Ellis looked visibly touched and disturbed as she answered, ‘I am very sensible, Sir, of the honour you do me, and of the value of your approbation: it would not be easy to me, indeed, to say — unfriended, unsupported, nameless that I am! — how high a sense I feel of your generous judgment: but, as you pleaded to me just now,’ half smiling, ‘in one point, the customs of the world; you must not so far forget them in another, as not to acknowledge that a confidence, a friendship, such as you describe, with one so lonely, so unprotected, would oppose them utterly. I need only, I am sure, without comment, without argument, without insistance, call this idea to your recollection, to see you willingly relinquish an impracticable plan: to see you give up all visits; forego every species of correspondence, and hasten, yourself, to finish an intercourse which, in the eye of that world, and of those prejudices, those connections, to which you appeal, would be regarded as dangerous, if not injurious.’
‘What an inconceivable position!’ cried Harleigh, passionately; ‘how incomprehensible a state of things! I must admire, must respect the decree that tortures me, though profoundly in the dark with regard to its motives, its purposes, — I had nearly said, its apologies! for not trifling must be the cause that can instigate such determined concealment, where an interest is excited so warm, so sincere, and, would you trust it, honourable as mine!’
‘You distress, you grieve me,’ cried Ellis, with an emotion which she could not repress, ‘by these affecting, yet fruitless conflicts! Could I speak ... can you think I would so perseveringly be silent?’
‘I think, nay I am convinced, that you can do nothing but what is dictated by purity, what is intentionally right; yet here, I am persuaded, ’tis some right of exaggeration, some right stretched, by false reasoning, or undue influence, nearly to wrong. That the cause of the mystery which envelopes you is substantial, I have not any doubt; but surely the effects which you attribute to it must be chimerical. To reject the most trivial succour, to refuse the smallest communication—’
‘You probe me, Sir, too painfully! — I appear, to you, I see, wilfully obstinate, and causelessly obscure: yet to be justified to you, I must incur a harsher censure from myself! Thus situated, we cannot separate too soon. Think over, I beg of you, when you are alone, all that has passed: your candour, I trust, will shew you, that my reserve has been too consistent in its practice, to be capricious in its motives. I can add nothing more. I entreat, I even supplicate you, to desist from all further enquiry; and to leave me!’
‘In such utter, such impenetrable darkness? — With no period assigned? — not even any vague, any distant term in view, for letting in some little ray of light?—’
He spoke this in a tone so melancholy, yet so unopposingly respectful, that Ellis, resistlessly affected, put her hand to her head, and half, and almost unconsciously pronounced, ‘Were my destiny fixed ... known even to myself....’
She stopt, but Harleigh, who, slowly, and by hard self-compulsion, had moved towards the door, sprang back, with a countenance wholly re-animated; and with eyes brightly sparkling, in the full lustre of hope and joy, exclaimed, ‘It is not, then, fixed? — your destiny — mine, rather! is still open to future events? — O say that again! tell me but that my condemnation is not irrevocable, and I will not ask another word! — I will not persecute you another minute! — I will be all patience, all endurance; — if there be barely some possibility that I have not seen and admired only to regret you! — that I have not known and appreciated — merely to lose you!’
‘You astonish, you affright me, Sir!’ cried Ellis, recovering a dignity that nearly amounted to severity: ‘if any thing has dropt from me that can have given rise to expressions — deductions of this nature, I beg leave, immediately, to explain that I have been utterly misunderstood. I see however, too clearly, the danger of such contests to risk their repetition. Permit me, therefore, unequivocally, to declare, that here they end! I have courage to act, though I have no power to command. You, Sir, must decide, whether you will have the kindness to quit my apartment immediately; — or whether you will force me to so unpleasant a measure as that of quitting it myself. The kindness, I say; for however ill my situation accords with the painful perseverance of your ... investigations ... my memory must no longer “hold its seat,” when I lose the impression I have received of your humanity, your goodness, your generosity!... You will leave me, Mr Harleigh, I am sure!’
Harleigh, as much soothed by these last words, as he was shocked by all that had preceded them, silently bowed; and, unable, with a good grace, to acquiesce in a determination which he was yet less entitled to resist, slowly, sadly, and speechless, with concentrated feelings, left the room.
