University of Virginia Library

LETTER XIV.
ANNE TO ELENOR.

DARNLEY's dinner hour is four o'clock, the
usual time for dining with all mercantile persons.
Sarah kept her room until near three. Mrs.
Romain had never ventured down. Darnley
had been out all the morning. I really so much
dreaded the general meeting at dinner, that I was
almost ill; one moment my blood ran cold;
another, my face flushed like fire: the least stir
below made my heart beat quick, and my whole
frame tremble.

About a quarter before three, Sarah came into
my room; she was dressed as usual for dinner;
and from her countenance, no indifferent person
could have judged she had been discomposed: it
was marked with a peculiar kind of sadness,
which rendered it interesting; but to me, who
knew her, the effort she made to conceal her
emotions, was very evident. “Anne,” said she,
“I am determined to see and speak to Jessey,
before Darnley's return. How will it be best?
to go up into her room, or send for her into my
dressing room?” I gave my opinion for the latter
She thought a verbal message might have a
rude appearance, but wrote on a slip of paper:
“Mrs. Darnley requests Mrs. Romain to favor
her with a few minutes conversation previous to

their meeting at dinner.” The maid went with
it, and, after remaining up stairs about ten minutes,
returned with the following answer:

“After the suspicions of the night, and the
pointed neglect of the morning, Mrs. Romain
cannot suppose a personal interview can be desirable
to either party; she begs to be excused
seeing Mrs. Darnley, and also declines appearing
at dinner; Mrs. R. will not intrude in Mrs. D's
family, longer than she can procure a lodging.”

Sarah's countenance changed as she perused
this haughty scrawl, for the uneven letters betrayed
the tremor of the hand that wrote them;
she tore off the back of the billet, and wrote with
her pencil:

The servant brought a verbal message, saying,
“As Mrs. Darnley was in her own house, she had
a right to go into every apartment, if she pleased;
therefore, if she insisted upon coming up,
she (Mrs. Romain) must submit.”

Sarah walked once or twice across the room.
“Anne,” said she, “you must go with me; I hope
I shall not forget myself; I hope I shall remember
I am a rational being, and a christian, and
that though this unhappy woman has injured me,

I am not myself free from error, and have therefore
no right to treat her with unmerciful
contempt.”

I do assure you, madam, when the magnanimous
woman uttered this sentence, I could not
help gazing at her, as a being of a superior order.
“Heaven support your good resolves, my dear
Sarah,” said I, and was obliged to turn from her,
to hide my own rising emotion. “Do not be a
child, Anne,” said she, taking my hand, “or you
will make a fool of me, and I am weak enough
already, heaven knows.”

I followed her up stairs without answering.
She tapped at Jessey's door; the little girl opened
it, and being extremely fond of Sarah, gave an
instant exclamation of joy, saying, “Come in,
ma Darny; Lyza glad, Lyza want kiss ma Darny.”
I feared this innocent prattle would be too
much for my friend, but I had judged erroneously;
she stooped, kissed the child, and, ringing
the bell, bade the maid take her down and
give her an orange.

Jessey had risen from her seat. I saw, from
her flashing eye and crimson cheek, that she expected
reproaches; but this mild, dignified manner
humbled her to the dust; she turned pale,
and her eyes were absolutely full. Sarah seated
herself, we followed her example; a pause of
about a minute ensued, in which period I am not
certain but I felt more than either the injurer or
the injured. I perceived that Sarah's heart beat
high, she struggled for composure; she attained it.

“I come not, Mrs. Romain,” said she, in a low,
but impressive voice, “to recapitulate past events,
or to awaken resentful emotions by reproaches.
Whatever were the circumstances which took
place last evening, I wish them to be buried in
eternal oblivion. I am, from a sense of what is
due to myself, under the necessity of informing
you, we cannot longer both reside under the same
roof; but as I do not desire the private concerns
of my family, whether pleasant or otherwise,
should become the theme of public animadversion,
I wish the removal to take place as quietly
as possible. I do not intend that even the domesties
should know on what account you quit
the family; but I must request you will procure a
lodging as early as you can. It is for the respectability
of all parties, that the subject be not
spoken of, and particularly for your interest.
You may rest assured from me, it shall never
transpire, and I can answer for this young lady,
that through her it will never be made public;
but, should such circumstances take place again,
I cannot answer for the discretion of others;
and you must permit me to say, in that case your
reputation will be entirely lost; nor will any
woman of character countenance you.”

“I am sorry,” said Mrs. Romain, in a tremulous
voice, “any misunderstanding should have
dissturbed your peace of mind.” “Do not labor
under a mistake, madam,” said Sarah, “you have
not wounded my peace, though I greatly fear you
have forever banished your own; but let us talk

no more. I must request you to appear at dinner,
and let our separation, when it takes place, preserve
the appearance of good breeding.” So saying,
she left the room, and went to her own,
where she remained until dinner was served.
Darnley sent word he should dine out; Mrs. Romain
came down, but we ate little, and spoke
less. In the evening, Jessey sent for a coach, and
having thanked Sarah for all favors, and received
her wishes for her health, went to a lodging.

The next morning her trunks were sent after
her; but the occurrences of that day must be
the subject of another letter.