I leave you, answered my brother, and hope to find you more composed a few hours hence. Mrs Arnold too begs you will be calm, and think of preserving a life which is so dear to us both.
Mr Faulkland was silent, and my brother and I withdrew; he thought it best I should not speak to him.
Sir George left me at home, and said he would call again on Mr Faulkland in the afternoon, and bring me word how he should find him. My brother is exceedingly affected with his situation, and says he knows not what to advise. He is fearful that Mr Faulkland’s phrenzy is not to be calmed, but by consenting to marry him, and circumstanced as he now is, that thought is terrible. Yet, if I persist in my refusal, I drive the noblest of minds to desperation. Oh, my Cecilia, is this the return I ought to make to the most generous of men? whose fervent love for me has been a constant source of torment to him for so many years! Yet how can I yield him my hand? All my former scruples, weighty as they appeared to me, were light to the dreadful bar that now interposes.
Had that ill-fated woman died the common way, with what joy, what exultation could I have rewarded his honest persevering love! all my duties fulfilled, obedience to my mother, justice to the woman I thought injured, reverence to the memory of my husband, the respect due to my own character. Should I not, my Cecilia, after thus being acquitted of all other obligations, have been to blame, if, after a series of misfortunes, all brought on by my strict adherence to those duties; should I not have been to blame for refusing at length to do justice to the most deserving of men? When I reflect on the past, when I survey the present, and my foreboding heart whispers to me the future sufferings of our dear unhappy Mr Faulkland, all my philosophy forsakes me. I have borne up under my own sorrows—his quite subdue me—I must lay by my pen—my eyes are brimful of tears.... Ah, my dear, what will become of us? I am almost dead with apprehension. Rash, rash, unhappy Mr Faulkland! He has fled from the house where my brother had concealed him: I know not what I am writing, my fears distract me. ’Tis but two hours since we left him, Sir George relying on his promise, and unwilling to provoke him by any appearance of constraint, gave no caution to the gentleman with whom he was lodged to observe his motions; he is ready to kill himself for this neglect; but relying on Mr Faulkland’s promise not to make any attempt on his life, he suspected not that he would endeavour to escape. Escape do I call it? rather let me say, to throw himself into certain destruction.—He is set out on his way for Ireland. Heaven knows what will be the consequence of this, if my brother does not overtake and persuade him back. He is gone after him, my cousin Warner with him; both rode post.
My thoughts are so confused, I can put nothing in order. It seems we had not long quitted him, when he called up his servant (that groom who, as I informed you, had come over with him) and telling him he was going out of town ordered him to go directly to an inn somewhere in the city, and hire two post-horses, and that he would follow him presently.
The man obeyed, and in about half an hour, his master came in a hackney-coach to the place where he had directed him to wait for him.
Upon the inn-keeper’s enquiring whither the horses were to go, Mr Faulkland replied, to St Alban’s. The man objected to the length of the stage, and named Barnet. Mr Faulkland seemed impatient and angry; his unusual earnestness, his wild looks, and the road he purposed taking, alarmed his servant (a discreet elderly man) and he had the prudence immediately to dispatch the master of the house, whom he prevailed on by a piece of money, to go directly to my brother with this intelligence.
He had the precaution not to mention his master’s name, only bade him find out Sir George Bidulph, and tell him that his friend was set out for St Alban’s, and that his man had dispatched him with the news, and would, if possible, endeavour to detain him on the road, that Sir George might overtake him.
The man was punctual in delivering his message. My brother, wild with amazement and horror, just called as he past my door, to tell me this new and unexpected misfortune. Mr Warner had that instant come to enquire what had past between Mr Faulkland and me in our interview this morning. I had no time to tell him any thing. He looked very much displeased at my brother and me, upon hearing Mr Faulkland was gone; but said he would accompany Sir George, and they both hurried away together.
The man said, Mr Faulkland had set off before he could leave his house, the servant having scarce time to give him the message.