“Oh, my Lord,” cried I, “your generosity overpowers me!” And I wept like an infant. For now, that all my hopes of being acknowledged seemed finally crushed, I felt the nobleness of his disinterested regard so forcibly, that I could scarce breathe under the weight of gratitude which oppressed me.
He seemed greatly shocked; and, in terms the most flattering, the most respectfully tender, he at once soothed my distress, and urged me to tell him its cause.
“My Lord,” said I, when I was able to speak, “you little know what an outcast you have honoured with your choice!-a child of bounty,-an orphan from infancy,-dependant, even for subsistence, dependent, upon the kindness of compassion!-Rejected by my natural friends,-disowned for ever by my nearest relation,-Oh, my Lord, so circumstanced, can I deserve the distinction with which you honour me? No, no, I feel the inequality too painfully;-you must leave me, my Lord; you must suffer me to return to obscurity; and there, in the bosom of my first, best, my only friend,-I will pour forth all the grief of my heart!-while you, my Lord, must seek elsewhere-”
I could not proceed; my whole soul recoiled against the charge I would have given, and my voice refused to utter it.
“Never,” cried he, warmly, “my heart is your’s, and I swear to you an attachment eternal!-You prepare me, indeed, for a tale of horror, and I am almost breathless with expectation;-but so firm is my conviction, that, whatever are your misfortunes, to have merited them is not of the number, that I feel myself more strongly, more invincibly devoted to you than ever!-Tell me but where I may find this noble friend, whose virtues you have already taught me to reverence,-and I will fly to obtain his consent and intercession, that henceforward our fates my be indissolubly united;-and then shall it be the sole study of my life to endeavor to soften your past,-and guard you from future misfortunes!”
I had just raised my eyes to answer this most generous of men, when the first object they met was Mrs. Selwyn.
“So, my dear,” cried she, “what, still courting the rural shades!-I thought ere now you would have been satiated with this retired seat, and I have been seeking you all over the house. But I find the only way to meet with you,-is to enquire for Lord Orville. However, don’t let me disturb your meditation; you are possibly planning some pastoral dialogue.”
And, with this provoking speech, she walked on.
In the greatest confusion I was quitting the arbour, when Lord Orville said, “Permit me to follow Mrs. Selwyn;-it is time to put an end to all impertinent conjectures; will you allow me to speak to her openly?”
I assented in silence, and he left me.