University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Nothing material occurred after the departure
of Lady Laura, for a fortnight;—the
Moseleys entering soberly into the amusements
of the place, and Derwent and Chatterton
becoming more pointed every day in
their attentions—the one to Emily, and the
other to Lady Harriet—when the dowager
received a pressing intreaty from Catherine to
hasten to her at Lisbon, where her husband
had taken up his abode for a time, after
much doubt and indecision as to his place of
residence; Lady Herriefield stated generally
in her letter, that she was miserable, and
without the support of her mother could not
exist under her present grievances; but what
was the cause of those grievances, or what
grounds she had for her misery, she left unexplained.

Lady Chatterton was not wanting in
maternal regard, and promptly determined
to proceed to Portugal in the next packet.
John felt inclined for a little excursion
with his bride, and out of compassion to
the baron, who was in a dilemma between
his duty and his love, (for Lady Harriet about
that time was particularly attractive,) offered
his services.

Chatterton allowed himself to be persuaded
by the good-natured John, that his mother
could safely cross the ocean, under the protection

of the latter—accordingly, at the end
of the before mentioned fortnight, the dowager,
John, Grace, and Jane, commenced
their ride to Falmouth.

Jane had offered to accompany Grace, as
a companion in her return, (it being expected
Lady Chatterton would remain in the country
with her daughter,) and her parents appreciating
her motives, permitted the excursion,
with a hope it would draw her thoughts from
past events.

Although Grace shed a few tears at parting
with Emily and her friends, it was impossible
for Mrs. Moseley to be long unhappy,
with the face of John smiling by her side;
and they pursued their route uninterruptedly.
In due season, they reached the port of their
embarkation.

The following morning the packet got under
weigh, and a favourable breeze soon wafted
them out of sight of their native shores. The
ladies were too much indisposed the first
day to appear on the deck; but the weather
becoming calm, and the sea smooth, Grace
and Jane ventured out of the confinement of
the state-room they shared between them, to
respire the fresh air above.

There were but few passengers, and those
chiefly ladies—the wives of officers on foreign
stations, on their way to join their
husbands; as these had been accustomed to
moving in the world, their care and disposition
to accommodate soon removed the

awkwardness of a first meeting, and our travellers
begun to be at home in their novel situation.

While Grace stood leaning on the arm
of her husband, and clinging to his support,
both from her affections and dread of the
motion of the vessel, Jane had ventured with
one of the ladies to attempt a walk round
the deck of the ship; unaccustomed to such
an uncertain foothold, the walkers had been
prevented falling, by the kind interposition of
a gentleman, who, for the first time, had
shown himself among them, at that moment.
The accident, and their situation, led to a
conversation which was renewed at different
times during their passage, and in some measure
created an intimacy between our party
and the stranger. He was addressed by the
commander of the vessel as Mr. Harland;
and Lady Chatterton exercised her ingenuity
in the investigation of his history, and
destination in his present journey—by which
she made the following discovery:

The Rev. and Hon. Mr. Harland was the
younger son of an Irish earl, who had early
embraced his sacred profession in that church
in which he held a valuable living in the
gift of his father's family; his father was yet
alive, and then at Lisbon with his mother
and sister, in attendance on his elder brother,
who had been sent there in a deep decline,
by his physicians, a couple of months before.
It had been the wish of his parents to
have taken all their children with them;

but the sense of duty in the young clergyman
had kept him in the exercise of his
office until a request of his dying brother, and
the directions of his father, had caused him
to hasten thither to witness the decease of the
one, and afford the solace within his power
to the others.

It may be easily imagined, the discovery,
of the rank of this accidental acquaintance,
with the almost certainty that existed,
of his being heir to his father's honours,
in no degree impaired his consequence
in the eyes of the dowager; and it is certain,
his visible anxiety and depressed spirits
—unaffected piety, and disinterested hopes,
for his brother's recovery, no less elevated
him in the opinions of her companions.

There was, at the moment, a kind of sympathy
between Harland and Jane, notwithstanding
the melancholy which gave rise to it proceeded
from such very different causes; and
as the lady, although with diminished bloom,
retained all her personal charms, rather heightened
than otherwise, by the softness of low
spirits—the young clergyman sometimes relieved
his apprehensions of his brother's
death, by admitting the image of Jane in his
moments of solitary reflection.

