‘Oh no, Mr Harleigh, no!’ she cried: ‘these are scenes and alarms, that must be risked no more!—’
She was hurrying away; but, upon his saying, ‘Hear me, at least, for Elinor!’ she turned back.
His eye, now reproached even her compliance; but he rapidly communicated his opinion, that the conference demanded by Elinor ought, in prudence, for the present, to be avoided; since, while she had still some favourite object in view, life, would, unconsciously, be still supported. Time, thus, might insensibly be gained, not only for eluding her fatal project, but happily, perhaps, for taming the dauntless wildness that made her, now, seem to stand scoffingly at bay, between life and death.
Juliet saw nothing to oppose to this statement, and thanking him that, at least, it liberated her, was again hastening away.
‘Hold, hold!’ cried he, stopping her: ‘it is not from me that it must liberate you! Elinor has ratified the restoration of your word—’
‘Oh, were that all!—’ she cried, hastily; but, stopping short, deeply blushing, ‘Mr Harleigh,’ she added, ‘compel me not to repeat declarations that cannot vary!—Aid me rather, generously,—kindly, shall I say?—aid me,—to fly, to avoid you,—lest you become yourself ...’ her voice faltered as she pronounced, ‘the most fatal of my enemies!’
The penetrated Harleigh, charmed, though tortured, saw her eyes glittering with tears; but she forced her way past him, and took refuge in her chamber.
There, in deep anguish, she was sinking upon a chair, when she received the gentle balm of a letter from Gabriella, written with exstatic joy at the prospect of their re-union.
This decided her plan of immediate escape to London, under a full conviction that Harleigh, to obviate any calumnious surmizes from her disappearance, would studiously shew himself in the world; however cautiously he might avoid any interview with Elinor.
The shock of Juliet, at this unfortunate intrusion, somewhat abated, when she reflected that confirmed hopelessness might, perchance, lead Elinor to acquiescence in disappointment; for hopelessness, equally with resignation,—though not so respectably,—terminates all struggles against misfortune.
She now, therefore, seized an opportunity, when she knew Mrs Ireton to be engaged with Mrs Maple, for going forth to secure a place in some machine, for a journey to London on the following morning.
This office performed, she thought, while returning home, that she perceived, though at a considerable distance, Harleigh.
In the dread of some new conflict, she was planning to seek another way back, when recollecting that she had his bank-notes in her work-bag, she judged that she might more promptly return them at this accidental meeting, than in the house of Mrs Ireton.
She slackened, therefore, her pace, and, taking out her ever ready packet, turned round, as the footstep approached, gravely and calmly to deliver it; when, to her utter surprize, she faced Lord Melbury.
Pleasure emitted its brightest hues in the tints of her cheeks, at sight of the marked respect that chastened the visible delight with which she was looked at and accosted by the young peer. ‘How fortunate,’ he cried, ‘am I to meet with you thus directly! This moment only I dismount from my horse. I have a million of things to say to you from Aurora, if you will have the goodness to hear them; and I have more at heart still my own claim upon your patience. When may I see you for a little conversation?’
The pleasure of Juliet was now severely checked by perplexity, how either to fulfil or to break her engagement. Observing the change in her countenance, and her hesitation and difficulty to answer, Lord Melbury, whose look and air changed also, said, in a tone of concern, ‘Miss Ellis has not forgotten her kind promise?’
‘Your lordship is extremely good, to remember either that or me; yet I hope—’
‘What does Miss Ellis hope? I would not counteract her hopes for the world; but surely she cannot be so cruel as to disappoint mine? to make me fear that she has changed her opinion? to withdraw her amiable trust?’
‘No, my lord, no! not a moment could I hesitate were trust alone in question! but the hurry of this instant,—the impossibility of detailing so briefly, and by an imperfect account—’
‘And why an imperfect account? Why, dear Miss Ellis, since you have the kindness to believe I may be trusted, not confide to me the whole truth?’
‘Alas, my lord! how?—where?’
‘In some parlour,—in the garden,—any where.—’
‘Ah, my lord, what I have to say must be uninterrupted; unheard but by yourself; and—I can command neither a place nor a moment free from intrusion!’—
‘Sweet Miss Ellis!—sweet injured Miss Ellis! I know, I have witnessed the unworthiness of your treatment. Even Aurora, with all her gentleness, has been as indignant at it, nearly, as myself. All our wonder is how you bear it!—We burn, we expire to learn what can urge so undue a subjection. But I have not obtruded myself upon you only for myself; I have galloped hither to prepare you,—and to entreat you not to be uneasy,—and to save you from any surprize, by acquainting you that my uncle Denmeath—’
He stopt short, as if thunderstruck. Juliet, alarmed, looked at him, and saw that, in bending over her, to name, in a lower voice, his uncle, his eyes had caught the direction of her packet, “For Albert Harleigh, Esq.”
