Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph / Extracted from her own Journal, and now first published

by Frances Chamberlaine Sheridan

Tears! cried Mr Faulkland, in a tone of surprize, and on our wedding-day! I could not bear this, I sobbed aloud. My brother was willing, if possible, to give his thoughts another turn, for not knowing what had passed the day before, he thought this was some sudden start of phrenzy.

My dear Faulkland, said he, you affect my Sister too much; we have been consulting for your safety, and came to talk with you upon it.

I think there is no time to be lost, and that you ought immediately to retire into Holland.

I am ready, said Mr Faulkland, but Mrs Arnold goes with me, I have her promise for it.

Sidney shall follow you, answered my brother, making a motion to me to shew he would have me humour him in his ravings. I will not go without her, cried Mr Faulkland; the universe shall not now part us.

I was almost distracted with apprehension, and knew not what reply to make; my brother looked confounded, and was silent.

Mr Faulkland approached me, and with a look of gloomy despair, You are both mute, said he; Bidulph, I always thought you loved me. Mrs Arnold I hoped did not wish my death; but I am deceived in you both—I have no farther business with life—The friend I most confided in betrays me; the woman whom my soul worships, and to whom I sacrificed all my hopes of happiness, repays me with ingratitude. Why should such a wretch any longer submit to life? I have borne it too long already; but there’s my remedy, pointing furiously to his sword, which lay in the scabbard on a table.

I could no longer contain myself, but bursting into tears, Oh, Sir, said I, accuse me not of ingratitude; I would to heaven my death could repair the heavy afflictions I have brought upon you; if it could, I would welcome it this hour. Your reproaches, cruel as they are, I forgive. I own myself the unhappy cause of all your misfortunes; we have been mutually fatal to each other. You know I always valued and esteemed you, and have in your calamity already been sufficiently punished for the share I have had in bringing it on you. What shall I say to you, Sir? My whole fortune I think too small, too poor a recompence, to the man who has obliged me beyond a possibility of return. Yet what have I to offer more? Can you, Sir, can you urge me to a marriage at so strange a juncture? Think how it will expose us both to censure. Your long attachment to me has not been a secret. Think what dreadful constructions may be put on your conduct, nay, on mine, should a union now take place, brought about, as it must appear, by so terrible an event.

Mr Faulkland was silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. My brother took up the argument. Indeed, my dear Faulkland, my sister has reason for her fears. You know I ever was your sincere friend; you know too I always was of opinion that Sidney ought to have been your wife; her former objections I thought were romantic scruples, and hardly forgave her refusing you. The present obstacle has more weight in it—Do not mistake me, added he hastily (seeing Mr Faulkland raise his eyes full of resentment at him) I wish my sister still to be yours, and will consent to your marriage with my whole heart; but let me conjure you to take a more favourable juncture; withdraw yourself but for the present; your affairs may not be so desperate as you imagine. If that villain Smyth should chance to recover, perhaps his conscience may awaken remorse, and he may be prevailed on to do you justice. In that case you must be cleared from the most distant imputation of what my sister hinted at, and what has but too justly alarmed her. Cleared as your character will then be, and conscious as we both are of the innocence of your intentions there will remain no bar to Mrs Arnold’s giving you her hand.

Smyth cannot recover, interrupted Mr Faulkland, suddenly—there is no hope can spring from that. Then answered my brother, at worst you can but live abroad; all parts of the world are alike to such a philosopher as my sister is; and probably, circumstanced as your marriage will appear, she may like best to reside out of England.— Mr Faulkland shook his head, and with a smile of indignation, Leave me, Bidulph, cried he, I cannot bear your attempting to deceive me. You think me mad, and are cruel enough to endeavour at imposing on me—I know my mind is disturbed—but who has driven me to despair! to madness! to death! and he cast a look at me that chilled my blood.