I had proceeded about half a mile, when I beheld Augustus, advancing towards me; he observed my tremulous emotions, and pallid countenance; he took my hand, holding it with a gentle pressure, and, throwing his other arm round me, supported my faultering steps. His voice was the voice of kindness—his words spake assurance, and breathed hope—fallacious hope!—My heart melted within me—my tremor encreased—I dissolved into tears.
'A deserted outcast from society—a desolate orphan—what was to become of me—to whom could I fly?'
'Unjust girl! have I then forfeited all your confidence—have you not a mother and a friend, who love you—' he stopped—paused—and added 'with maternal, with fraternal, tenderness? to whom would you go?—remain with us, your society will cheer my mother's declining years'—again he hesitated,—'I am about to return to town, assure me, that you will continue with Mrs Harley—it will soften the pain of separation.'
I struggled for more fortitude—hinted at the narrowness of my fortune—at my wish to exert my talents in some way, that should procure me a less dependent situation—spoke of my active spirit—of my abhorrence of a life of indolence and vacuity.
He insisted on my waving these subjects for the present. 'There would be time enough, in future, for their consideration. In the mean while, I might go on improving myself, and whether present or absent, might depend upon him, for every assistance in his power.'
His soothing kindness, aided by the affectionate attentions of my friend, gradually, lulled my mind into tranquillity. My bosom was agitated, only, by a slight and sweet emotion—like the gentle undulations of the ocean, when the winds, that swept over its ruffled surface, are hushed into repose.
CHAPTER XXIV
Another month passed away—every hour, I imbibed, in large draughts, the deceitful poison of hope. A few days before that appointed for the departure of Augustus, I received a visit from Mr Montague, of whose situation, during his confinement, I had made many enquiries, and it was with unaffected pleasure that I beheld him perfectly restored to health. I introduced him to my friends, who congratulated him upon his recovery, and treated him with that polite and cordial hospitality which characterized them. He was on his way to Morton Park, and was particular in his enquiries respecting the late conduct of the lady of the mansion, of which he had heard some confused reports. I could not conceal from him our final separation, but, aware of his inflammable temper, I endeavoured to soften my recital as far as was consistent with truth and justice. It was with difficulty, that our united persuasions induced him to restrain his fiery spirit, which broke out into menaces and execrations. I represented to him—
'That every thing had been already explained; that the affair had now subsided; that a reconciliation was neither probable nor desirable; that any interference, on his part, would only tend to mutual exasperation, from which I must eventually be the sufferer.'