Shocked at the evidently unpleasant effect which this sight produced, and covered with blushes at the suspicions to which it might give rise, Juliet hastily exclaimed, ‘Oh my lord! I must no longer defer my explanation! any, every risk will be preferable to the loss of your esteem!’
Delight, enchantment again were depicted on the countenance, as they seized the faculties of the young peer; and, involuntarily, his eager hands were stretching forwards to seize hers, when he perceived, just approached to them, pale, agitated, and with the look of some one taken suddenly ill, Harleigh.
The colour of Juliet now rose and died away alternately, from varying sensations of shame and apprehension; to which the deepest confusion soon succeeded, as she discerned the contrast of the cheeks, whitened by pale jealousy, of Harleigh; with those of Lord Melbury, which were crimsoned with the reddest hues of sudden suspicion, and painful mistrust.
Harleigh, with a faint and forced smile, bowed, but stood aloof: Lord Melbury seemed to have not alone his sentiments, but his faculties held in suspension.
Juliet, with cruel consciousness, perceived that each surmized something clandestine of the other; and the immense importance which she annexed to their joint good opinion; and the imminent danger which she saw of the double forfeiture, soon re-invigorated her powers, and, addressing herself with dignity, though in a tone of softness, to Lord Melbury, ‘If you judge me, my lord, from partial circumstances,’ she cried, ‘I have every thing to apprehend for what I value more than words can express, your lordship’s approbation of the favour with which I am honoured by Lady Aurora Granville; but let me rather hope,—suffer me, my lord, to hope, that by the opinion I have formed of the honour of your own character, you will judge,—though at present in the dark,—of the integrity of mine!’
Turning then from him, as, touched, electrified, he was beginning, ‘I have always judged you to be an angel!’—she would have presented her packet to Harleigh; though without raising her eyes, saying, ‘Mr Harleigh has so long;—and upon so many occasions, honoured me with marks of his esteem,—and benevolence,—that I flatter myself,—I think,—I trust—’
She stammered, confused; and Harleigh, who, from the moment that Lady Aurora had been mentioned, had recovered his complexion, his respiration, and his strength; recovered, also, his hopes and his energy, at sight of the embarrassment of Juliet. Not doubting, however, what were the contents of the packet, he held back from receiving it; though with a smile that conveyed the most lively expression of grateful delight, at her palpable anxiety to preserve his esteem.
‘Nay, you must take your property!’ she resumed, with attempted cheerfulness; yet blushing more deeply every moment, at thus betraying to Lord Melbury that she had any property of Mr Harleigh’s to return.
‘I will take your commands in every shape in which they can be framed,’ cried Harleigh, gaily; ‘but you must not refuse to grant me, at the same time, directions for their execution.’
The interest with which Lord Melbury listened to what passed, was now mingled with undisguised impatience: but Juliet could not endure to satisfy him; could not support letting him know, that she retained money of Harleigh’s in her hands; nor yet bear to suffer Harleigh, now the address had been seen, to leave it still in her possession: hesitating, abashed, she turned from one to the other, with looks at Lord Melbury that seemed appealing for forbearance; and to Harleigh with down-cast eyes, that had not force to encounter his, but that were expressive of distress, timidity, and fear of misconstruction.
This pause, while it astonished and perplexed Lord Melbury, gave rise, in Harleigh, to the most flattering emotions. Her disturbance was, indeed, visible, and cruelly painful to him; but, since their meeting in the church-yard, the severity of her reserve had seemed shaken, beyond her power, evident as were her struggles, to call back its original firmness. The more exquisitely he felt himself bewitched by this observation, the more fondly he desired to spare her delicacy, by concealing, though not repressing his hopes; but his eyes, less under his controul than his words, air, or address, spoke a language not to be doubted of tenderness, and sparkled with lustrous happiness, Juliet felt their beams too powerfully to mistake, or even to sustain them. Her head dropt, her eye-lids nearly closed; blushing shame tingled in her cheeks, and apprehension and perturbation trembled in every limb.