Their voyage was tedious, and some time
before it was ended the dowager had given
Grace an intimation of the probability there
was of Jane's becoming, at some future day,
a countess. Grace sincerely hoped that whatever

she became, she would be as happy as
she thought all allied to John deserved to be.

They entered the bay of Lisbon early in
the morning; and as the ship had been expected
for some days, a boat came alongside
with a note for Mr. Harland, before they had
anchored; it apprised him of the death of
his brother. The young man threw himself
precipitately into it, and was soon employed
in one of the loveliest offices of his
vocation---that of healing the wounds of the
afflicted.

Lady Herriefield received her mother in a
sort of sullen satisfaction; and her companions,
with an awkwardness she could ill
conceal. It required no great observation in
the travellers to discover, that their arrival was
entirely unexpected to the viscount—if it
were not equally disagreeable; indeed, one
day's residence under his roof assured them
all, that no great degree of domestic felicity
was ever an inmate of the dwelling.

From the moment Lord Herriefield became
suspicious, that he had been the dupe of the
management of Kate and her mother, he
viewed every act of her's with a prejudiced
eye. It was easy, with his knowledge of human
nature, to detect the selfishness and
wordly-mindedness of his wife; for as these
were faults she was unconscious of possessing,
so she was unguarded in her exposure
of them; but her designs, in a matrimonial
point of view, having ended with her marriage,

had the viscount treated her with any
of the courtesies due her sex and station,
she might, with her disposition, have been
contented in the enjoyment of rank and possession
of wealth; but their more private
hours were invariably rendered unpleasant,
by the overflowings of her husband's resentment,
at having been deceived in his judgment
of the female sex.

There is no point upon which men are more
tender than their privilege of suiting themselves
in a partner for life, although many of both
sexes are influenced, in this important selection,
more by the wishes and whims of others than
we suspect generally-yet as they imagine, what
is the result of contrivance and management, is
the election of free will and taste, so long as
they are ignorant---they are contented. But
Lord Herriefield wanted the bliss of ignorance;
and with his contempt of his wife, was
mingled anger at his own want of foresight.

There are very few people who can
tamely submit to self reproach; and as the
cause of his irritated state of mind, was both
present and completely within his power, the
viscount seemed determined to give her as
little reason to exult in the success of her
plans as possible—jealous he was of her,
from temperament-from bad association--and
the want of confidence in the principles of
his wife---and the freedom of foreign manners
had a tendency to excite this baneful
passion to an unusual degree. It was thus

abridged in her pleasures—reproached with
motives she was incapable of harbouring,
and disappointed in all those enjoyments, her
mother had ever led her to believe as the
invariable accompaniments of married life,
where proper attention had been paid to the
necessary qualifications of riches and rank---
that Kate had written to the dowager, with
the hope, her presence might restrain, or her
advice teach her successfully to oppose, the
unfeeling conduct of the viscount.

As the Lady Chatterton had never implanted
any of her favourite systems in her
daughter so much by precept as the force of
example in her own person, and indirect
eulogiums on certain people who were endowed
with those qualities and blessings
she most admired—so, on the present occasion,
Catherine did not unburthen herself in
terms to her mother, but by a regular gradation
of complaints, aimed more at the world
than her husband—she soon let the knowing
dowager see their application, and thus completely
removed the veil from her domestic
grievances.

The presence of John and Grace, with
their example, for a short time awed the
peer into dissembling of his disgusts for his
spouse—but the ice once broken—their being
auditors, soon ceased to affect either its frequency,
or the severity of his remarks, when
under its influence.

From such exhibitions of matrimonial discord,

Grace shrunk timidly into the retirement
of her room, and Jane, with dignity,
would follow her example, while John,
at times became a listener, with a spirit
barely curbed within the bounds of prudence,
and at others, sought in the company of
his wife and sister, relief from the violence of
his feelings.

John never admired Catherine, or respected
her, for the want of those very
qualities, he chiefly loved in her sister;
yet, as she was a woman, and one nearly
connected with him—he found it impossible
to remain quietly a spectator to the
unmanly treatment she often received from
her husband; he therefore made preparations
for his return to England by the
first packet, abridging his intended residence
in Lisbon more than a month.

