University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER V.

Mrs. Lorimer had a twin brother. Nature had impressed
the same image upon them, and had modelled them
after the same pattern. The resemblance between them
was exact to a degree almost incredible. In infancy and
childhood they were perpetually liable to be mistaken for
each other. As they grew up, nothing, to a superficial
examination, appeared to distinguish them, but the sexual
characteristics. A sagacious observer would, doubtless,
have noted the most essential differences. In all those modifications
of the features which are produced by habits and
sentiments, no two persons were less alike. Nature seemed
to have intended them as examples of the futility of those
theories, which ascribe every thing to conformation and
instinct, and nothing to external circumstances; in what
different modes the same materials may be fashioned, and to
what different purposes the same materials may be applied.
Perhaps the rudiments of their intellectual character as well
as of their form, were the same; but the powers, that in one
case were exerted in the cause of virtue, were, in the other,
misapplied to sordid and flagitious purposes.

Arthur Wiatte, that was his name, had ever been the
object of his sister's affection. As long as he existed she
never ceased to labor in the promotion of his happiness.
All her kindness was repaid by a stern and inexorable
hatred. This man was an exception to all the rules which
govern us in our judgments of human nature. He exceeded
in depravity all that has been imputed to the arch
foe of mankind. His wickedness was without any of those
remorseful intermissions from which it has been supposed
that the deepest guilt is not entirely exempt. He seemed
to relish no food but pure unadulterated evil. He rejoiced
in proportion to the depth of that distress of which he was
the author.

His sister, by being placed most within the reach of his
enmity, experienced its worst effects. She was the subject
on which, by being acquainted with the means of influencing
her happiness, he could try his malignant experiments
with most hope of success. Her parents being high in rank
and wealth, the marriage of their daughter was, of course,
an object of anxious attention. There is no event on which
our felicity and usefulness more materially depends, and
with regard to which, therefore, the freedom of choice and
the exercise of our own understanding ought to be less
infringed, but this maxim is commonly disregarded in proportion
to the elevation of our rank and extent of our
property.

The lady made her own election, but she was one of
those who acted on a comprehensive plan, and would not
admit her private inclination to dictate her decision. The
happiness of others, though founded on mistaken views, she
did not consider as unworthy of her regard. The choice
was such as was not likely to obtain the parental sanction, to
whom the moral qualities of their son in law, though not
absolutely weightless in the balance, were greatly inferior to
the considerations of wealth and dignity.

The brother set no value on any thing but the means of
luxury and power. He was astonished at that perverseness
which entertained a different conception of happiness from
himself. Love and friendship he considered as groundless
and chimerical, and believed that those delusions, would, in
people of sense, be rectified by experience; but he knew
the obstinacy of his sister's attachment to these phantoms,
and that to bereave her of the good they promised, was the
most effectual means of rendering her miserable. For this
end he set himself to thwart her wishes. In the imbecility
and false indulgence of his parents he found his most powerful
auxiliaries. He prevailed upon them to forbid that
union, which wanted nothing but their concurrence, and their
consent to endow her with a small portion of their patrimony
to render completely eligible. The cause was that of
her happiness and the happiness of him on whom she had
bestowed her heart. It behoved her, therefore, to call forth
all her energies in defence of it, to weaken her brother's
influence on the minds of her parents, or to win him to be

her advocate. When I reflect upon her mental powers, and the
advantages which should seem to flow from the circumstance
of pleading in the character of daughter and sister, I can
scarcely believe that her attempts miscarried. I should
have imagined that all obstacles would yield before her, and
particularly in a case like this, in which she must have summoned
all her forces, and never have believed that she had
struggled sufficiently.

Certain it is that her lot was fixed. She was not only
denied the husband of her choice, but another was imposed
upon her, whose recommendations were irresistible in every
one's apprehension but her own. The discarded lover was
treated with every sort of contumely. Deceit and violence
were employed by her brother to bring his honor, his liberty,
and even his life into hazard. All these iniquities produced
no inconsiderable effect on the mind of the lady. The
machinations to which her love was exposed, would have
exasperated him into madness, had not her most strenuous
exertions been directed to appease him.

