On Saturday evening Miss Flint asked us whether we meant to attend divine service the following morning. Colds and rheumatic pains were pleaded by the ladies. Sir Murdock was out of the question, he still obstinately preferring his own prayers to Mr. Snughead's. I, nothing loth to enjoy the silly triumph of seeing her mortified, promised to accompany her, and my conscience slept as sound as I did. She looked surprised on my joining her to go to church, to see me so smartly dressed; and I mentioned my engagement to dine at the Abbey, adding that I meant to walk from church with my friends; to which she civilly replied, that she could set me down, and that I should not discompose my dress by walking. We entered the church, passing the broad stare from the benches, and took our seats in the pew. Soon after entered the girls, in all the flutter of haste, and in their new attire. As they passed to their seat the woman all rose, as if by common consent, and curteseyed to Miss Howard with marked respect. The captain received this compliment with more surprise than gratitude, whilst Mary's cheeks were dyed with blushes. Her beautiful hair, in which, to be poetical, the autumnal breeze had sported more roughly than the zephyrs of the spring, had escaped from the little straw bonnet, and, in some disorder, shadowed off the lilac-coloured ribands: the simplicity of her person, clad in her unsullied white robes, had however acquired a more elegant tournure by the fashion in which she was dressed. A lilac sash and shoes completed the general opinion of the curious spectators, and with one accord, they told "nurse Dobs," that Miss Howard was for once dressed like "Mrs. Howard's daughter." In passing our pew, she respectfully curtseyed to her aunt, and on entering Wilson's, kneeled down. Miss Flint would gladly have done the same, but she could not kneel; she removed herself to the pillow, where she was concealed, and wept bitterly. In the confession, her sobs were even audible; and in mine, Lucy, I recollected that "I had done that which I ought not to have done." I had with a cruel levity and inconsiderateness promised to my angry passions, a gratification, for which my conscience and feelings now reproved me. During Mr. Snughead's discourse on the inefficacy of good works without faith, I was composing the lecture which such an instance of my obduracy of heart as the one that stared me in the face, would have called from our christian mother. Unable to reach the purity, and I had almost said the divine eloquence which flowed in her lessons, I endeavoured to recall her often repeated words: "You have, Rachel," would she say, "an erring, but a faithful admonitress in your bosom; you will never act wrong without feeling that you are deviating. Never, for an instant, resist the intimation your conscience will give you; the warmth of your temper requires all the vigilance of your moral guide; and Heaven, in its mercy, has so constituted you, that you cannot be unjust nor unmerciful, without feeling the pains you inflict, with an acuteness proportioned to those faculties with which you are endowed for the purpose of rising to eminence in virtue. You may subvert the intentions of your Maker by an abuse of his gifts, but even in this life you will be miserable by so doing; for you will never be able to stifle the reproaches of a heart formed to have no gratifications, but in seeing the happiness of all around it. Who would reject such privileges, and turn from the sweet and satisfying pleasure of doing good to all within our reach, for the indulgencies of a petulant temper, and a stubborn self-will?"
The whole convocated clergy could not more effectually, nor more authoritatively, have preached to me, than did the recollection of this lesson, and the occasion which gave rise to it. My part was now chosen, and I whispered to Mrs. Heartley, on the service being concluded, that I could not be with her till the tea hour. On going down the aisle, the poor and truly crest-fallen Miss Flint was obliged to proceed slowly; she is very lame. Amidst the half-whispered praises of the beautiful niece, who preceded her, she overheard one old woman say, "Aye, aye, she is like her parents, her's is not the beauty of a day; like them, she will be an angel in heaven!" Miss Flint looked distressed. "Lean on me, my dear Madam," said I aloud, and in an endearing tone, "do not hurry." She pressed my arm with emotion; and on reaching the carriage, wept so bitterly that I dreaded lest she should have an hysteric fit: her tears were, however, its preventive; and when somewhat more composed, she requested me to give the servant the order to stop at the Abbey. I answered, with the compassion she had excited, that I should not go; adding, "Let us extend our ride, the morning is favourable, and the air will be useful to you." I pulled the check-string; and we proceeded. The poor humiliated woman felt, I believe, this kindness, as also my attempts to divert her. These succeeded so well, that she dined in the parlour; and on quitting us to rest for an hour, asked us to drink our tea in her apartment. I pleaded my engagement; she coloured, and said, "Then, to-morrow?"