Lady Chatterton endeavoured all within
her power to heal the breach between Kate
and her husband, but it greatly exceeded her
abilities; it was too late to implant such
principles in her daughter, as by a long
course of self-denial and submission, might
have won the love of the viscount---had the
mother been acquainted with them herself—
so that having induced her child to marry
with a view to obtaining precedence and a
jointure, she once more sat to work to undo
part of her former labours, by bringing
about a decent separation between them,
in such a manner as to secure to her child the

possession of her wealth, and the esteem of the
world.

The latter, though certainly a somewhat
difficult undertaking, was greatly lessened by
the assistance of the former.

John was determined to seize the opportunity
of his stay, to examine the environs of
the city. It was in one of these daily rides,
they met with their fellow traveller, Mr.
now Lord Harland. He was rejoiced to find
them again, and hearing of their intended
departure, informed them of his being about
to return to England, in the same vessel—
his parents and sister, contemplating ending
the winter in Portugal.

The intercourse between the two families
was kept up with a show of civilities between
the noblemen, and much real goodwill
on the part of the juniors of the circle,
until the day arrived for the sailing of the
packet.

Lady Chatterton was left with Catherine,
as yet unable to circumvent her schemes with
prudence—it being deemed by the world, a
worse offence to separate, than to join together
our children in the bands of wedlock.

The confinement of a vessel, is very propitious
to those intimacies which lead to attachments;
the necessity of being agreeable
is a check upon the captious, and the desire
to lessen the dulness of the scene, a stimulus
to the lively; and though the noble divine

and Jane could not possibly be ranked in
either class—yet the effect was the same;
the nobleman was much enamoured, and
Jane unconsciously gratified---it is true, love
had never entered her thoughts in its direct
and unequivocal form—but admiration is so
consoling, to those labouring under self-condemnation,
and flattery of a certain kind so
very soothing to all, it is not to be wondered,
she listened with increasing pleasure, to the
interesting conversation of Harland on all
occasions, and more particularly, as often
happened, when exclusively addressed to
herself.

Grace had, of late, reflected more seriously
on the subject of her eternal welfare,
than she had been accustomed to, in the
house of her mother; and the example of
Emily, with the precepts of Mrs. Wilson,
had not been thrown away upon her---it is
a singular fact, that more women feel a disposition
to religion soon after marriage, than
at any other period of life--and whether it is,
that having attained the most important station
this life affords the sex, they are more
willing to turn their thoughts to a provision
for the next; or whether it be owing to any
other cause, Mrs. Moseley was included in
the number—she became sensibly touched
with her situation, and as Harland was both
devout and able, as well as anxious, to instruct,
one of the party, at least, had cause to
rejoice in the journey, for the remainder of

her days—but precisely as Grace increased
in her own faith, so did her anxiety after the
welfare of her husband receive new excitement—and
John, for the first time, became
the cause of sorrow to his affectionate companion.

The deep interest Harland took in the
opening conviction of Mrs. Moseley, did not
so entirely engross his thoughts, as to prevent,
the too frequent contemplation of the charms
of her friend, for his own peace of mind—
and by the time the vessel had reached Falmouth,
he had determined to make a tender
of his hand and title, to the acceptance of
Miss Moseley.—Jane did not love Egerton;
on the contrary, she despised him—but the
time had been, when all her romantic feelings—every
thought of her brilliant imagination,
had been filled with his image, and Jane
felt it a species of indelicacy to admit the impression
of another so soon, or even at all—
these objections would, in time, have been
overcome, as her affections became more and
more enlisted on behalf of Harland, had she
admitted his addresses—but there was one
impediment, Jane considered as insurmountable
to a union with any man.

She had communicated her passion to its
object—there had been the confidence of approved
love, and she had now no heart for
Harland, but one, that had avowedly been
a slave to another—to conceal this from him
would be unjust, and not reconcilable to

good faith—to confess it, humiliating, and
without the pale of probability---it was the
misfortune of Jane to keep the world too
constantly before her, and lose sight too
much, of her really depraved nature, to relish
the idea of humbling hereself so low, in the
opinion of a fellow-creature; and the refusal
of Harland's offer was the consequence---although
she had begun to feel an esteem for
him, that would, no doubt, have given rise
to an attachment, in time, far stronger and
more deeply seated than her fancy for Colonel
Egerton had been.