She prevailed on him at length to abandon his country,
though she thereby merely turned her brother's depravity
into a new channel. Her parents died without consciousness
of the evils they inflicted, but they experienced a bitter
retribution in the conduct of their son. He was the darling
and stay of an ancient and illustrious house, but his actions
reflected nothing but disgrace upon his ancestry, and threatened
to bring the honors of their line to a period in his
person. At their death the bulk of their patrimony devolved
upon him. This he speedily consumed in gaming
and riot. From splendid, he descended to meaner vices.
The efforts of his sister to recall him to virtue were unintermitted
and fruitless. Her affection for him he converted
into a means of prolonging his selfish gratifications. She
decided for the best. It was no argument of weakness that
she was so frequently deceived. If she had judged truly of
her brother, she would have judged not only without example,
but in opposition to the general experience of mankind.
But she was not to be forever deceived. Her tenderness
was subservient to justice. And when his vices
had led him from the gaming table to the highway, when

seized at length by the ministers of law, when convicted and
sentenced to transportation, her intercession was solicited,
when all the world knew that pardon would readily be
granted to a supplicant of her rank, fortune, and character,
when the criminal himself, his kindred, his friends, and even
indifferent persons implored her interference, her justice was
inflexible. She knew full well the incurableness of his
depravity; that banishment was the mildest destiny that
would befall him; that estrangement from ancient haunts
and associates was the condition from which his true friends
had least to fear. Finding entreaties unavailing, the wretch
delivered himself to the suggestions of his malice, and
he vowed to be bloodily revenged on her inflexibility. The
sentence was executed. That character must indeed be
monstrous from which the execution of such threats was to
be dreaded. The event sufficiently showed that our fears
on this head were well grounded. This event, however,
was at a great distance. It was reported that the felons,
of whom he was one, mutinied on board the ship in which
they had been embarked. In the affray that succeeded, it
was said that he was killed.

Among the nefarious deeds which he perpetrated, was to
be numbered, the seduction of a young lady, whose heart
was broken by the detection of his perfidy. The fruit of
this unhappy union was a daughter. Her mother died
shortly after her birth. Her father was careless of her
destiny. She was consigned to the care of an hireling,
who, happily for the innocent victim, performed the maternal
offices for her own sake, and did not allow the want of
a stipulated recompense to render her cruel or neglectful.

This orphan was sought out by the benevolence of Mrs.
Lorimer and placed under her own protection. She received
from her the treatment of a mother. The ties of
kindred, corroborated by habit, was not the only thing that
united them. That resemblance to herself, which had
been so deplorably defective in her brother, was completely
realized in his offspring. Nature seemed to have precluded
every difference between them but that of age. This darling
object excited in her bosom more than maternal sympathies.
Her soul clung to the happiness of her Clarice, with
more ardor than to that of her own son. The latter was

not only less worthy of affection, but their separation necessarily
diminished their mutual confidence.

It was natural for her to look forward to the future destiny
of Clarice. On these occasions she could not help
contemplating the possibility of a union between her son
and neice. Considerable advantages belonged to this
scheme, yet it was the subject of hope rather than the scope
of a project. The contingences were numerous and delicate
on which the ultimate desirableness of this union
depended. She was far from certain that her son would
be worthy of this benefit, or that, if he were worthy, his
propensities would not select for themselves a different
object. It was equally dubious whether the young lady
would not think proper otherwise to dispose of her affections.
These uncertanties could be dissipated only by
time. Meanwhile she wsa chiefly solicitous to render
them virtuous and wise.

As they advanced in years, the hopes that she had formed
were annihilated. The youth was not exempt from egregious
errors. In addition to this, it was manifest that the
young people were disposed to regard each other in no
other light than that of brother and sister. I was not unapprised
of her views. I saw that their union was impossible.
I wsa near enough to judge of the character of
Clarice. My youth and intellectual constitution made me
peculiarly susceptible to female charms. I was her playfellow
in childhood, and her associate in studies and
amusements at a muturer age. This situation might have
been suspected of a dangerous tendency. This tendency,
however, was obviated by motives of which I was, for a
long time, scarcely conscious.