Perceiving, and adoring, her inability to find utterance, Harleigh, with subdued rapture, yet in a tone that spoke of his feelings to be, at length, in harmony with all his wishes, was gently beginning an entreaty that she would adjourn this little dispute to another day, when the words, ‘Well! if here i’n’t the very person we were talking off!’ striking his ears, he looked round, and saw Miss Bydel, accompanied by Mr Giles Arbe; whose approach had been unheeded by them all, from the deep interest which had concentrated their attention to themselves.
‘Why, Mrs Ellis,’ she continued, ‘why what are you doing here? I should like to know that. I’ve just had a smart battle about you with my good friend, Mr Giles. He will needs have it, that you paid all your debts from a hoard that you had by you, of your own; though I have told him I dare say an hundred times, at the least, I must needs be a better judge, having been paid myself, for my own share, by that cross-grained Baronet, who’s been such a good friend to you.’
The sensations of Juliet underwent now another change, though shame was still predominant; her fears of exciting the expectations she sought to annul in Harleigh, were superseded by a terrour yet more momentous, of giving ground for suspicion, not alone to himself, but to Lord Melbury, that, while fashioning a thousand difficulties, to accepting the assistance that was generously and delicately offered by themselves, she had suffered a third person, that person, also, a gentleman, to supply her pecuniary necessities. She breathed hard, and looked disordered, but could suggest nothing to say; while Harleigh and Lord Melbury stood as if transfixed by disturbed astonishment.
‘Well! I protest,’ resumed Miss Bydel, ‘if here i’n’t another of the people that we were talking of, Mr Giles! for I declare it’s Mr Harleigh, that I was telling you, you know, my good friend, was the person that made poor Miss Joddrel make away with her herself, because of his skimper-scampering after Mrs Ellis, when she had that swoon! which, to be sure, had but an out of the way look; for the music would have taken care of her. Don’t you think so yourself, my dear?’
The most painful confusion again took possession of Juliet; who would silently have walked away, had not Miss Bydel caught hold of her arm, saying, ‘Don’t be in a hurry, my dear, for you shan’t be chid; for I’ll speak for you myself to Mrs Ireton.’
‘I am mighty glad to hear that Sir Jaspar is your friend, my pretty lady,’ said the smiling Mr Giles; ‘and I am mighty glad, too, that you have persuaded him to help to pay your debts. He’s a very good sort of man, where he takes; and very witty and clever. Though he is crabbed, too; rather crabbed and waspish, when he i’n’t pleased. He always scolds all the men: and, indeed, the maids, too, when they a’n’t pretty, poor things! And they can’t help that: else, I dare say, they would. Yet, I am afraid, I don’t like them quite so well myself, neither, in my heart, when they are ugly; which is but hard upon them; so I always do them double the good, to punish myself. But I’m prodigiously sorry you should have taken to that turn of running in debt, my dear, for it’s the only thing I know to your disadvantage; for which reason I have never named it to a single soul; only it just dropt out, before I was aware, to Miss Bydel; which I am sorry enough for; for I am afraid it will be but hard to her, poor lady, to keep it to herself.’
‘What do you mean by that Mr Giles?’ cried Miss Bydel, angrily. ‘Do you want to insinuate that I don’t know how to keep a secret? I should be glad to know what right you have to fleer at a person about that, when you blab out every thing in such a manner yourself! and before these two gentlemen, too; who don’t lose a word of what passes, I can tell you!’
‘True! Good! You are right there, Mrs Bydel! I did not think of that, I protest. However, these two gentlemen have too much kindness about them, to repeat a thing that may hurt a young person just coming, as one may say, into the world, for she is but a chicken; and my lord, here, who looks younger still, is scarcely more than an egg. So you may be sure he has no guile in him, for he seems almost as innocent as herself. However, my pretty lady, if you have still any more debts, new or old, only tell me who you owe them to, and I’ll run and fetch all the people here; and we’ll join together to discharge them at once; for Mr Harleigh is always at home when he is doing good; and this young nobleman can’t begin too soon to learn what he is rich for: so you can never be in better hands for taking up a little money. When we settled the last batch, you had no debt left but to Mrs Bydel; and, as the Baronet has paid her, she’s off our hands. So tell me whether there is any new one that you have been running up since?’
Wounded, and nearly indignant at this demand, ‘None!’ Juliet spontaneously answered; when catching a glance at Lord Melbury, who involuntarily looked down, his purse and the fifteen guineas of Lady Aurora, rushed upon her memory, and filled her again with visible embarrassment.
