How uneasy has been my suspense these three days! I question if Miss Burchell’s is much greater. No answer from this strange man; perhaps he is flown off again.—No, I wrong him, a letter is this minute brought up to me from him—Read it, my beloved, and congratulate me.
‘You were born to conquer. Madam; what is there that you cannot effect? My heart was made for you, and you can mould it as you please. Enjoy your triumph, if it be one. I will receive Miss Burchell as your gift, and since I cannot obtain your love, I will at least compel your esteem. Why should your generosity, your compassion for an unhappy lady, to whom you have no obligation, exceed that of a man who owns himself bound to her in gratitude? I wish I could repay her the debt of love I owe her, but I will try to repair my fault hereafter; and in her gentle bosom perhaps I may recover that peace, to which I have been so long a stranger. She will forgive the waywardness of a heart, which never disguised its anguish to her; and which she knows has been torn by a cruel passion, that, like a cruel disease, was not either to be resisted or subdued. But thanks to you, Madam, I think I begin to feel my cure approaching. Miss Burchell’s tenderness will finish what you have begun. You shall never reproach me more; if I ever had an interest in your heart, I will not forfeit it now, but make that proud heart acknowledge, spite of itself, that Faulkland was not unworthy of it.’
Ha! my Cecilia, what do you say to my Orlando now? My Orlando let me this once call him. Has he not a noble mind? Happy! happy Miss Burchell! you are at length arrived to the summit of your wishes. Long may you enjoy them, and may you make your love as blest as he deserves to be! My mother clasped her hands together in joy, when I read this letter to her. God bless him, God bless him, said she; he is now indeed a righteous man. How rejoiced I am, my dear, that I have been the means of bringing about his so-much-wished-for event. And yet, methinks, if I were in Miss Burchell’s place, though my heart doated on the man to death, I could not receive him on such terms. He accepts her as my gift; it is to raise himself in my esteem, he does her justice: Nay, I think the assuming man seems to insinuate a sort of superiority over me, by this concession. Why let it be so, I shall be content in my humiliation, if my gift will restore him to his peace. If it does, which I pray heaven it may, ought he not to think himself indebted to me?
I think I should not let Miss Burchell see this last letter; he does not consent with a good grace; and it may damp her joy. Though, upon second thoughts, I question whether she has delicacy enough to be much affected by this circumstance.
I am saved the trouble of observing any decorum towards Miss Burchell. She has been just here wild with transport; and was several minutes in the room before I could get her to speak coherently. She had received a letter from Mr Faulkland, written by his own angelic hand, she said. She made no difficulty of leaving it with me, and here it is.
Mr Faulkland’s letter to Miss Burchell.
‘Is it possible, Madam, that I can still be dear to you, careless and remiss as I have been towards you, since you first honoured me with your affection? If you can forgive this, I am ready to offer you my hand; and hope, by devoting my future days to you, to make you amends for those years, during which (deserving as you are) I have withheld that heart which was your due.
‘I never had any merit towards you but my sincerity; and I will not now give up that virtue to arrogate to myself another to which I have no title. I own to you, Madam, that it is to Mrs Arnold’s superior prudence, and nice honour, I am beholden for being brought to a just sense of your worth, and my own obligations to you. If you will give me leave to attend you this afternoon, you will receive a man filled with sentiments of gratitude and esteem for you, and who is determined by his future conduct, to deserve a continuance of your love.
‘I am, &c.’