I was habituated to consider the distinctions of rank as
indelible. The obstructions that existed, to any wish that
I might form, were like those of time and space, and as, in
their own nature, insuperable.

Such was the state of things previous to our setting out
upon our travels. Clarice was indirectly included in our
correspondence. My letters were open to her inspection,
and I was sometimes honored with a few complimentary
lines under her own hand. On returning to my ancient
abode, I was once more exposed to those sinister influences

which absence had at least suspended. Various suitors had,
meanwhile, been rejected. Their character, for the most
part, had been such as to account for her refusal, without
resorting to the supposition of a lurking or unavowed attachment.

On our meeting she greeted me in a respectful but dignified
manner. Observers could discover in it nothing not corresponding
to that difference of fortune which subsisted between
us. If her joy, on that occasion, had in it some portion of
tenderness, the softness of her temper, and the peculiar circumstances
in which we had been placed, being considered,
the most rigid censor could find no occasion for blame or
suspicion.

A year passed away, but not without my attention being
solicited by something new and inexplicable in my own sensations.
At first I was not aware of their true cause; but
the gradual progress of my feelings left me not long in doubt
as to their origin. I was alarmed at the discovery, but my
courage did not suddenly desert me. My hopes seemed to
be extinguished the moment that I distinctly perceived the
point to which they led. My mind had undergone a change.
The ideas with which it was fraught were varied. The
sight, or recollection of Clarice, was sure to occasion my
mind to advert to the recent discovery, and to revolve the
considerations naturally connected with it. Some latent
glows and secret trepidations were likewise experienced,
when, by some accident, our meetings were abrupt or our
interviews unwitnessed; yet my usual tranquillity was not as
yet sensibly diminished. I could bear to think of her marriage
with another without painful emotions, and was anxious only
that her choice should be judicious and fortunate.

My thoughts could not long continue in this state. They
gradually became more ardent and museful. The image of
Clarice occurred with unseasonable frequency. Its charms
were enhanced by some nameless and indefinable additions.
When it met me in the way I was irresistibly disposed to
stop and survey it with particular attention. The pathetic
cast of her features, the deep glow of her cheek, and some
catch of melting music, she had lately breathed, stole incessantly
upon my fancy. On recovering from my thoughtful
moods, I sometimes found my cheeks wet with tears, that

had fallen unperceived, and my bosom heaved with involumtary
sighs.

These images did not content themselves with invading
my wakeful hours; but, likewise, encroached upon my sleep.
I could no longer resign myself to slumber with the same
ease as before. When I slept, my visions were of the same
impassioned tenor.

There was no difficulty in judging rightly of my situation.
I knew what it was that duty exacted from me. To remain in
my present situation was a chimerical project. That time and
reflection would suffice to restore me to myself was a notion
equally fallacious. Yet I felt an insupportable reluctance to
change it. This reluctance was owing, not wholly or chiefly
to my growing passion, but to the attachment which bound
me to the service of my lady. All my contemplations had
hitherto been modelled on the belief of my remaining in my
present situation during my life. My mildest anticipations
had never fashioned an event like this. Any misfortune was
light in comparison with that which tore me from her presence
and service. But should I ultimately resolve to separate,
how should I communicate my purpose. The pain of parting
would scarcely be less on her side than on mine. Could I
consent to be the author of disquietude to her? I had consecrated
all my faculties to her service. This was the
recompense which it was in my power to make for the
benefits that I had received. Would not this procedure
bear the appearance of the basest ingratitude? The
shadow of an imputation like this was more excruciating
than the rack.

What motive could I assign for my conduct? The truth
must not be told. This would be equivalent to supplicating
for a new benefit. It would more become me to lessen than
increase my obligations. Among all my imaginations on
this subject, the possibility of a mutual passion never occurred
to me. I could not be blind to the essential distinctions
that subsist among men. I could expatiate, like others,
on the futility of ribbons and titles, and on the dignity that
was annexed to skill and virtue; but these, for the most
part, were the incoherences of speculation, and in no degree
influenced the stream of my actions, and practical sentiments.