—"Willingly," replied I, taking that hard and burning hand in mine, which had been my horror, "on condition that I find you here at supper-time this evening." She bowed, unable to speak, and with Warner's help and her stick, left the room. Lady Maclairn, who had attended her, returned in a few minutes, saying, that Lucretia was trying to get a nap; and cheerfully turning to me, she observed with a smile, that if in time she hated the Heartleys, as cordially as Mr. Snughead did, I should be answerable for the injustice. "How so?" asked I.—"They monopolise too much of our comfort," replied she, "and you may, if you please, warn them of the danger to which your partiality exposes them."—"You would act much more consistently," replied I gaily, "to warn them yourself; and by your influence with them, weaken mine. Why do you persist," added I, with earnestness, "in depriving yourself of a society so formed for you? Why will you refuse to visit those whom you esteem?"—"I cannot act otherwise, Miss Cowley," answered she, with seriousness; "I would visit them, were it possible for me so to do without infringing upon what I think a duty."—"You will pardon me," replied I, "for renewing a subject, on which you have before so decidedly given a negative, in consequence of the motive which at this time prompted me to recall it: this suggestion of my mind may also stand in need of an apology; but it will have one with you, in the goodness of my intentions. I think that after what has passed, Sir Murdock ought to visit Captain Flint. He cannot otherwise renew his visits here; and every means should be employed to effect a reconciliation between him and his sister, who appears to me truly concerned for this recent breach between her and her brother: besides these inducements, for a compliment of this sort, I think Sir Murdock owes this advance to himself and you, as much as to Captain Flint. What can mark his and your disapprobation of the violence which has driven his niece and himself from the hall more strongly, than convincing him, that you mean not to drop his acquaintance, nor to avoid him, because he has been injured, and your roof abused?"—"Miss Cowley is in the right," said the baronet rising with spirit. "I have deferred too long to convince Mr. Flint that we have been fellow-sufferers with himself in the outrage committed in this family, and not the aiders and abettors of a cruelty which would be the disgrace of a workhouse. You can have no objection to my waiting on the captain for a purpose so indispensible to my honour," added he, with some warmth of manner and addressing his wife.—"Sir Murdock Maclairn needs not the guidance of any one," replied she with tenderness, "on this, or any other question; his own understanding and principles will always direct him to a conduct of propriety and justice. Were it not for this conviction, I would say, go this very evening with Miss Cowley, and convince Captain Flint, that your wife has not suffered less than his innocent Mary. He will say that Sir Murdock Maclairn is entitled to his respect and esteem." I verily believe, Lucy, that had not her husband strained her to his bosom, I should to mine, she looked at this moment so amiable in my eyes. Malcolm flew to order the curricle; and conducted by the baronet, I set out. On the road some previous ceremony was adjusted; and on our arrival Sir Murdock entered the captain's apartment, I sending him from the drawing-room to entertain his visitor. They remained below some little time; when the disembarrassed and cheerful air with which they joined the party, relieved us. Mrs. Heartley overlooked, in her satisfaction, that it was the first time the baronet had been in her house; but with the most cordial frankness, she received him as an accustomed guest. She introduced to him Mr. Greenwood and Doctor Douglas, her visitors, and with the most courtly ease, Sir Murdock replied to her little compliments, that he perceived her protection would soon recommend him to the favour of his neighbours.
The night approached with a heavy fog, and in order to complete my humiliation, Miss Flint sent her coach "for Miss Cowley's return." Malcolm, whose hardness of heart still resists the hour of contrition, affirms that this compliment to my health and accommodation included Mr. Snughead's safety, who, profiting by the ordering of the carriage, had escaped an evil he dreads as much as his lady's death, namely, autumnal damps and the gout. I was not to be prevented; and finding her in the parlour, repaid her kindness with my fooleries, and made her laugh by a description of Doctor Douglas, with whose person and manners I was pleased, and with which I affected to be enamoured. The poor creature was amused; and your Rachel Cowley, somewhat at peace with herself, bids you farewell.
CHAP. IV.
LETTER XVII.
From the same to the same.
My dear Lucy will need no apology for my sending by the usual method, little more than the inclosed Memoirs of the Flint Family, with which the captain favoured me last Friday. The perusal of the manuscript has very much chilled my christian charity for Miss Lucretia; but I strive against temptation, and try to say with Mrs. Allen, "Alas! my dear Miss Cowley, this unhappy being is entitled to commiseration! Can you wish her a more severe punishment than her own wretched mind?" You, my Lucy, will not. But read and judge for yourself.
LETTER XVIII.