Emmeline Part 28

Stafford's, and there leave me.'

Hard as these terms appeared, after the hopes he had entertained on undertaking the journey, he was forced to submit; but it was evidently with reluctance.

'I do promise then,' said he, 'to take you to Mrs. Stafford's; but'----

'But what?' asked Emmeline.

'Do you not mean, when you are there, to exclude me for ever?--Mrs.

Stafford is no friend of mine.'

'I have already told you, Mr. Delamere, that I will see you wherever I am, under certain restrictions: and tho' your late conduct might, and indeed ought to induce me to withdraw that promise, yet I now repeat it.

But do not believe that I will therefore be persecuted as I have been; recollect that I have already been driven from Mowbray Castle, from Swansea, and from Mrs. Ashwood's, wholly on your account.'

'Your remedy, my Emmeline, is, to consent to inhabit a house of your own, and suffer me to be the first of your servants.'

The varying colour of her complexion, to which the emotions of her mind restored for a moment the faint tints of returning health, made Delamere hope that her resolution was shaken; and seizing with his usual vehemence on an idea so flattering, he was instantly on his knees before her imploring her consent to prosecute their journey, and intreating Miss Lawson's a.s.sistance, to move her inexorable friend.

Emmeline was too weak to bear an address of this sort. The feebleness of her frame ill seconded the resolution of her mind; which, notwithstanding the struggles of pity and regard for Delamere, which she could not entirely silence, was immoveably determined. Rallying therefore her spirits, and summoning her fort.i.tude to answer him, she said--'How _can_ you, Sir, solicit a woman, whom you wish to make your wife, to break a promise so solemn as that I have given to your father?

Could you hereafter have any dependance on one, who holds her integrity so lightly? and should you not with great reason suspect that with her, falsehood and deception might become habitual?'

'Not at all,' answered Delamere. 'Your promise to my father is nugatory; for it ought never to have been given. He took an unfair advantage of your candour and your timidity; and all that you said ought not to bind _you_; since it was extorted from you by _him_ who had no right to make such conditions.'

'What! has a father no right to decide to whom he will entrust the happiness of his son, and the honour of his posterity? Alas! Delamere, you argue against yourself; you only convince me that I ought not to put the whole happiness of my life into the hands of a man, who will so readily break thro' his first duties. The same impatient, pardon me, if I say the same selfish spirit, which now urges you to set paternal authority at defiance, will perhaps hereafter impel you, with as little difficulty, to quit a wife of whom you may be weary, for any other person whom caprice or novelty may dress in the perfections you now fancy I possess. Ah! Delamere! shall I have a right to expect tenderness and faith from a man whom I have a.s.sisted in making his parents unhappy; and who has by my means embittered the evening of their lives to whom he owes his own? Do you think that a rebellious and unfeeling son is likely to make a good husband, a good father?'

'Death and madness!' cried Delamere, relapsing into all the violence of his nature--'what do you mean by all this! Selfish! rebellious!

unfeeling!--am I then _so_ worthless, _so_ detestable in your eyes?'

His extravagant expressions of pa.s.sion always terrified Emmeline; but the paroxysm to which he now yielded, alarmed her less than it did Miss Lawson, who never having seen such frantic behaviour before, thought him really mad. She tremblingly besought him to sit down and be calm; while the pale countenance of Emmeline which she shewed him, convinced him he must subdue the violence of his transports, or hazard seeing her relapse into that alarming state which had forced him to relinquish his project.

This observation restored his senses for a moment.--He besought her pardon, with tears; then again cursed his own folly, and seemed on the point of renouncing the contrition he had just a.s.sured her he felt. The scene lasted till Emmeline, quite overcome with it, grew so faint that she said she must go to bed; and then Delamere, again terrified at an idea which he had forgot but the moment before, consented to retire if she would again repeat her forgiveness.

She gave him her hand languidly, and in silence. He kissed it; and half in resentment, half in sorrow, left her, and returned to the inn, in a humour which equally unfitted him for society or solitude. Obliged, however, to remain in the latter, he brooded gloomily over his disappointment; and believing Emmeline's life no longer in danger, he fancied that his fears had magnified her illness. He again deprecated his folly for having consented to relinquish the prosecution of his journey, and for having agreed to carry her where he feared access to her would be rendered rare and difficult, by the inflexible prudence and watchful friendship of Mrs. Stafford. Sometimes he formed vague projects to deceive her, and carry her again towards Scotland; then relinquished them and formed others. He pa.s.sed the night however nearly without sleep, and the morning found him still irresolute.