The barrier that existed in the present case, I
deemed insurmountable. This was not even the subject of
doubt. In disclosing the truth, I should be conceived to be
soliciting my lady's mercy and intercession; but this would
be the madness of presumption. Let me impress her with
any other opinion than that I go in search of the happiness
that I have lost under her roof. Let me save her generous
heart from the pangs which this persuasion would infallibly
produce.

I could form no stable resolutions. I seemed unalterably
convinced of the necessity of separation, and yet could not
execute my design. When I had wrought up my mind to
the intention of explaining myself on the next interview,
when the next interview took place my tongue was powerless.
I admitted any excuse for postponing my design, and
gladly admitted any topic, however foreign to my purpose.

It must not be imagined that my health sustained no injury
from this conflict of my passions. My patroness perceived
this alteration. She inquired with the most affectionate solicitude
into the cause. It could not be explained. I could
safely make light of it, and represented it as something which
would probably disappear of itself, as it originated without
any adequate cause. She was obliged to acquiesce in my
imperfect account.

Day after day passed in this state of fluctuation. I was
conscious of the dangers of delay, and that procrastination,
without rendering the task less necessary, augmented its
difficulties. At length, summoning my resolution, I demanded
an audience. She received me with her usual
affability. Common topics were started; but she saw the
confusion and trepidation of my thoughts, and quickly relinquished
them. She then noticed to me what she had observed,
and mentioned the anxiety which these appearances
had given her. She reminded me of the maternal regard
which she had always manifested towards me, and appealed
to my own heart whether any thing could be said in vindication
of that reserve with which I had lately treated her, and
urged me, as I valued her good opinion, to explain the cause
of a dejection that was too visible.

To all this I could make but one answer. Think me not,
Madam, perverse or ungrateful. I came just now to apprise

you of a resolution that I had formed. I cannot explain
the motives that induce me. In this case, to lie to you
would be unpardonable, and since I cannot assign my true
motives, I will not mislead you by false representations. I
came to inform you of my intention to leave your service,
and to retire with the fruits of your bounty, to my native
village, where I shall spend my life, I hope, in peace.

Her surprise at this declaration was beyond measure.
She could not believe her ears. She had not heard me
rightly. She compelled me to repeat it. Still I was jesting.
I could not possibly mean what my words imported.

I assured her, in terms still more explicit, that my resolution
was taken and was unalterable, and again entreated her
to spare me the task of assigning my motives.

This was a strange determination. What could be the
grounds of this new scheme? What could be the necessity
of hiding them from her? This mystery was not to be endured.
She could by no means away with it. She thought
it hard that I should abandon her at this time, when she
stood in particular need of my assistance and advice. She
would refuse nothing to make my situation eligible. I had
only to point out where she was deficient in her treatment of
me, and she would endeavor to supply it. She was willing
to augment my emoluments in any degree that I desired.
She could not think of parting with me; but, at any rate,
she must be informed of my motives.

It is a hard task, answered I, that I have imposed upon
myself. I foresaw its difficulties, and this foresight has
hitherto prevented me from undertaking it; but the necessity
by which I am impelled, will no longer be withstood. I am
determined to go; but to say why, is impossible. I hope I
shall not bring upon myself the imputation of ingratitude;
but this imputation, more intolerable than any other, must
be borne, if it cannot be avoided but by this disclosure.

Keep your motives to yourself, said she. I have too
good an opinion of you to suppose that you would practise
concealment without good reason. I merely desire you to
remain where you are. Since you will not tell me why you
take up this new scheme, I can only say that it is impossible
there should be any advantage in this scheme. I will not

hear of it I tell you. Therefore, submit to my decree with
a good grace.

Notwithstanding this prohibition I persisted in declaring
that my determination was fixed, and that the motives that
governed me would allow of no alternative.

So, you will go, will you, whether I will or no? I have
no power to detain you? You will regard nothing that I
can say?

