I have written to her a faithful account of every thing relative to my hoped-for alliance with your family, and the occasion of the treaty’s being broken off. As she must, by this means, know that your ladyship is acquainted with her story, I have told her, that, perhaps you might, from the interest you took in her misfortune, be induced to see her in her retirement. Let me, therefore, conjure you, madam, by that pious zeal which governs all your actions, and by the love you bear that daughter so deservedly dear to you, to take compassion on this young lady. She has no friends, nor any acquaintance in this part of the kingdom; her situation will require the comfort of society, and perhaps, the advice of wisdom. It will be an act worthy of your humanity to shew some countenance to her.
I think she will be in very good hands with the honest woman who waits her coming; but if any thing should happen otherwise than well, it would make me doubly wretched.
To one who has no resources of contentment in her own bosom, solitude cannot be a friend; this I fear may be the lady’s case; and this makes me with the more earnestness urge my request to you. Forgive me, madam, for the liberty I take with you; a liberty, which, though I confess it needs an apology, yet is it at the same time a proof of the confidence I have in you, which I hope will not affront either your candour or your virtue.
If you will condescend to grant this request, I shall obtain the two wishes at present most material to my peace; the one to secure to the lady a compassionate friend, already inclined to espouse her cause; the other, to put it in your power to be satisfied from the lady’s own mouth, of the truth of what I have asserted. I trust to her generosity to deal openly on this occasion.
I wish you and Miss Bidulph every blessing that Heaven can bestow, and am, with great respect,
Madam,
Your ladyship’s
Most obedient humble Servant,
Orlando Faulkland.
P.S. The lady will go by the name of Mrs Jefferis: you will pardon me for not having mentioned her real name. I never yet told it even to Sir George; but I presume she will make no secret of it to you, if you honour her with a visit.
Poor Orlando! unhappy Miss B! I could name a third person, that is not happy neither. What a pity it is, that so many good qualities, should be blotted by imperfections! how tender is his compassion for this poor girl! how ingenuous his conduct! but still he flies from her. I fear she can never hope to recover him. There is but one thing, he says, which he would not do; the only act, perhaps, by which he could make himself appear worthy of my mother’s esteem. The meaning of this but too plainly shews him determined against marrying Miss B. I don’t know any thing else which would reconcile my mother to him.
I make no doubt of her complying with Mr Faulkland’s request in seeing the lady; she is very compassionate, particularly to her own sex.
What a strange resource indeed is this of Mr Faulkland’s, to appeal to the lady herself! What am I to judge from it, but that the unfortunate victim, ignorant of the treachery that was practised against her by her wicked aunt, and that her destroyer paid a price for her dishonour, exculpates him from the worst part of the guilt, and perhaps, poor easy creature, blames her own weakness only for the error which a concealed train of cunning and perfidy might have led her into?