Barford Abbey Part 17

G.o.d knows I do not;--but I am acquainted, Mr. Morgan, with an unfortunate circ.u.mstance relative to Sir James.

Sir James! Zounds, do speak out:--Sir James, to my knowledge, does not owe a shilling.

It is not money matters, Sir, that brought me here:--heaven grant it was!

The devil, Sir!--tell me at once, what is this d.a.m.n'd affair? Upon my soul, you must tell me immediately.

Behold!--read, Sir--what a task is mine! (_putting your letter into his hands_.)

Never was grief, surprize, and disappointment so strongly painted as in him.--At first, he stood quite silent; every feature distorted:--then starting back some paces, threw his hat over the hedge:--stamp'd on his wig;--and was stripping himself naked, to fling his clothes into a pond just by, when I prevented him.

Stop, Sir, I cried: do not alarm the family before they are prepar'd.--Think of the dreadful consequences;--think of the unhappy parents!--Let us consult how to break it to them, without severing their hearts at one blow.

Zounds, Sir, don't talk to me of breaking it; I shall go mad:--you did not know her.--Oh! she was the most lovely, gentle creature!--What an old blockhead have I been!--Why did I not give her my fortune?--_then_ Darcey would have married her;--_then_ she would not have gone abroad;--_then_ we should have sav'd her. Oh, she was a sweet, dear soul!--What good will my curst estates do me _now?_--You shall have them, Sir;--any body shall have them--I don't care what becomes of _me_.--Do order my horse, Sir--I say again, do order my horse. I'll never see this place more.--Oh! my dear, sweet, smiling girl, why would you go to France?

Here I interrupted him.

Think not, talk not, Sir, of leaving the family in such a melancholy situation.--Pray recollect yourself.--You _ought_ not to run from your friends;--you _ought_ to redouble your affection at this hour of trial.--Who _can_ be call'd friends, but those who press forward, when all the satisfactions of life draw back.--You are not;--your feeling heart tells me you are not one of the many that retire with such visionary enjoyments.--Come, Sir, for the present forget the part you bear in this disaster:--consider,--pray, consider her poor parents; consider what will be their sufferings:--let it be our task to prepare them.

What you say is very right, Sir, return'd he.--I believe you are a good christian;--G.o.d direct us,--G.o.d direct us.--I wish I had a dram:--faith, I shall be choak'd.--Sweet creature!--what will become of Lord Darcey!--I never wanted a dram so much before.--Your name, Sir, if you please.--I perceive we shall make matters worse by staying out so long.

I told him my name; and that I had the honour of being intimately acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Powis.

He continued,--You will go in _with me_, Sir.--How am I to act!--I'll follow your advice--We must expect it will be a dreadful piece of work.--

Caution and tenderness, Mr. Morgan, will be absolutely necessary.

But where is my hat?--where is my wig?--have I thrown them into the pond?

It is well the poor distress'd man recollected he had them not; or, bare-headed as he was, I should have gone with him to the house.--I pick'd them up, all over dirt; and, well as I could, clean'd them with my handkerchief.

Now, Sir, said I, if you will wipe your face,--for the sweat was standing on it in large drops,--I am ready to attend you.

So I must _really_ go in, captain.--I don't think I can stand it;--you had better go without me.--Upon my soul, I had sooner face the mouth of a cannon--If you would blow my brains out, it would be the kindest thing you ever did in your life.

Poh! don't talk at this rate, Sir.--Do we live only for ourselves?--

But _will_ you not leave us, captain;--_will_ you not run from us, when all is out?

Rather, Sir, suspect me of cowardice.--I should receive greater satisfaction from administering the smallest consolation to people in distress, than from whole nations govern'd by my nod.

Well, captain, I _will_ go;--I _will_ do any thing you desire me, since you are so good to say you will not leave us.

But, notwithstanding his fair promise, I never expected to get him within the doors.--He was shifting from side to side:--sometimes he would stand still,--sometimes attempt to retreat.--When we were just at the house, a servant appear'd:--of whom he enquir'd, if Mr. and Mrs.

Powis were return'd; and was inform'd the latter was within;--the former gone out in pursuit of us. We likewise found the Ladies were with Sir James in the library. I sent in my name: it was in vain for me to expect any introduction from my companion.

Mrs. Powis flew to meet me at the door:--Mr. Morgan lifted up his eyes, and shook his head.--I never was so put to it:--I knew not what to say; or how to look.--Welcome, Mr. Risby, said the amiable, unfortunate, unsuspecting mother;--doubly welcome at this happy juncture.--Let me lead you to parents, introducing me to Sir James and Lady Powis, from whom I have receiv'd all my felicity.

You need not be told my reception:--it is sufficient that you know Sir James and her Ladyship.--My eyes instantly turn'd on the venerable chaplin: I thought I never discover'd so much of the angel in a human form.

Mrs. Powis ask'd me a thousand questions;--except answering _them_, I sat stupidly silent.--It was not so with Mr. Morgan: he walk'd, or rather ran up and down;--his eyes fix'd on the floor,--his lips in motion.--The Ladies spoke to him: he did not answer; and I could perceive them look on each other with surprize.

Mr. Powis enter'd:--the room seem'd to lift up:--I quite rambled when I rose to receive his salute.--Mr. Morgan was giving me the slip.--I look'd at him significantly,--then at Mr. Watson,--as much as to say, Take him out; acquaint him with the sorrowful tidings.--He understood the hint, and immediately they withdrew together.