Believe me, madam, no resolution ever was formed after
a more vehement struggle. If my motives were known,
you would not only cease to oppose, but would hasten my
departure. Honor me so far with your good opinion, as
to believe that, in saying this, I say nothing but the truth,
and render my duty less burthensome by cheerfully acquiescing
in its dictates.

I would, replied my lady, I could find somebody that
has more power over you than I have. Whom shall I call
in to aid me in this arduous task?

Nay, dear madam, if I can resist your entreaties, surely
no other can hope to succeed.

I am not sure of that, said my friend, archly; there is
one person in the world whose supplications, I greatly suspect,
you would not withstand.

Whom do you mean? said I, in some trepidation.

You will know presently. Unless I can prevail upon you,
I shall be obliged to call for assistance.

Spare me the pain of repeating that no power on earth
can change my resolution.

That 's a fib, she rejoined, with increased archness. You
know it is. If a certain person entreat you to stay, you will
easily comply. I see I cannot hope to prevail by my own
strength. That is a mortifying consideration, but we must
not part, that is a point settled. If nothing else will do, I
must go and fetch my advocate. Stay here a moment.

I had scarcely time to breathe, before she returned, leading
in Clarice. I did not yet comprehend the meaning of
this ceremony. The lady was overwhelmed with sweet
confusion. Averted eyes and reluctant steps, might have
explained to me the purpose of this meeting, if I had believed
that purpose to be possible. I felt the necessity of

new fortitude, and struggled to recollect the motives that had
hitherto sustained me.

There, said my patroness, I have been endeavoring to
persuade this young man to live with us a little longer. He
is determined, it seems, to change his abode. He will not
tell why, and I do not care to know, unless I could shew
his reasons to be groundless. I have merely remonstrated
with him on the folly of his scheme, but he has proved
refractory to all I can say. Perhaps your efforts may meet
with better success.

Clarice said not a word. My own embarrassment equally
disabled me from speaking. Regarding us both, for some
time, with a benign aspect, Mrs. Lorimer resumed, taking
a hand of each and joining them together.

I very well know what it was that suggested this scheme.
It is strange that you should suppose me so careless an observer
as not to note, or not to understand your situation.
I am as well acquainted with what is passing in your heart
as you yourself are, but why are you so anxious to conceal
it. You know less of the adventurousness of love than I
should have suspected. But I will not trifle with your
feelings.

You, Clithero, know the wishes that I once cherished. I
had hoped that my son would have found, in this darling
child, an object worthy of his choice, and that my girl would
have preferred him to all others. But I have long since
discovered that this could not be. They are nowise suited
to each other. There is one thing in the next place desirable,
and now my wishes are accomplished. I see that you
love each other, and never, in my opinion, was a passion
more rational and just. I should think myself the worst of
beings if I did not contribute all in my power to your happiness.
There is not the shadow of objection to your union.
I know your scruples, Clithero, and am sorry to see that
you harbor them for a moment. Nothing is more unworthy
of your good sense.

I found out this girl long ago. Take my word for it,
young man, she does not fall short of you in the purity and
tenderness of her attachment. What need is there of
tedious preliminaries. I will leave you together, and hope
you will not be long in coming to a mutual understanding.

Your union cannot be completed too soon for my wishes.
Clarice is my only and darling daughter. As to you, Clithero,
expect henceforth that treatment from me, not only
to which your own merit entitles you, but which is due to
the husband of my daughter.—With these words she retired,
and left us together.

Great God! deliver me from the torments of this remembrance.
That a being by whom I was snatched from
penury and brutal ignorance, exalted to some rank in the
intelligent creation, reared to affluence and honor, and
thus, at last, spontaneously endowed with all that remained
to complete the sum of my felicity, that a being like this—
but such thoughts must not yet be—I must shut them out,
or I shall never arrive at the end of my tale. My efforts
have been thus far successful. I have hitherto been able
to deliver a coherent narrative. Let the last words that I
shall speak afford some glimmering of my better days.
Let me execute without faltering the only task that remains
for me.