At eight o'clock, he went to the house of Mrs. Champness; and Miss Lawson came down to him, but with a countenance in which uneasiness was so visible, that Delamere was almost afraid of asking how Miss Mowbray did.

She told him that she had pa.s.sed a restless and uncomfortable night, and that the conversation he had held the evening before had been the cause of an access of fever quite as high as the first attack; and, that tho'

she tried to conquer her weakness, and affected ability to prosecute a journey for which she hourly grew more eager, it was easy to see that she was as unfit for it as ever. Miss Lawson added, that if in a few hours she was not better, she should send to Mr. Lawson to come from Stevenage to see her. This account renewed with extreme violence all the former terrors of Delamere, which a few hours before he had been trying to persuade himself were groundless.

He now reproached himself for his thoughtless cruelty; and Miss Lawson seized this opportunity to exhort him to be more cautious for the future, which he readily and warmly protested he would be. He promised never again to give way to such extravagant transports, and pressed to be admitted to see Emmeline; but Miss Lawson would by no means suffer him to see her 'till she was more recovered from the effects of his frenzy.

In the afternoon, he was allowed to drink tea in Emmeline's room, and expressed his sincere concern for his indiscretion of the evening before. He tried, by shewing a disposition to comply with all her wishes, to obliterate the memory of his former indiscretion. Emmeline was willing to forget the offence, and pardon the offender, on his renewing his promise to take her the next day towards London, on her route into Dorsetshire; if she should be well enough to undertake the journey.

The spirit and fort.i.tude of Emmeline, fatal as they were to his hopes, commanded the respect, esteem, and almost the adoration of Delamere; while her gentleness and kindness oppressed his heart with fondness so extreme, that he was equally undone by the one and the other, and felt that it every hour became more and more impossible for him to live without her.

It was agreed, that as it would be impossible to reach Woodfield from Hertford, without stopping one night on the road, they would proceed thro' London to Staines the first day, and from thence go on early the next to the house of Mrs. Stafford.

After lingering with her as long as he could, Delamere took his leave for the evening, determined to observe the promises he had made her, and never again to attempt to obtain her but by her own consent. When he made these resolves, he really intended to adhere to them; and was confirmed in his good resolutions when he the next morning found her ready to trust herself with him, calm, chearful, full of confidence in his promises, and of gentleness and kindness towards him.

Emmeline took an affectionate leave of her amiable acquaintance, Miss Lawson, whose uncommon kindness, on so short a knowledge of her, filled her heart with grat.i.tude. She promised to write to her as soon as she got to Woodfield, and to return the cloaths she had borrowed, to which she secretly purposed adding some present, to testify her sense of the civilities she had received.

Delamere enclosed, in a letter which he sent by Miss Lawson to her father, a bank note, as an acknowledgment of his extraordinary kindness.

They quickly arrived in London; and as Emmeline still remained in the resolution of avoiding a return to Mrs. Ashwood, they changed horses in Piccadilly to go on.

Tho' by going to her former residence she might have escaped a longer continuation, and farther journey, with Delamere, of the impropriety of which she was very sensible; yet she declined it, because she knew that as her adventure might be explained several ways, Mrs. Ashwood and Miss Galton were very likely to put on it the construction least in her favour; and she was very unwilling to be exposed to their questions and comments, till she could, in concert with Mrs. Stafford, and with her advice, give such an account of the affair as would put it out of their power to indulge that malignity of remark at her expence of which she knew they were capable.

She therefore dispatched a servant to Mrs. Ashwood with a note for her cloaths, whom Delamere directed to rejoin them at Staines.

At that place they arrived early in the evening; and Emmeline, to whom Delamere had behaved with the utmost tenderness and respect, bore her journey without suffering any other inconvenience than some remaining languor, which was now more visible in her looks than in her spirits.

Charmed with the thoughts of so soon seeing Mrs. Stafford, and feeling all that delight which a consciousness of rect.i.tude inspires, she was more than usually chearful, and conversed with Delamere with all that enchanting frankness and sweetness which made her general conversation so desireable.

CHAPTER VII

As they had an hour or two on their hands, which Emmeline wished to employ in something that might prevent Delamere from entertaining her on the only subject he was ever willing to talk of when they were together, she desired him to enquire for a book. He went out, and returned with some volumes of novels, which he had borrowed of the landlord's daughter; of which Emmeline read in some a page, and in others a chapter, but found nothing in any, that tempted her to go regularly through the whole.