Come, dear Risby, pluck up, said Mr. Powis:--do not you, my friend, be the only low-spirited person amongst us.--I fear Mr. Risby is not well, return'd Lady Powis.--We must not expect to see every one in high spirits, because _we_ are:--_our_ blessings must be consider'd as _very_ singular.--You have not mention'd f.a.n.n.y to your friends.

Indeed, Madam, I have, replied he.--Risby knows, I every minute expect my belov'd daughter.--But tell me, d.i.c.k;--tell me, my friend;--all present are myself;--fear not to be candid;--what accident has thrown a cloud of sadness over your once chearful countenance?--Can I a.s.sist you?--My advice, my interest, my purse are all your own.--Nay, dear Risby, you must not turn from me.--I did turn, I could hold it no longer.--

Pray Sir, said Mrs. Powis, do speak;--do command us; and she condescended to lay her hand on mine--Lady Powis, Sir James too, both intreated I would suffer them to make me happy.--Dear worthy creatures, how my heart bled! how it still bleeds for them!--

I was attempting some awkward acknowledgment, when Mr. Watson enter'd, led by Mr. Morgan.--I saw he had executed the task, which made me shudder.--Never did the likeness of a being celestial shine more than in the former! He mov'd gently forward,--plac'd himself next Lady Powis;--pale,--trembling,--sinking.--Mr. Morgan retir'd to the window.--

Now,--now,--the dreadful discovery was at a crisis.--Mr. Watson sigh'd.--Lady Powis eyed him with attention; then starting up, cried, Bless me! I hear wheels: suppose, Mr. Watson, it should be f.a.n.n.y!--and after looking into the lawn resum'd her chair.

Pardon me, Lady Powis said. Mr. Watson in a low-voice; why _this_ impatience?--Ah Madam! I could rather wish you to check than encourage _it_.

Hold, hold, my worthy friend, return'd Sir James; do you forget four hours since how you stood listening at a gate by the road-side, saying, you could hear, tho' not see?

We must vary our hopes and inclinations, reply'd Mr. Watson.--Divine Providence--there stopp'd;--not another word.--He stopp'd;--he groan'd;--and was silent.--Great G.o.d! cried Mr. Powis, is my child ill?--Is my child dead? frantickly echoed Mrs. Powis--Heaven forbid!

exclaim'd Sir James and his Lady, arising.--Tell us, Mr. Watson;--tell us, Mr. Ruby.

When you are compos'd,--return'd the former--Then, our child is dead,--really dead! shriek'd the parents.--No, no, cried Lady Powis, clasping her son and daughter in her arms,--she is, not dead; I am sure she is not dead.

Mr. Watson, after many efforts to speak, said in a faultering voice,--Consider we are christians:--let that bless'd name fortify our souls.

Mrs. Powis fell on her knees before him,--heart-rending sight!--her cap torn off,--her hair dishevell'd,--her eyes fix'd;--not a tear,--not a single tear to relieve the bitter anguish of her soul.

Sir James had left the room;--Lady Powis was sunk almost senseless on the sopha;--Mr. Powis kneeling by his wife, clasping her to his bosom;--Mr. Morgan in a corner roaring out his affliction;--Mr. Watson with the voice of an angel speaking consolation.--I say nothing of my own feelings.--G.o.d, how great!--how inexpressible! when Mrs. Powis, still on her knees, turn'd to me with uplifted hands,--Oh Mr. Risby!

cried she,--can _you,_--can _you_ speak comfort to the miserable?--Then again addressing Mr. Watson,--Dear, saint, only say she lives:--I ask no more; only say she lives.--My best love!--my life!--my f.a.n.n.y! said Mr.

Powis, lifting her to the sopha;--live,--live,--for my sake.--Oh!--Risby, are _you_ the messenger?--his head fell on my shoulder, and he sobb'd aloud.

Lady Powis beckon'd him towards her, and, looking at Mrs. Powis with an expressive glance of tenderness,--said Compose yourself, my son;--what will become of _you, if_--He took the meaning of her words, and wrapping his arms about his wife, seem'd for a moment to forget his own sorrow in endeavours to.

What an exalted woman is Lady Powis!

My children, said she; taking a hand from each,--I am thankful: whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.--Let us follow his great example of patience,--of resignation.--What is a poor span?--_Ours_ will be eternity.

I whisper'd Mr. Morgan, a female friend would be necessary to attend the Ladies;--one whom they lov'd,--whom they confided in, to be constantly with them in their apartments.--He knew just such a woman, he said; and went himself to fetch Mrs. Jenkings.--Lady Powis being unable longer to support herself, propos'd withdrawing.--I offered my arm, which she accepted, and led her to the dressing-room.--Mrs. Powis follow'd; almost lifeless, leaning on her husband: there I left them together, and walk'd out for a quarter of an hour to recover my confus'd senses.

At my return to the library, I found Sir James and Mr. Watson in conversation.--The former, with a countenance of horror and distraction,--Oh Sir! said he, as I came near him,--do I see you again?--are you kind enough not to run from our distress?

Run from it, Sir James! I reply'd;--no, I will stay and be a partaker.

Oh Sir! he continued, you know not _my_ distress:--death only can relieve _me_--I am without _hope_, without _comfort_.

And is this, Sir James, what you are arriv'd at? said the good chaplain--Is this what you have been travelling sixty years after?--Wish for death yet say you have neither hope or comfort.--Your good Lady, Sir, is full of both;--_she_ rejoices in affliction:--_she_ has long look'd above this world.

So might I, he reply'd,--had I no more to charge myself with than she has.--_You_ know, Mr. Watson,--_you_ know how faulty I have been.