University of Virginia Library

September 15.—

Said I not that my fate was near its crisis? Where will this impending ruin end! Take, my Cecilia, the occurrences of this frightful day.

Mr. Arnold rode out this morning, and told me he should not return till night. He asked me, with that indifference


307

which now accompanies all his words, How I meant to dispose of myself for the day? I told him, I had no design of going abroad, and should spend my time in reading, or at my needle. This was my real intention; but Mr. Arnold had but just left the house, when I received a message from Mrs. Gerrarde to know how I did, and to tell me she was not well, and much out of spirits, or she would come and pass the day with me; but that she insisted on my dining with her. As I had told Mr. Arnold I did not mean to go out, I really had neither intention nor inclination to do so. But shall I confess my weakness to you? I suspected that he purposed spending the day (as he often did) with Mrs. Gerrarde, and the more so from the question he had asked me on his going abroad; he thought I might probably pay her a visit; and this intrusion was a circumstance he had a mind to be guarded against, by knowing beforehand my designs. I had not been to see Mrs. Gerrarde since my recovery, and it was natural to suppose I would return her visit. Possessed

308

as I was with this opinion, her message gave me a secret satisfaction, as it served to convince me Mr. Arnold was not to be with her, for she generally detained me late when I went to her house. From what trivial circumstances will the afflicted draw consolation, or an additional weight of grief! So it was; I felt a sort of pleasure in thinking, that for all that day at least Mr. Arnold would absent himself from my rival!—My rival! mean word, she is not worthy to be called so—from his mistress let it be. In short, I resolved to go, especially as she had sent me word she was not well, and I knew my husband would be pleased with my complaisance.

I went accordingly to her house a little before her hour of dining, which is much later than any body's else in this part of the world. I found her dressed out, and seemingly in perfect health. She looked surprized when she saw me; and I then supposed that she hoped to have received a denial from me, and was disappointed at my coming; though I wondered


309

that the answer she received to her message had not prepared her. This thought rushed into my mind in an instant, and I was sure she expected Mr. Arnold. I told her, If I had thought I should have found her so well, that her message should not have brought me to her; for that I had determined not to stir out that day, till her invitation prevailed on me to change my mind. Sure, my dear, said she, there must have been some mistake in delivering the message to you; it was for to-morrow I desired the pleasure of your company to dine with me; for to-day I am absolutely engaged. However, I am very glad you are come, for I shall not go out till seven o'clock. I was vexed and mortified: Either your servant or mine made a mistake, said I, for I was told you desired to see me to-day; besides you sent me word you were not well. She seemed a little abashed at this: I was very ill in the morning, she said; and though I was engaged to spend the evening abroad, did intend to have sent an excuse; but finding myself better, I change my purpose.

310

Dinner was immediately served, and I sat down, but with a reluctance that prevented me from eating. I would have taken my leave soon after dinner, but Mrs. Gerrarde insisted on my staying, and told me if I refused her, she should think I had taken something amiss of her. She called for cards; I suffered myself to be persuaded, and we fell to piquet.

I played with disgust, and without attention, every minute wishing to break away. Coffee was at length brought in; I begged to be excused from staying, telling Mrs. Gerrarde, I was sure I prevented her from going abroad, but she would take no denial. I was constrained to take a dish of coffee, and was hastening to get it down when the parlour door flew open, and lo! Mr. Faulkland entered the room. If an object the most horrible to human nature had appeared before me, it could not at that instant have shocked me half so much. I let the cup and saucer drop from hand: to say I turned pale, trembled, and was ready to faint, would be too feeble a description of the


311

effect this spectre had on me. I was senseless, I almost died away. Mrs. Gerrarde pretended to be greatly alarmed; she ran for drops, and having given me a few in a glass of water, I made a shift to rise of my chair, and telling her I should be glad of a little air, tottered to the street door. I determined to go home directly, but the universal tremor I was now in, disabled me from walking, and I sat down in the porch to recover myself a little. Mr. Faulkland's having been a witness to the agony his presence had thrown me into, did not a little aggravate the horror and confusion of my thoughts. Whatever his were, he had no spoke to me, nor was it possible for me to have remarked his behaviour: I staid not more than two minutes in the parlour after he entered. In this situation you will think my distress would hardly admit of any addition; but the final blow was yet to come. Mrs. Gerrarde had staid a minute in the parlour to speak to Mr. Faulkland after I went out, but presently followed me, and was soothing me