‘All good betide you, Sir! — and may every blessing be yours!’ — in a voice of attempted cheerfulness, but involuntary tremour, was pronounced by Ellis, as, hastily rising, she herself shut the door.
CHAPTER XXXVII
The few, but precious words, that marked, in parting, a sensibility that he had vainly sought to excite while remaining, bounded to the heart of Harleigh; but were denied all acknowledgment from his lips, by the sight of Miss Bydel and Mr Giles Arbe, who were mounting the stairs.
Miss Bydel tapt at the door of Ellis; and Harleigh, ill as he felt fitted for joining any company, persuaded himself that immediately to retreat, might awaken yet more surmize, than, for a few passing minutes, to re-enter the room.
He looked at Ellis, in taking this measure, and saw that, while she struggled to receive her visitors with calm civility, her air of impatience for his departure was changed, by this surprize, into confusion at his presence.
He felt culpable for occasioning her so uneasy a sensation; and, to repair it as much as might be in his power, assumed a disengaged countenance, and treated as a mark of good fortune, having chanced to enquire whether Miss Ellis had any commands for town, at the same time that Miss Bydel and Mr Giles Arbe made their visit.
‘Why we are come, Mrs Ellis,’ said Miss Bydel, ‘to know the real reason of your not being at the rehearsal this morning. Pray what is it? Not a soul could tell it me, though I asked every body all round. So I should be glad to hear the truth from yourself. Was it real illness, now? or only a pretext?’
‘Illness,’ cried Mr Giles, ‘with all those roses on her cheeks? No, no; she’s very well; as well as very pretty. But you should not tell stories, my dear: though I am heartily glad to see that there’s nothing the matter. But it’s a bad habit. Though it’s convenient enough, sometimes. But when you don’t like to do a thing, why not say so at once? People mayn’t be pleased, to be sure, when they are refused; but do you think them so ill natured, as to like better to hear that you are ill?’
Ellis, abashed, attempted no defence; and Harleigh addressed some discourse to Miss Bydel, upon the next day’s concert; while Mr Giles went on with his own idea.
‘We should always honestly confess our likings and dislikings, for else what have we got them for? If every one of us had the same taste, half the things about us would be of no service; and we should scramble till we came to scratches for t’other half. But the world has no more business, my dear lady, to be all of one mind, than all of one body.’
‘O now, pray Mr Giles,’ cried Miss Bydel, ‘don’t go beginning your comical talk; for if once you do that, one can’t get in a word.’
‘But, for all that, we should all round try to help and be kind to one another; what else are we put all together for in this world? We might, just as well, each of us have been popt upon some separate bit of a planet, one by himself one. All I recommend, is, to tell truth, or to say nothing. We whip poor pretty children for telling stories, when they are little, and yet hardly speak a word, without some false turn or other, ourselves, when we grow big!’
‘Well, but, Mr Giles,’ said Miss Bydel, ‘where’s the use of talking so long about all that, when I’m wanting to ask Mrs Ellis why she did not come to the rehearsal?’
‘For my own part, Ma’am,’ continu
ed Mr Giles, ‘if any body puts me to a difficulty, I do the best I can: but I’d rather do the worst than tell a fib. So when I am asked an awkward question, which some people can’t cure themselves of doing, out of an over curiosity in their nature, as, Giles, how do you like Miss such a one? or Mr such a one? or Mrs such a one? as Miss Bydel, for instance, if she came into any body’s head; or—’
‘Nay, Mr Giles,’ interrupted Miss Bydel, ‘I don’t see why I should not come into a person’s head as well as another; so I don’t know what you say that for. But if that’s your notion of being so kind one to another, Mr Giles, I can’t pretend to say it’s mine; for I see no kindness in it.’
‘I protest, Ma’am, I did not think of you in the least!’ cried Mr Giles, much out of countenance: ‘I only took your name because happening to stand just before you put it, I suppose, at my tongue’s end; but you were not once in my thoughts, I can assure you, Ma’am, upon my word of honour! No more than if you had never existed, I protest!’
