had imposed upon her mind being over, more agreeable ones succeeded: the remembrance of Mr. Trueworth—his recovered love—the knowledge he had of hers—and the consideration that now both of them were in a condition to avow their mutual tenderness without a crime, could not but transfuse a sensation more pleasing than she had ever before been capable of experiencing.