Such are the thoughts that protect me from the danger. His mental excellence perhaps I love as truly as heart could wish. But, as the lover who is to be the husband, no! I will not suffer my thoughts to glance in that direction. I might, but I will not. Nothing but a conviction that my principles are wrong shall ever make me; and that conviction I hold to be impossible.
Do not imagine I am guilty of the mistake of supposing myself his superior. Far the reverse. The tale which I am now about to relate will inform you better of the true state of my feelings.
You must know, my dear, that on our arrival in town, Sir Arthur, with my help, prevailed on Frank Henley to accept a twenty pound bill, that he might have the means of gratifying his inclinations, and enjoying the pleasures which at his age it is natural he should wish to enjoy. These means I had but too good reason to be convinced had been denied him by his father, which I suspected to be, and am now satisfied was, the true reason that Frank refused to attend us on our journey.
The youth has quite pride enough, my dear: he is desirous to confer, but not to accept obligations; is ready enough to give, but not to receive. As if he had not only a right to monopolize virtue, but to be exempt from the wants which are common to all, and to supply which men form themselves into societies. He seems to shrink with exquisite pain from the acceptance of money. However I was determined to conquer, and conquer I did. Nor can I say, considering them as I do, that I was sorry to offend the false feelings even of Frank Henley, for whom I have an infinite esteem.
After receiving this present, he accompanied me two or three times to those public places to which crowns and half guineas gain admittance; and, as you may imagine, was far from appearing insensible of the powers of poetry and music. Suddenly however he refused to be any more of such parties, for which I own I could divine no reason. I knew he had been educated in habits of oeconomy, and therefore could not suppose, generous though I knew him to be, that he had squandered away his pocket-money in so short a time. I endeavoured both to rally and to reason, but in vain; he was positive even to obstinacy; and I rightly conjectured there must be some cause for it which I had not discovered.
You have heard me speak, I believe, my dear, of Mrs. Clarke, as of a careful good woman, and a great favourite with my dear mamma, when living. She was then our housekeeper in the country, but has lately been left in the town house; because the furniture is too valuable to be entrusted to a less attentive person. This Mrs. Clarke had a sister whose name was Webb, and who left a son and a daughter, who are both married. The son, as you will soon hear, has been a wild and graceless fellow; but the daughter is one of the most agreeable and engaging young creatures I think I ever saw.
Yesterday my good Mrs. Clarke and her niece were shut up together in close conversation for a considerable time; and I perceived that their cheeks were swelled, their eyes red, and that they had been crying violently. I almost revere Mrs. Clarke as my mother, because of the excellence of her heart and the soundness of her understanding. I therefore could not forbear earnestly enquiring whether it were possible for me to remove her cause of grief; for grieved, I told her, I could plainly perceive she was. She burst into tears again on my questioning her, and endeavoured to express feelings that were too big for utterance. Turning to her niece she said—'I must inform my dear young lady.' 'For God's sake don't! For the Lord's sake don't!' cried the terrified creature. 'I must,' replied the aunt. 'It is proper.' 'He will have no mercy shewn him! He will be hanged!' exclaimed the other, in an agony. 'You do not know this lady,' said the aunt. 'Indeed she does not,' added I, 'if she supposes I would have any creature upon earth hanged.' 'Retire, Peggy,' said the aunt, 'while I relate the vile, the dreadful tale.' 'No, no! For mercy's sake no!' replied the niece. 'I must stay, and beg, and pray, and down on my knees for my brother! He is a wild and a wicked young man, but he is my brother.' 'Pray let her stay,' said I to the aunt. 'And fear nothing, my kind-hearted Peggy. Be assured I will not hurt a hair of your brother's head. I will do him good if I can, but no injury.' 'The God of Heaven bless and reward your angelic ladyship!' cried the half frantic grateful Peggy.
Mrs. Clarke attempted to begin her story. She was almost suffocated. I never heard so heart-rending a groan as she gave, when she came to the fatal sentence! Would you believe it, Louisa? This nephew of the worthy Mrs. Clarke, this brother of the good Peggy, is the very highwayman who shot Frank Henley!
His benevolent aunt has been with him, for he is still under the surgeon's hands; and he has confessed to her [I am angry with myself, Louisa, to find I wonder at it] he has confessed that the brave, the humane, the noble-minded Frank has visited him several times, and has set the folly of his wicked pursuits in so true and so strong a light, that the man protests, with the utmost vehemence, if he can but escape punishment for the faults he has committed, he will sooner perish than again be guilty of his former crimes.
The first time Frank visited him he gave the poor wretch a guinea; and went himself in search of another lodging for him, as well to remove him from the knowledge of his wicked companions as to protect him from the forty pound hunters. The man wants to escape over to the continent; and appears to be so sincere, in his resolves of reformation, that Frank has undertaken to furnish him with the means.