“We will,” replied her mistress; “and this gentleman, if he can put up with our rustic food, will perhaps do us the honour to partake with us.”
We moved to the table; and, when supper was over, the old lady returned the clue of the narrative—
“Henry, the rector’s amiable son, returned now from Oxford; he saw, he admired, he loved Miranda. The nobleness of his nature caused him to act in every thing with the strictest honour and integrity. He confessed his passion, and received as ingenious reciprocation of love. With generous frankness, he acquainted his father with his attachments. The haughty priest foamed with rage at the bare mention of it, and maddened at the idea of his son’s marrying---these were his words---“a wench without fortune, family, or any thing; the daughter of my curate, too!” In short, from hence forward, he studied only how to distress and ruin us. His first motion was to get his son out of the way, whom he compelled to take the tour of Europe!---Miranda sobbed aloud—“a joyless tour, alas! for Henry.” We believe he constantly writes to Miranda; but the rector secures his letters, knowing that we are not able to bring him to account. Not satisfied with having separated the lovers, he sought for other means of distressing us; and, having bought the debt which my husband had contracted, thrust him with merciless cruelty into prison. Here we succour him, and make him as comfortable as such a situation will allow: though the surly priest takes every means of harrassing both him and us.”
When the old lady had finished her narrative, I felt such deep commiseration, that I could answer her only by marks of indignation, and by sighs.
Miranda, during the whole time, had been totally absorbed in tears: but, now, collecting herself, she caught my eyes fixed on the little dog. “You wonder,” said she, “no doubt, at the unusual kindness which I manifest towards this little animal. I will put an end to your astonishment. It is the only memorial of my Henry; he gave it to me: we were both wont to amuse ourselves with it; since his departure I have cherished it in my bosom; it has eat of my bread, drank of my cup, and been to me as my lover.”
I thanked her for her condescension; and, turning to address the old lady, found her eyes again fastened on me: she examined my features involuntarily, and with seeming forgetfulness; then shook her head as before, and sighed. This striking behaviour, particularly as I found myself similarly circumstanced, stopped what I was about to utter. I was silent. Soon after, she looked eagerly at me again.
“Excuse me, Sir; I am sensible of my rudeness, but nature impels me to this behaviour; will you have the goodness to ease my doubts, by informing me, whether you are a native of England?”
“No, Madam! but born of English parents in Russia.”
“Good Heaven! art thou, then, making me amends for the afflictions thou hast laid upon me!”
“Your words, Madam, distract me! What do they mean? My heart tells me that some kindred tie binds us. Heaven grant that it may be so!”