University of Virginia Library

LETTER XXXI.
ANNE TO ELENOR.

I INFORMED you in my last, that Sarah
had written to her husband, to announce to
him her arrival in England; he returned no
answer,andIbegan to think all connexion between
them was forever at an end; indeed, I did not
much regret it,only as it respected her own ideas
of propriety, which led her to wish to see him,
that she might clear up all misconceptions, which
aspersed as her character has been,was absolutely
necessary to be done; though, until she saw
him, and knew exactly what had been said by
that arch fiend Bellamy, or whether she had
really written at all or not; to attempt an explanation
before she was accused, was to acknowledge
a consciousness of error.

One thing I rather imagine appears enigmatical
to you, the assertion of her being kept by O`Donnell;
I will unravel the mystery. O`Donnell,
still hampered by the effects of his wife's extravagance,

and not choosing to appeal to a court
of justice for a divorce from her, lest a public
exposition of his conduct, in regard to her before
marriage, might point him out as an object of
contempt and ridicule, was content to live within
the rules of the prison; and being a man of considerable
ability and literary knowledge, gained a
very decent subsistence, by writing, selecting and
correcting a periodical publication, which is issued
to the world by a principal bookseller. Peggy
McLean had lived with his parents, and O`Donnell
retained a very strong affection for the
worthy creature, who had indulged many a
vagary of childhood, and concealed many a boyish
fault, which might have exposed the culprit
to a whipping, if discovered. His lodging was
near her's, and she washed and repaired his
linen; this occasioned a frequent intercourse
between them. The evening our poor Sarah
was driven from the door of the unfeeling Conolly,
O`Donnell, who had been to pay his ancient
friend a visit, and was passing just as she was on
the steps entreating admission, he heard the
name of Bellamy, and stopped; a few moments
attention to the scene convinced him Sarah was
in great distress, and from his knowledge of the
persons she had been among, he thought it more
than probable, she might be an innocent, ill used
woman. He saw her sink down upon the timber,
and running hastily back to Peggy, thus addressed
her:—“Good Peggy, go directly into the
lane; there is a poor creature in distress. From
what I have heard her say, she has no means of
procuring a lodging. I know nothing more about
her, she may have brought her misery on herself,
but be that as it may, she must not lie in
the street.” “No, indeed, heaven forbid she
should,” said Peggy, “while Peg McLean has
a matrass and a blanket; come, shew me where
she is, and tell me what I shall say to her.”
“Speak to her as from yourself, for on no account
must my name be mentioned to her; tell her
you have a room you can let her have; take her
home with you, treat her kindly, and you shall
be no loser; but I will never see her, and again
I charge you never mention my name to her.”

After Peggy had executed O`Donnell's benevolent
commission, in the manner Mrs. Darnley,
in her journal, has related, he tapped at the door,
and softly inquiring if her lodger was retired,
hearing she was in bed, he ventured in, and informed
the honest creature of what he had
gleaned from her talkative and malignant neighbor,
concluding with these words: “If she is
virtuously inclined, she will be willing to work,
and I have no doubt but she can have employment
from some of the warehouses; when you have
talked with her, if we find her what I think she
is, I will mention her to the wife of my friend,
the bookseller, who, I am sure, will interest herself
to get her work; but you see it would be
highly improper to let her know I have done any
thing for her, knowing what she does of my
wife, she would not, I am sure, receive the smallest

favor from me; her delicacy and prudeuce,
if she is possessed in any degree of those amiable
qualities, would equally forbid it.” How this
plan was executed, we have been informed, and
asO`Donnell frequently called to inquire after her,
though he never saw her, Bellamy, who it seems
had spies upon her, wrested these circumstances
into a tale of dishonor, and retailed them in
order to injure the woman whom she never
could forgive, for daring to avow her detestation
of vice in her presence.

September 7

I broke off abruptly, being told Mrs. Darnley
wished me to come down, as there was a gentleman
below who would not tell his business,
(though it concerned herself) to any but me. I
obeyed the summons, and found an elderly person,
whose appearance and manner evidenced
the well bred man. “I come, madam,” said he,
“to ask a question of this lady; but it must be
in your presence, and you must confirm or contradict
her answers, as I have from report such
an opinion of your integrity—” “Hold, sir,”
said I, interrupting him, “whatever Mrs. Darnley
asserts, to those who know her, needs no
other confirmation; her characteristic is sincerity,
nor did I ever know her in the smallest degree
to deviate from it.” “Well, madam,” he
replied, “she has, no doubt then, in the sincerity
of her heart, related to you every occurrence
which took place during her late residence in

Dublin?” “She has.” “I am commissioned by
Mr. Darnley to inquire whether you, madam,
(turning to Sarah) were, during that period,
acquainted with Mr. O`Donnell?” “I was,” she
replied with a steady voice, though the glow of
resentment crossed her cheek, as she remembered
how vilely, on his account, she had been
traduced; “I received obligations from him
which I can never repay, and the grateful remembrance
of them are deeply engraven on my
heart.” “You are candid, indeed, madam,” said
he, with a look of astonishment; “he was your
frequent visitor during the latter part of your
residence in Ireland?” “He was frequently at
the house where I lodged, but I never saw him
until within a few days of my quitting that place.
But why these interrogations, sir? If Mr. Darnley
wishes to find me innocent, he may easily
trace me through every scene in which I was
engaged during my absence from England. If
he wishes to believe me guilty he had better avoid
all particular investigation of my conduct; I
court, rather than shrink from scrutiny, and
letters addressed to—” “Pardon me, dear
madam, Mr. Darnley is in no condition to make
this scrutiny, and could he behold you at this
moment as I do, truth is so strongly marked in
every line of your countenance, he would need
no other confirmation of your innocence. He is
ill; a fall he got on board an Indiaman, where
he had dined with a number of other gentlemen,
and partook too freely of the juice of the grape,
has brought on a fever.”

Sarah arose from her seat. “I will go,” said
she; “lead me to him, sir; I will go, and perform
my duty in attending him; if, when he
recovers, he bids me leave him, I can return
again to the only friend fortune has left me, and
she will not refuse to receive me.” She held
out her hand to me; the tears gushed from her
eyes, and hastily throwing on her bonnet and
cloak, the gentleman led her to a coach, leaving
me a card where I might find her, and they
drove off.

I have heard from her every day since; Darnley
yet continues ill, but is, I believe, now out of
danger. I am to see her to-day, and will write
again soon.