Jemima entering, he reflected on his diffidence with poignant regret, and, ſhe once more taking alarm, he ventured, as Maria ſtood near his chair, to approach her lips with a declaration of love. She drew back with ſolemnity, he hung down his head abaſhed; but lifting his eyes timidly, they met her's; ſhe had determined, during that inſtant, and ſuffered their rays to mingle. He took, with more ardour, reaſſured, a half-conſenting, half-reluctant kiſs, reluctant only from modeſty; and there was a ſacredneſs in her dignified manner of reclining her glowing face on his ſhoulder, that powerfully impreſſed him. Deſire was loſt in more ineffable emotions, and to protect her from inſult and ſorrow—to make her happy, ſeemed not only the firſt wiſh of his heart, but the moſt noble duty of his life. Such angelic confidence demanded the fidelity of honour; but could he, feeling her in every pulſation, could he ever change, could he be a villain? The emotion with which ſhe, for a moment, allowed herſelf to be preſſed to his boſom, the tear of rapturous ſympathy, mingled with a ſoft melancholy ſentiment of recollected diſappointment, ſaid—more of truth and faithfulneſs, than the tongue could have given utterance to in hours! They were ſilent—yet diſcourſed, how eloquently? till, after a moment's reflection, Maria drew her chair by the ſide of his, and, with a compoſed ſweetneſs of voice, and ſupernatural benignity of countenance, ſaid, "I muſt open my whole heart to you; you muſt be told who I am, why I am here, and why, telling you I am a wife, I bluſh not to"—the bluſh ſpoke the reſt.
Jemima was again at her elbow, and the reſtraint of her preſence did not prevent an animated converſation, in which love, ſly urchin, was ever at bo-peep.
So much of heaven did they enjoy, that paradiſe bloomed around them; or they, by a powerful ſpell, had been tranſported into Armida's garden. Love, the grand enchanter, "lapt them in Elyſium," and every ſenſe was harmonized to joy and ſocial extacy. So animated, indeed, were their accents of tenderneſs, in diſcuſſing what, in other circumſtances, would have been common-place ſubjects, that Jemima felt, with ſurpriſe, a tear of pleaſure trickling down her rugged cheeks. She wiped it away, half aſhamed; and when Maria kindly enquired the cauſe, with all the eager ſolicitude of a happy being wiſhing to impart to all nature its overflowing felicity, Jemima owned that it was the firſt tear that ſocial enjoyment had ever drawn from her. She ſeemed indeed to breathe more freely; the cloud of ſuſpicion cleared away from her brow; ſhe felt herſelf, for once in her life, treated like a fellow-creature.
Imagination! who can paint thy power; or reflect the evaneſcent tints of hope foſtered by thee? A deſpondent gloom had long obſcured Maria's horizon—now the ſun broke forth, the rainbow appeared, and every proſpect was fair. Horror ſtill reigned in the darkened cells, ſuſpicion lurked in the paſſages, and whiſpered along the walls. The yells of men poſſeſſed, ſometimes made them pauſe, and wonder that they felt ſo happy, in a tomb of living death. They even chid themſelves for ſuch apparent inſenſibility; ſtill the world contained not three happier beings. And Jemima, after again patrolling the paſſage, was ſo ſoftened by the air of confidence which breathed around her, that ſhe voluntarily began an account of herſelf.
CHAP. V.
"My father," ſaid Jemima, "ſeduced my mother, a pretty girl, with whom he lived fellow-ſervant; and ſhe no ſooner perceived the natural, the dreaded conſequence, than the terrible conviction flaſhed on her—that ſhe was ruined. Honeſty, and a regard for her reputation, had been the only principles inculcated by her mother; and they had been ſo forcibly impreſſed, that ſhe feared ſhame, more than the poverty to which it would lead. Her inceſſant importunities to prevail upon my father to ſcreen her from reproach by marrying her, as he had promiſed in the fervour of ſeduction, eſtranged him from her ſo completely, that her very perſon became diſtaſteful to him; and he began to hate, as well as deſpiſe me, before I was born.
"My mother, grieved to the ſoul by his neglect, and unkind treatment, actually reſolved to famiſh herſelf; and injured her health by the attempt; though ſhe had not ſufficient reſolution to adhere to her project, or renounce it entirely. Death came not at her call; yet ſorrow, and the methods ſhe adopted to conceal her condition, ſtill doing the work of a houſe-maid, had ſuch an effect on her conſtitution, that ſhe died in the wretched garret, where her virtuous miſtreſs had forced her to take refuge in the very pangs of labour, though my father, after a ſlight reproof, was allowed to remain in his place—allowed by the mother of ſix children, who, ſcarcely permitting a footſtep to be heard, during her month's indulgence, felt no ſympathy for the poor wretch, denied every comfort required by her ſituation.
"The day my mother died, the ninth after my birth, I was conſigned to the care of the cheapeſt nurſe my father could find; who ſuckled her own child at the ſame time, and lodged as many more as ſhe could get, in two cellar-like apartments.