If the horror of imposing on the credulity
of Harland, a wounded heart, was
creditable to Jane, and showed an elevation
of character, that under proper guidance
would have placed her in the first
ranks of her sex; the pride which condemned
her to a station nature did not design
her for, was irreconcilable with the humility,
a view of her condition could not fail
to produce; and the second sad consequence
of the indulgent weakness of her parents,
was confirming their child in passions directly
at variance with the first duties of a
christian.

We have so little right to value ourselves
on any thing, that we think pride a sentiment
of very doubtful service, and certainly
unable to effect any useful results which will
not equally flow from good principles.

Harland was disappointed and grieved, but

prudently judging that occupation and absence
would remove recollections, which
could not be very deep, they parted at
Falmouth, and our travellers proceeded on
their journey for B—, whither, during their
absence, Sir Edward's family had returned
to spend a month, before they removed to
town for the residue of the winter.

The meeting of the two parties was warm
and tender, and as Jane had many things to
recount, and John as many to laugh at, their
arrival threw a gayety round Moseley Hall
it had for months been a stranger to.

One of the first acts of Grace, after her
return, was to enter strictly into the exercise
of all those duties, and ordinances, required
by her church, and the present state of her
mind—and from the hands of Dr. Ives she
received her first communion at the altar.

As the season had now become far advanced,
and the fashionable world had been
some time assembled in the metropolis, the
Baronet commenced his arrangements to
take possession of his town-house, after an
interval of nineteen years. John proceeded
to the capital first, and the necessary domestics
procured---furniture supplied---and other
arrangements, usual to the appearance of a
wealthy family in the world, completed; he
returned with the information that all was
ready for their triumphal entrance.

Sir Edward feeling a separation for so long
a time, and at such an unusual distance, in the

very advanced age of Mr. Benfield, would be
improper, paid him a visit, with the design of
persuading him to make one of his family, for
the next four months. Emily was his companion,
and their solicitations were happily
crowned with a success they had not anticipated---for
averse to a privation of Peter's
society, the honest steward was included in
the party.

“Nephew,” said Mr. Benfield, beginning to
waver in his objections to the undertaking,
“there are instances of gentlemen, not in parliament,
going to town in the winter, I know--you
are one yourself, and old Sir John Cowel,
who never could get in, although he run for
every city in the kingdom, never missed his
winter in Soho. Yes, yes—the thing is admissible—but
had I known your wishes before,
I would certainly have kept my borough
for the appearance of the thing—
besides,” continued the old man shaking his
head, “his Majesty's ministers require the
aid of some more experienced members, in
these critical times—what should an old
man like me, do in the city, unless, aid his
country with his advice?”

“Make his friends happy with his company,
dear uncle,” said Emily, taking his
hand between both her own, and smiling
affectionately on the old gentleman, as she
spoke,

“Ah! Emmy dear?”—cried Mr. Benfield,
looking on her with melancholy pleasure:—
“You are not to be resisted—just such another

as the sister of my old friend Lord Gosford.
She could always coax me out of any
thing. I remember now, I heard the Earl,
tell her once, he could not afford to buy a pair
of diamond ear-rings; and she looked so—
only look'd—did not speak! Emmy!—that
I bought them, with intent to present them to
her myself.

“And did she take them! Uncle?” said
his niece, in a little surprise.”

“Oh yes! When I told her if she did not,
I would throw them in the river, as no one
else should wear what had been intended for
her—poor soul! how delicate and unwilling
she was. I had to convince her they cost,
three hundred pounds, before she would listen
to it, and then she thought it such a pity
to throw away a thing of so much value. It
would have been wicked, you know, Emmy
dear. And she was much opposed to wickedness
and sin in any shape.”

“She must have been a very unexceptionable
character indeed,” cried the Baronet,
with a smile, as he proceeded to make the
necessary orders for their journey. But we
must resume our narrative with the party we
left at Bath.