Miss Bydel, neither accepting nor repelling this apology, said, that she did not come to talk of things of that sort, but to settle some business of more importance. Then, turning to Ellis, ‘I hear,’ she continued, ‘Mrs Ellis, that all of the sudden, you are grown very rich. And I should be glad to know if it’s true? and how it has happened?’
‘I should be still more glad, Madam,’ answered Ellis, ‘to be able to give you the information!’
‘Nay, Mrs Ellis, I had it from your friend Mr Giles, who is always the person to be telling something or other to your advantage. So if there be any fault in the account, it’s him you are to call upon, not me.’
Mr Giles, drawn by the silence of Ellis to a view of her embarrassment, became fearful that he had been indiscreet, and made signs to Miss Bydel to say no more upon the subject; but Miss Bydel, by no means disposed, at this moment, to oblige him, went on.
‘Nay, Mr Giles, you know, as well as I do, ’twas your own news. Did not you tell us all, just now, at the rehearsal, when Miss Brinville and Miss Sycamore were saying what a monstrous air they thought it, for a person that nobody knew any thing of, to send excuses about being indisposed; just as if she were a fine lady; or some famous singer, that might be as troublesome as she would; did you not tell us, I say, that Mrs Ellis deserved as much respect as any of us, on account of her good character, and more than any of us on account of her prettiness and her poverty? Because her prettiness, says you, tempts others, and her poverty tempts herself; and yet she is just as virtuous as if she were as rich and as ordinary as any one of the greatest consequence amongst you. These were your own words, Mr Giles.’
Harleigh, who, conscious that he ought to go, had long held by the lock of the door, as if departing, could not now refrain from changing the position of his hand, by placing it, expressively, upon the arm of Mr Giles.
‘And if all this,’ Miss Bydel continued, ‘is not enough to make you respect her, says you, why respect her for the same thing that makes you respect one another, her money. And when we all asked how she could be poor, and have money too, you said that you had yourself seen ever so many bank-notes upon her table.’
Ellis coloured; but not so painfully as Harleigh, at the sight of her blushes, unattended by any refutation; or any answer to this extraordinary assertion.
‘And then, Mr Giles, as you very well know, when I asked, if she has money, why don’t she pay her debts? you replied, that she had paid them all. Upon which I said, I should be glad to know, then why I was to be the only person left out, just only for my complaisance in waiting so long? and upon that I resolved to come myself, and see how the matter stood. For though I have served you with such good will, Mrs Ellis, while I thought you poor, I must be a fool to be kept out of my money, when I know you have got it in plenty: and Mr Giles says that he counted, with his own hands, ten ten-pound bank-notes. Now I should be glad if you have no objection, to hear how you came by all that money, Mrs Ellis; for ten ten-pound bank-notes make a hundred pounds.’
Oh! absent — unguarded — dangerous Mr Giles Arbe! thought Ellis, how much benevolence do you mar, by a distraction of mind that leads to so much mischief!
‘I hope I have done nothing improper?’ cried Mr Giles, perceiving, with concern, the disturbance of Ellis, ‘in mentioning this; for I protest I never recollected, till this very minute, that the money is not your own. It slipt my memory, somehow, entirely.’
‘Nay, nay, how will you make that out, Mr Giles?’ cried Miss Bydel. ‘If it were not her own, how came she to pay her tradesmen with it, as you told us that she did, Mr Giles?’
Ellis, in the deepest embarrassment, knew not which way to turn her head.
‘She paid them, Miss Bydel,’ said Mr Giles, ‘because she is too just, as well as too charitable, to let honest people want, only because they have the good nature to keep her from wanting herself; while she has such large sums, belonging to a rich friend, lying quite useless, in a bit of paper, by her side. For the money was left with her by a very rich friend, she told me herself.’
‘No, Sir, — no, Mr Giles,’ cried Ellis, hastily, and looking every way to avoid the anxious enquiring, quick-glancing eyes of Harleigh: ‘I did not ... I could not say....’ she stopt, scarcely knowing what she meant either to deny or to affirm.