While she was reading, Delamere, equally unable to occupy himself with any other object whether she was absent or present, sat looking at her over the table which was between them. After some time pa.s.sed in this manner, their supper was brought in, and common conversation took place while it was pa.s.sing. When it was removed, Emmeline returned again to the books, and took up one she had not before opened.--It was the second volume of the Sorrows of Werter. She laid it down again with a smile, saying--'That will not do for me to-night.'

'What is it?' cried Delamere, taking it from her.--'O, I have read it--and if _you_ have, Emmeline, you might have learned the danger of trifling with violent and incurable pa.s.sions. Tell me--could you ever be reconciled to yourself if you should be the cause of a catastrophe equally fatal?'

Still meaning to turn the conversation, she answered gaily--'O, I fancy there is very little danger of that--you know the value of your existence too well to throw it inconsiderately away.'

'Do not be too certain of that, Emmeline. Without you, my life is no longer valuable--if indeed it be supportable; and should I ever be in the situation this melancholy tale describes, how do I know that my reason would be strong enough to preserve me from equal rashness.

Beware, Miss Mowbray--beware of the consequence of finding an Albert at Woodfield.'

'It is very unlikely I should find any lover there. I a.s.sure you I desire none; nor have I any other wish than to pa.s.s the remainder of the winter tranquilly with my friend.'

'If then you really never wish to encourage another, and if you have any sensibility for the pain I feel from uncertainty, why will you not solemnly engage yourself to me, by a promise which cannot be broken but by mutual consent?'

'Because we are both too young to form such an engagement.--You are not yet quite one and twenty; a time of life in which it is impossible you can be a competent judge of what will make you really happy. I am more than two years younger: but short as has been my knowledge of the world, I have already seen two or three instances of marriages made in consequence of early engagements, which have proved so little fortunate that they have determined me never to try the experiment. Should you bind yourself by this promise, which you now think would make you easy, and should you hereafter repent it, which I know to be far from improbable, pride, obstinacy, the shame of retracting your opinion, would perhaps concur to prevent your withdrawing it; and I should receive your hand while your heart might be attached to another. The chains which you had yourself put on, in opposition to the wishes of your family, you would, rather than own your error, rivet, tho' your inclination prompted you to break them; and we should then be both miserable.--No, Delamere--let us remain at liberty, and perhaps----'

'It is impossible, Madam!' cried Delamere, suddenly and vehemently interrupting her--'It is absolutely impossible you could argue thus calmly, if you had any regard for me--Cold--cruel--insensible--unfeeling girl! Oh! fool, fool that I am, to persist in loving a woman without an heart, and to be unable to tear from my soul a pa.s.sion that serves only to make me perpetually wretched. Cursed be the hour I first indulged it, and cursed the weakness of mind that cannot conquer it!'

This new instance of ungovernable temper, so contrary to the promises he had given her at Hertford, extremely provoked Emmeline, who answered very gravely--

'If you desire, Sir, to divest yourself of this unfortunate pa.s.sion, the task is already half accomplished. Resolve, then, to conquer it wholly: restore me to that tranquillity you have destroyed--vindicate my injured reputation, which your headlong ardour has blemished--give me back to the kindness and protection of your father--and determine to see me no more.'

This spirited and severe answer, immediately convinced Delamere he had gone too far. He had never before seen Emmeline so much piqued, and he hastened to appease her.

'Pardon me!--forgive me, Emmeline! I am not master of myself when I think of losing you! But you, who feel not any portion of the flame that devours me, can coolly argue, while my heart is torn in pieces; and deign not even to make any allowance for the unguarded sallies of unconquerable pa.s.sion!--the phrenzy of almost hopeless love! Sometimes, when I think your coldness arises from determined and insurmountable indifference--perhaps from dislike--despair and fury possess me. Would you but say that you will live only for me--would you only promise that no future Rochely, none of the people you have seen or may see, shall influence you to forget me--I should, I think, be easier!'

'You have a better opinion of yourself, Mr. Delamere,' answered Emmeline, calmly, 'than to believe it probable. But be that as it may, I have told you that I will neither make or receive any promises of the nature you require. I have already suffered too much from your extravagant pa.s.sion to put it farther in your power to distress me. But I shall be better able to rea.s.sume this conversation to-morrow--to-night I am fatigued; and it is time for us to separate.'

'And will you leave me, then, Emmeline?--leave me too in anger?'

'I am not angry, Mr. Delamere--here is my hand.'