He had long been in the habit of seeking relief from every painful feeling in the tenderness of Laura,—of finding in her enduring spirit a support to the weakness of his own; and he now sought her in the conviction that she would either discover some advantage to be drawn from this disappointment, or lighten it to him by her affectionate sympathy. He knocked at the door.—She did not answer. He called her.—All was silent. He rang the bell, and inquired whether she was below, and was answered that she had gone out with Mr Warren in his curricle two hours before. The unfortunate father heard no more. Wildly striking his hand upon his breast, 'She is lost!' he cried, and sunk to the ground. The blood burst violently from his mouth and nostrils, and he became insensible.
The family were soon assembled round him; and a surgeon being procured, he declared that Montreville had burst a blood vessel, and that nothing but the utmost care and quiet could save his life. Mrs Dawkins, with great humanity, attended him herself, venting in whispers to the surgeon her compassion for Montreville, and her indignation against the unnatural desertion of Laura, whom she abused as a methodistical hypocrite, against whom her wrath was the stronger because she could never have suspected her.
Montreville no sooner returned to recollection, than he declared his resolution instantly to set off in search of his child. In vain did the surgeon expostulate, and assure him that his life would be the forfeit: his only answer was, 'Why should I live? She is lost.' In pursuance of his design, he tried to rise from the bed on which he had been laid; but exhausted nature refused to second him, and again he sunk back insensible.
When Montreville called in Portland Street, the servant had deceived him in saying that Warren was not at home. He was not only in the house, but expected the Captain's visit, and prepared to take advantage of it, for the accomplishment of the honourable scheme of which he had boasted to his associates. As soon, therefore, as the servant had disposed of Montreville, Warren mounted his curricle, which was in waiting at a little distance, and driving to Mrs Dawkins's, informed Laura that he had been sent to her by her father, who proposed carrying her to see the British Museum, and for that purpose was waiting her arrival in Portland Street. Entirely unsuspicious of any design, Laura accompanied him without hesitation; and though Portland Street appeared to her greatly more distant than she had imagined it, it was not till having taken innumerable turns, she found herself in an open road, that she began to suspect her conductor of having deceived her.
'Whither have you taken me, Mr Warren?' she inquired: 'This road does not lead to Portland Street.' 'Oh yes, it does,' answered Warren, 'only the road is a little circuitous.' 'Let us immediately return to the straight one then,' said Laura. 'My father will be alarmed, and conclude that some accident has happened to us.' 'Surely, my charming Miss Montreville,' said Warren, still continuing to drive on, 'you do not fear to trust yourself with me.' 'Fear you!' repeated Laura, with involuntary disdain. 'No, but I am at a loss to guess what has encouraged you to make me the companion of so silly a frolic. I suppose you mean this for an ingenious joke upon my father.' 'No, 'pon my soul,' said the beau, a little alarmed by the sternness of her manner, 'I meant nothing but to have an opportunity of telling you that I am quite in love with you,—dying for you,—faith I am.' 'You should first have ascertained,' answered Laura, 'whether I was likely to think the secret worth a hearing. I desire you will instantly return.'
The perfect composure of Laura's look and manner (for feeling no alarm she shewed none) made Warren conclude that she was not averse to being detained; and he thought it only necessary that he should continue to make love, to induce her quietly to submit to go on for another half mile, which would bring them to a place where he thought she would be secure. He began, therefore, to act the lover with all the energy he could muster; but Laura interrupted him. 'It is a pity,' said she, with a smile of calm contempt, 'to put a stop to such well-timed gallantry, which is indeed just such as I should have expected from Mr Warren's sense and delicacy. But I would not for the sake of Mr Warren's raptures, nor all else that he has to offer, give my father the most momentary pain, and therefore if you do not suffer me to alight this instant, I shall be obliged to claim the assistance of passengers on an occasion very little worthy of their notice.' Her contumelious manner entirely undeceived her companion in regard to her sentiments; but it had no other effect upon him, except that of adding revenge to the number of his incitements; and perceiving that they were now at a short distance from the house whither he intended to convey her, he continued to pursue his way.
Laura now rose from her seat, and seizing the reins with a force that made the horses rear, she coolly chose that moment to spring from the curricle; and walked back towards the town, leaving her inammorato in the utmost astonishment at her self-possession, as well as rage at her disdainful treatment.
She proceeded till she came to a decent-looking shop, where she entered; and, begging permission to sit down, dispatched one of the shop-boys in search of a hackney-coach. A carriage was soon procured, and Laura, concluding that her father, tired of waiting for her, must have left Portland Street, desired to be driven directly home.
As she entered the house, she was met by Mrs Dawkins. 'So Miss,' cried she, 'you have made a fine spot of work on't. You have murdered your father.' 'Good heavens!' cried Laura, turning as pale as death, 'what is it you mean? where is my father?' 'Your father is on his deathbed Miss, and you may thank your morning rides for it. Thinking you were off, he burst a blood-vessel in the fright, and the doctor says, the least stir in the world will finish him.'
Laura turned sick to death. Cold drops stood upon her forehead; and she shook in every limb. She made an instinctive attempt to ascend the stair; but her strength failed her, and she sunk upon the steps. The sight of her agony changed in a moment Mrs Dawkins's indignation to pity. 'Don't take on so, Miss,' said she, 'to be sure you didn't mean it. If he is kept quiet, he may mend still, and now that you're come back too.—By the bye, I may as well run up and tell him.' 'Oh stop!' cried Laura, reviving at once in the sudden dread that such incautious news would destroy her father, 'Stay,' said she, pressing with one hand her bursting forehead, while with the other she detained Mrs Dawkins.—'Let me think, that we may not agitate him. Oh no! I cannot think;' and leaning her head on Mrs Dawkins' shoulder, she burst into an agony of tears.