‘Good! good!’ cried the pleased Mr Giles: ‘you could not tell me better news. But are there any poor souls, then, that you forgot to mention in our last reckoning? Are there any old debts that you did not count?’
Inexpressibly hurt at a supposition so offensive to her sense of probity, Juliet hastily repeated, ‘No, Sir, there are none!’ but, in raising her head, and encountering the penetrating eyes of Harleigh, the terrible recollection of the capital into which she had broken, and of the large sum so long his due, struck cold to her heart; though it burnt her cheeks with a dye of crimson.
Yet were these sensations nearly nugatory, compared with those which she suffered the next instant, when Miss Bydel, suddenly perceiving the direction upon the packet, read aloud ‘For Albert Harleigh, Esq.’
Her exclamations, her blunt, unqualified interrogatories, and the wonder, and simple ejaculations of Mr Giles Arbe, filled Juliet with a confusion so intolerable, that she forced her arm from Miss Bydel, with intention to insist upon publicly restoring the packet to Harleigh; but Harleigh, confounded himself, had advanced towards the house, which, frequently as they had stopt, they now insensibly reached; but from which he would most willingly have retrograded, upon seeing Ireton issue, laughing, into the portico.
The laugh of Ireton, whose gaiety was always derision, and whose derision was always scandal, though it was innocently echoed by the unsuspicious Mr Giles, was as alarming to the two gentlemen and to Juliet, as it was offensive to Miss Bydel; who pettishly demanded, ‘Pray what are you laughing at, Mr Ireton? I should like to know that. If it is at me, you may as well tell me at once, for I shall be sure to find it out; because I always make a point of doing that.’
Ireton, seizing upon Harleigh, exclaimed ‘What, Monsieur le Moniteur! still hankering after our mysterious fair one?’ when, perceiving the wishes of Juliet, to pass on, he wantonly filled up the door-way.
Harleigh, who, also, could not but guess them, though he dared not look at her, hoped, by delaying her entrance, to catch a moment’s discourse: but the youthful Lord Melbury, deeming all caution to be degrading, that interfered with protection to a lovely female, openly desired that Ireton would stand aside, and let the ladies enter the house.
‘Most undoubtedly, my lord!’ answered Ireton, making way, with an air of significant acquiescence.
Miss Bydel, with a warm address of thanks to his lordship, whose interference she received as a personal civility, said, ‘This is like a gentleman, indeed, my lord, and quite fit for a lord to do, to take the part of us poor weak women, against people that keep one standing out in the street, because they think of nothing but joking;’ and then, telling Juliet to follow her, ‘I can do no less,’ she added, as she entered the hall, ‘than be as good as my word to this poor young music-maker, to save her a chiding, poor creature, for staying, dawdling, out so long; when ten to one but poor Mrs Ireton has wanted her a hundred times, for one odd thing or another. But I shall take all the fault upon myself for the last part of the job, because I can’t deny but I held her a minute or two by the arm. But what she was gossipping about before we came up to her, my good friend Mr Giles and I, is what I don’t pretend to say; though I should like to know very well; for it had but an odd appearance, I must own; both your gentlemen having been talked of so much, in the town, about this young person.’
The most pointed darts of wit, and even the poisoned shafts of malice, are less disconcerting to delicacy, than the unqualified bluntness of the curious under-bred; for that which cannot be imputed to a spirit of sarcasm, or a desire of shining, passes, to the bye-standers, for unvarnished truth. As such, the intimation of Miss Bydel was palpably received by Ireton, and by Mr Giles; though with malevolent wilfulness by the one, and, by the other, with the simplest credulity; while Lord Melbury, Harleigh and Juliet, were too much ashamed to look up, and too much confounded to attempt parrying so gross an attack.
Yet both Lord Melbury and Harleigh, urged invincibly by a desire of knowing in what manner Juliet was to be patronized by her loquacious mediatrix, and how they might themselves fare in the account, irresistibly entered the mansion; though marvelling, each, at the curiosity, and blaming the indiscretion of the other.
To avoid the aspersion of making a clandestine retreat, Juliet had decided, however painful to her might be such an exertion, openly to relinquish her situation with Mrs Ireton; but she by no means felt equal to risking the irascibility of that lady before so many witnesses. Nevertheless, when she would have glided from the party, Miss Bydel, again seizing her arm, called out, ‘Come, don’t be afraid, Mrs Ellis: I’ve promised to take your part, and I am always as good as my word;’ and then dragged, rather than drew her into the drawing-room; closely attended by Lord Melbury, Harleigh, Mr Giles Arbe, and Ireton.
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