312

with the kindest expressions, when I heard the trampling of horses, and presently beheld Mr. Arnold alighting at the door. I now gave myself up for lost. My mind suddenly suggested to me that Mrs. Gerrarde had contrived a plot upon my innocence; but how she had been able to bring it about, my thoughts were not then disengaged enough to conceive. My mind was all a chaos; I was not able to answer Mr. Arnold when he spoke to me. He soon perceived my disorder, and inquired the cause. Mrs. Gerrarde took upon her to answer, that I was just preparing to go home, when I was taken suddenly ill. I was going abroad, said she, and as I ordered the chariot much about this hour, I fancy it is ready, and may as well carry Mrs. Arnold home; you had best step into the parlour, my dear (to me) till it is brought to the door.

I am now able to walk, madam, said I; there is no occasion to give you that trouble. Mr. Arnold said, I should not walk by any means; and Mrs. Gerrarde immediately calling a servant to order


313

the chariot to the door, said, as she was going out, she would leave me at home herself. Mr. Arnold answered, it would be the best way, and that he should follow soon. The chariot was presently at the door. and I was preparing to get into it, when Mrs. Gerrarde cry'd, Bless me I had forgot, it will not be so civil to leave the gentleman behind, without saying any thing to him. Mr. Arnold hastily asked, What gentleman? Mrs. Gerrarde replied, Mr. Faulkland, who took it into his head to make me a visit this evening. She went quickly into the parlour, and strait returned with Mr. Faulkland; who bowing carelessly to Mr. Arnold, and civilly to me, walked away.

Mrs. Gerrarde stepped into the chariot to me, and ordered it to drive to my house, leaving Mr. Arnold standing motionless at her door.

A total silence prevailed on my side during our short journey home, except to answer in monosyllables Mrs. Gerrarde's repeated inquiries after my health. She set me down at my own door, and took


314

her leave without alighting. When I found myself alone, I began to consider the consequences of this evening's fatal interview; an interview, which, though unthought of by me, I judged was contrived to ensnare me. I laid all the circumstances together, and endeavoured to unravel the clue. "Tis plain to me Mr. Arnold was expected by Mrs. Gerrarde this evening. She sent for me on purpose to betray me; the message, which she pretended was delivered wrong, was only an artifice, in order to impose on Mr. Arnold, that he might imagine she did not expect me. Indeed, he could not possibly think she should send for me on the very evening he was to be with her; and she had so well guarded her contrivance, that it was not easily to be detected. She had sent her message by word of mouth, though she generally wrote them down on paper, but this way would not have been liable to misconstruction; she had told me she was engaged in the evening, yet detained me longer than I meant to stay. From the first of these circumstances,

315

it must appear to Mr. Arnold, that as I had come unwished for, she wanted to get rid of me; the latter obviously served her own purpose; for it is as clear as daylight that she laid her plan so as that Mr. Arnold should find Mr. Faulkland and me together. All this I have deduced from a long train of reasoning on the circumstances. But the inexplicable part of the mystery is, how she contrived to get Mr. Faulkland, with whom I did not think she was acquainted, to visit her at so fatally critical a juncture. Sure some evil spirit must have assisted her in this wicket scheme: she knew, no doubt, of the promise Mr. Arnold had exacted of me, never to see him. The apparent breach of this promise, she may have art enough to persuade Mr. Arnold was concerted on my side. But I hope I shall be able to clear myself of this cruel imputation to my husband. Truth must force its way into his mind, if he is not resolved on my destruction. Perhaps Mr. Faulkland may be secretly Mrs. Gerrarde's admirer, and Mr. Arnold is the dupe to

315

her perfidy, as I am the sacrifice to her malice and licentiousness.—'Tis all a strange riddle, but I cannot remain long in this dismal state of suspence; Mr. Arnold, perhaps, may discover her treachery, while she is endeavouring to destroy me in his good opinion.

I am waiting here like a poor criminal, in expectation of appearing before my judge. I wish Mr. Arnold were come in, yet I dread to see him.

I might have spared myself the anxiety. Mr. Arnold is just returned, but he has locked himself into another chamber. I will not molest him to-night! to-morrow, perhaps, he may be in better temper, and I may be able to justify myself to him, and dispel this frightful gloom that hangs over us.