‘Yes, yes, ’twas a rich friend, my dear lady, you owned that. If you had not given me that assurance, I should not have urged you to make use of it. Besides, who but a rich friend would leave you money in such a way as that, neither locked, nor tied, nor in a box, nor in a parcel; but only in a little paper cover, directed For Miss Ellis, at her leisure?’
At these words, which could leave no doubt upon the mind of Harleigh, that the money in question was his own; and that the money, so often refused, had finally been employed in the payment of her debts, Ellis involuntarily, irresistibly, but most fearfully, stole a hasty glance at him; with a transient hope that they might have escaped his attention; but the hope died in its birth: the words, in their fullest meaning, had reached him, and the sensation which they produced filled her with poignant shame. A joy beamed in his countenance that irradiated every feature; a joy that flushed him into an excess of rapture, of which the consciousness seemed to abash himself; and his eyes bent instantly to the ground. But their checked vivacity checked not the feelings which illumined them, nor the alarm which they excited, when Ellis, urged by affright to snatch a second look, saw the brilliancy with which they had at first sought her own, terminate in a sensibility more touching; saw that they glistened with a tender pleasure, which, to her alarmed imagination, represented the potent and dangerous inferences that enchanted his mind, at a discovery that he had thus essentially succoured her; and that she had accepted, at last, however secretly, his succour.
This view of new danger to her sense of independence, called forth new courage, and restored an appearance of composure; and, addressing herself to Miss Bydel, ‘I entreat you,’ she cried, ‘Madam, to bear a little longer with my delay. To-morrow I shall enter upon a new career, from the result of which I hope speedily to acknowledge by obligation to your patience; and to acquit myself to all those to whom I am in any manner, pecuniarily obliged; — except of the lighter though far more lasting debt of gratitude.’
Harleigh understood her determined perseverance with cruel disappointment, yet with augmented admiration of her spirited delicacy; and, sensible of the utter impropriety of even an apparent resistance to her resolution in public, he faintly expressed his concern that she had no letters prepared for town, and with a deep, but stifled sigh, took leave.
Miss Bydel continued her interrogations, but without effect; and soon, therefore, followed. Mr Giles remained longer; not because he obtained more satisfaction, but because, when not answered, he was contented with talking to himself.
The rest of the day was passed free from outward disturbance to Ellis; and what she might experience internally was undivulged.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
The day n
ow arrived which Ellis reluctantly, yet firmly, destined for her new and hazardous essay. Resolute in her plan, she felt the extreme importance of attaining courage and calmness for its execution. She shut herself up in her apartment, and gave the most positive injunctions to the milliners, that no one should be admitted. The looks of Harleigh, as he had quitted her room, had told her that this precaution would not be superfluous, and, accordingly, he came; but was refused entrance: he wrote; but his letters were returned unread. His efforts to break, served but to fix her purpose: she saw the expectations that he would feed from any concession; and potent as had hitherto been her objection to the scheme, they all subsided, in preference to exciting, or passively permitting, any doubts of the steadiness of her rejection.
Still, however, she could not practise: her voice and her fingers were infected by the agitation of her mind, and she could neither sing nor play. She could only hope that, at the moment of performance, the positive necessity of exertion, would bring with it, as so often is its effect, the powers which it requires.
The tardiness of her resolution caused, however, such an accumulation of business, not only for her thoughts, but for her time, from the indispensable arrangements of her attire, that scarcely a moment remained either for the relief or the anxieties of rumination. She set off, therefore, with tolerable though forced composure, for the rooms, in the carriage of Miss Arbe; that lady, once again, chusing to assume the character of her patroness, since as such she could claim the merit of introducing her to the public, through an obligation to her own new favourite, M Vinstreigle.
Upon stopping at the hotel, in which the concert was to be held, a strange figure, with something foreign in his appearance, twice crossed before the chariot, with a menacing air, as if purposing to impede her passage. Easily startled, she feared descending from the carriage; when Harleigh, who was watching, though dreading her arrival, came in sight, and offered her his hand. She declined it; but, seeing the intruder retreat abruptly, into the surrounding crowd of spectators, she alighted and entered the hotel.
Complete Works of Frances Burney Page 298