Self-control: A Novel

by Mary Brunton

It was late in the evening before Laura was sufficiently collected to review with composure the events of the day! As soon, however, as she was capable of considering all the circumstances, a suspicion occurred that her unfortunate interview with Hargrave had been sanctioned, if not contrived by Lady Pelham. That he should know the place and the hour in which he might surprise her alone;—that to this place, which because of its loneliness she had of late rather deserted, she should be conducted by her aunt;—that at this moment she should upon a trivial pretence be left in solitude,—seemed a coincidence too strong to be merely accidental. She recollected some symptoms of private communication between Lady Pelham and Hargrave. Suspicions of connivance in the infamous strategem of her arrest again revived in her mind. Lady Pelham, she perceived, had afforded her a protection at best imperfect, perhaps treacherous. Hargrave's late threats too, as she revolved them in her thoughts, appeared more like the intimations of settled design than the vague ravings of passion. Prudence, therefore, seemed to require that she should immediately provide for her own safety: and indignation at her aunt's breach of confidence, hastened the purpose which she formed, to leave Walbourne without delay. She determined to go the next morning to Norwood, there to remain till De Courcy shewed signs of convalescence, and then perform her long-projected journey to Scotland.

In order to avoid unpleasant altercation, she resolved to depart without warning Lady Pelham of her intention; merely announcing by letter the reasons of her conduct. The affectionate Laura would not have parted from the meanest servant without a kindly farewell; but her innate abhorrence of treachery steeled her heart, and she rejoiced that it was possible to escape all present intercourse with her deceitful kinswoman.

As soon as the dawn appeared she arose; and on her knees thankfully acknowledged the protecting care which had watched over her, since first as a destitute orphan she applied to Lady Pelham. She blessed the goodness which had softened in her favour a heart little subject to benevolent expressions, which had restored her in sickness, consoled her in sorrow, delivered her from the snares of the wicked, and opened to her the joys of virtuous friendship. And where is the wretch so miserable that he may not in the review of eighteen months find subjects of gratitude still more numerous! Laura began no important action of her life without imploring a blessing on the event; and she now proceeded to commend herself and her future prospects to the same care of which she had glad experience.

The proper business of the morning ended, she had begun to make arrangements for her immediate departure; when she heard Lady Pelham's bell ring, and the next instant heard a noise like that occasioned by the fall of something heavy. She listened for a while, but all was again still. The rest of the family were yet buried in sleep, and Laura hearing no one stirring to answer Lady Pelham's summons, began to fear that her aunt was ill, perhaps unable to make any further effort to procure assistance. At this idea, all her just indignation subsiding in a moment, she flew to Lady Pelham's chamber.

Lady Pelham was lying on the floor, having apparently fallen in an attempt to rise from her bed. She was alive though insensible; and her face, though altered, was still florid. Laura soon procuring help, raised her from the ground; and guessing that apoplexy was her disorder, placed her in an upright posture, loosened her night-clothes, and having hurried away a servant for Mr Raby, ventured, until his arrival, upon such simple remedies as she knew might be safely administered. In little more than an hour the surgeon arrived; and having examined his patient, declared her to be in extreme danger. Before he left her, however, he succeeded in restoring her to some degree of recollection; yet, far from changing his first opinion, he advised Laura to lose no time in making every necessary use of an amendment which he feared would be only transient.

From Lady Pelham, he went to Norwood; and returning to Walbourne in the evening, brought the pleasing intelligence that De Courcy continued to do well. This second visit produced no change in his sentiments, and he remained persuaded that though Lady Pelham might continue to linger for a time, the shock had been too great to allow of complete recovery. Laura now rejoiced that she had not executed her purpose of leaving Walbourne; since, had her aunt's illness succeeded to the rage which her departure would have excited, she could never have ceased to blame herself as the cause. She looked with profound compassion, too, upon the condition of an unfortunate being, whose death-bed was neither smoothed by affection, nor cheered by pious hope. 'Unhappy woman!' thought she, as she sat watching an unquiet slumber into which her aunt had fallen, 'to whom the best gifts of nature and of fortune have, by some fatality, been useless, or worse than useless; whose affluence has purchased no higher joys than half-grudged luxuries; whose abilities have dazzled others and bewildered herself, but lent no steady light to guide her way; whose generosity has called forth no gratitude, whose kindness has awakened no affection; to whom length of days has brought no reverence, and length of intimacy no friends! Even the sacred ties of nature have been to her unblessed. Her only child, driven from her in anger, dares not approach to share the last sad offices with me, who, in performing them, must forgive as well as pity. Favourite of fortune! what has been wanting to thee save that blessing which "bringeth no sorrow with it." But that blessing was light in thine esteem; and amidst the glitter of thy toys, the "pearl of great price" was disregarded.'

For some days Lady Pelham continued much in the same situation. She suffered no pain, yet gave no signs of amendment. On the sixth morning from her first attack she grew suddenly and materially worse. It was soon discovered that her limbs were paralyzed, and the surgeon declared that her end could not be very distant. Her senses, however, again returned, and she continued free from pain. She shewed little apprehension of her own danger; and Laura debated with herself whether she should permit her aunt to dream away the last precious hours of probation, or endeavour to awaken her to a sense of her condition.

Laura had no faith in death-bed repentance. She knew that resolution of amendment which there is no longer time to practise, and renunciation of sin made under the immediate prospect of punishment, are at best suspicious. She knew that, in the ordinary course of providence, the grace which has been long despised is at length justly withdrawn. Yet she saw that she had no right to judge Lady Pelham as wholly impenitent; and she considered a death-bed as highly suitable to the renewal, though not to the beginning of repentance. She knew too, that the call might be made effectual at the 'eleventh hour;' and the bare chance was worth the toil of ages. She felt how little she herself would have valued the mistaken pity which could suffer her to enter on the 'dark valley' without a warning to cling closer to the 'staff and rod' of comfort:—She therefore ventured to hint gently to Lady Pelham the opinion of her medical friends, and to remind her of the duty of preparing for the worst.

Lady Pelham at first appeared a good deal shocked; and lay for some time apparently meditating upon her situation. At last, recovering her spirits, she said, 'Your nerves, Laura, were always so coarse, that you seemed to me to take a pleasure in thinking of shocking things; but I am sure it is abominably barbarous in you to tease me with them now I am ill. Do keep your horrid fancies to yourself, or keep away till you are cured of the vapours—I dare say it is your dismal face that makes me dream so unpleasantly.'

Laura, however, was not to be so discouraged. She took occasion to represent that no harm could ensue from preparing to meet the foe; since his march was not to be retarded by shutting our eyes on his advances, nor hastened by the daring which watched his approach. She at length thought she had succeeded in convincing her aunt of her danger. Lady Pelham said that she feared she was dying, and she believed that she said the truth. But Lady Pelham had had sixty years practice in self-deceit. The fear might flutter in her imagination, but was not strong enough to touch her heart. Laura, however, made use of her acknowledgement to press upon her the duties of forgiveness and charity towards all mindkind, and especially towards her child; reminding her of the affecting parity of situation between offending man and his disobedient offspring. Lady Pelham at first answered impatiently that she would not be argued on this subject; but as her spirits began to fail under the first confinement which she had ever endured, she became more tractable. 'God knows,' said she to Laura, one day, 'we all have much need to be forgiven; and therefore we must forgive in our turn. For my part I am sure I die in charity with all mankind, and with that creature among the rest. However, I shall take my friend the Spectator's advice, and remember the difference between giving and forgiving.'