To Colonel Bellville.
Seven o'Clock.
WE expect the caro Enrico every moment:
my chariot is gone for Emily
Howard and my niece; Lord Melvin too
comes this evening by my permission. Lady
Julia has just asked me to walk with her in
the park; she wants to hear me talk of
Harry, whom she cannot mention herself,
though her thoughts are full of nothing
else; he color comes and goes; her eyes
have a double portion of softness; her heart
beats with apprehensive pleasure. What
an evening of transport will this be! Why
are you not here, Bellville? I shall absolutely
be one of the old people to-night.
Can you form an idea of happiness equal to
Harry's? Raised form the depth of despair,
to the fruition of all his wishes. I long to
see how he will receive the first mention of
this happy turn of fortune: but Lady Mary
has reserved all that to herself.
Adieu!
Great God! to what a scene have I been
witness! How shall I relate the shocking
particulars?
Lady Julia and I were advanced about a
quarter of a mile from the house, blessing
Providence, and talking of the dear hope
of future happy days; she was owning her
passion with blushes, and all the tremor of
modest sensibility, when we were interrupted
by the clashing of swords behind some
trees near us; we turned our heads, and
saw Lord Melvin, distraction in his air, his
sword bloody, supporting Harry Mandeville,
pale, bleeding, motionless, and, to all
appearance, in the agonies of death. Lady
Julia gave a shriek, and fell senseless in my
arms. My cries brought some of the servants,
who happened to be near; part of them,
with Lord Melvin, conveyed Harry to the
house; whilst the rest staid with me to take
care of Lady Julia.
Harry was scarce out of sight when she
recovered her senses; she looked wildly
towards the place where she first saw him,
then, starting from me, raising her eyes to
Heaven, her hands clasped together–Oh!
Bellville! never shall I lose the idea of that
image of horror and despair–she neither
spoke nor shed a tear–there was an eager
wildness in her look, which froze my soul
with terror: she advanced hastily towards
the house, looking round her every moment,
as if expecting again to see him,
till, having exhausted all her strength, she
sunk down breathless on one of the seats,
where I supported her till my Lord's chariot,
which I had sent for, came up, in
which I placed myself by her, and we drove
slowly towards the house: she was put
to-bed in a burning fever, preceded by a
shivering, which gives me apprehensions for
her, which I endeavour to conceal form the
wretched parents, whose sorrows mock all
description.
My Lord is just come from Lord Melvin,
who insisted on being his prisoner, till
Harry was out of danger; disdaining to
fly from justice, since my Lord refuses his
stay at Belmont, he intreats to be given
into the hands of some gentleman near.
My Lord has accepted this offer, and
named his father Lord Rochdale for the
trust. He is gone under the best guard,
his own honor, in which Lord Belmont has
implicit confidence.
I have been into Lady Julia's room;
she takes no notice of any thing. Emily
Howard kneels weeping by her bedside.
Lady Belmont melts my soul when I behold
her; she sits motionless as the statue
of Despair; she holds the hand of her lovely
daughter between hers, she presses it to
her bosom, and the tears steal silently down
her cheeks.
Unable to bear the sight, I am returned
to my apartment.
Oh! Bellville! How is this scene of happiness
changed! Where are now the gay
transporting hopes which warmed our hearts
this morning?
I have with difficulty prevailed on Lady
Mary, who droops under this weight of
affliction, and whose years are ill-suited to
scenes of horror, to set out this evening
for her own seat; my niece, whose sorrow
you may easily imagine, is to accompany
her thither: if Mr. Mandeville dies, murdered
by the hand of him with whose fate
hers is connected, never must she again enter
these hospitable doors.
Bellville! how is the gay structure of
ideal happiness fallen in one moment to the
ground!
The messenger who was sent to Lord
T — 's is returned, and has brought my
Lord's letter; he went from thence to Mr.
Herbert's, where Mr. Mandeville was supposed
to be, but found nobody there but a
servant, from whom he could get no information.
The family had been gone five
days to London, being sent for express to a
relation who was dying.
Oh! Bellville! how many accidents have
conspired — I myself have innocently
contributed to this dreadful event, misled
by my Lord's equivocal expressions, which
seemed to point so plainly at Lord Melvin
–If he dies–But I will not give way
to so shocking an idea. The servant who
went for a surgeon is not yet returned; till
his wounds are examined, we must be in all
the torture of suspense and apprehension.
Eleven o'Clock.
The surgeon is come; he is now with
Mr. Mandeville: how I dread to hear his
sentence!–The door opens–He comes
out with Lord Belmont; horror is in the
face of the latter–Oh! Bellville! my presaging
heart–they advance towards me
–I am unable to meet them–my limbs
tremble–a cold dew–
Bellville! his wounds are mortal–the
pen drops from my hand–
A farmer's son in the neighbourhood has
just brought the enclosed letter for
Mr. Mandeville, which, not knowing
the consequence, my Lord has
opened.
