LETTER LXXI
MR. BELFORD[IN CONTINUATION.]EIGHT IN THE EVENING.
I had but just time, in my former, to tell you that Col. Morden wasarrived. He was on horseback, attended by two servants, and alightedat the door just as the clock struck five. Mrs. Smith was then below inher back-shop, weeping, her husband with her, who was as much affected asshe; Mrs. Lovick having left them a little before, in tears likewise; forthey had been bemoaning one another; joining in opinion that theadmirable lady would not live the night over. She had told them, it washer opinion too, from some numbnesses, which she called the forerunnersof death, and from an increased inclination to doze.
The Colonel, as Mrs. Smith told me afterwards, asked with greatimpatience, the moment he alighted, how Miss Harlowe was? She answered--Alive!--but, she feared, drawing on apace.--Good God! said he, with hishands and eyes lifted up, can I see her? My name is Morden. I have thehonour to be nearly related to her.--Step up, pray, and let her know,(she is sensible, I hope,) that I am here--Who is with her?
Nobody but her nurse, and Mrs. Lovick, a widow gentlewoman, who is ascareful of her as if she were her mother.
And more careful too, interrupted he, or she is not careful at all----
Except a gentleman be with her, one Mr. Belford, continued Mrs. Smith,who has been the best friend she has had.
If Mr. Belford be with her, surely I may--but pray step up, and let Mr.Belford know that I shall take it for a favour to speak with him first.
Mrs. Smith came up to me in my new apartment. I had but just dispatchedyour servant, and was asking her nurse if I might be again admitted? Whoanswered, that she was dozing in the elbow chair, having refused to liedown, saying, she should soon, she hoped, lie down for good.
The Colonel, who is really a fine gentleman, received me with greatpoliteness. After the first compliments--My kinswoman, Sir, said he, ismore obliged to you than to any of her own family. For my part, I havebeen endeavouring to move so many rocks in her favour; and, littlethinking the dear creature so very bad, have neglected to attend her, asI ought to have done the moment I arrived; and would, had I known how illshe was, and what a task I should have had with the family. But, Sir,your friend has been excessively to blame; and you being so intimatelyhis friend, has made her fare the worse for your civilities to her. Butare there no hopes of her recovery?
The doctors have left her, with the melancholy declaration that there arenone.
Has she had good attendance, Sir? A skilful physician? I hear thesegood folks have been very civil and obliging to her.
Who could be otherwise? said Mrs. Smith, weeping.--She is the sweetestlady in the world!
The character, said the Colonel, lifting up his eyes and one hand, thatshe has from every living creature!--Good God! How could your accursedfriend--
And how could her cruel parents? interrupted I.--We may as easily accountfor him, as for them.
Too true! returned me, the vileness of the profligates of our sexconsidered, whenever they can get any of the other into their power.
I satisfied him about the care that had been taken of her, and told himof the friendly and even paternal attendance she had had from Dr. H. andMr. Goddard.
He was impatient to attend her, having not seen her, as he said, sinceshe was twelve years old; and that then she gave promises of being one ofthe finest women in England.
She was so, replied I, a very few months ago: and, though emaciated, shewill appear to you to have confirmed those promises; for her features areso regular and exact, her proportions so fine, and her manner soinimitably graceful, that, were she only skin and bone, she must be abeauty.
Mrs. Smith, at his request, stept up, and brought us down word that Mrs.Lovick and her nurse were with her; and that she was in so sound a sleep,leaning upon the former in her elbow-chair, that she had neither heardher enter the room, nor go out. The Colonel begged, if not improper,that he might see her, though sleeping. He said, that his impatiencewould not let him stay till he awaked. Yet he would not have herdisturbed; and should be glad to contemplate her sweet features, when shesaw not him; and asked, if she thought he could not go in, and come out,without disturbing her?
She believed he might, she answered; for her chair's back was towards thedoor.
He said he would take care to withdraw, if she awoke, that his suddenappearance might not surprise her.
Mrs. Smith, stepping up before us, bid Mrs. Lovick and nurse not stir,when we entered; and then we went up softly together.
We beheld the lady in a charming attitude. Dressed, as I told youbefore, in her virgin white. She was sitting in her elbow-chair, Mrs.Lovick close by her, in another chair, with her left arm round her neck,supporting it, as it were; for, it seems, the lady had bid her do so,saying, she had been a mother to her, and she would delight herself inthinking she was in her mamma's arms; for she found herself drowsy;perhaps, she said, for the last time she should be so.
One faded cheek rested upon the good woman's bosom, the kindly warmth ofwhich had overspread it with a faint, but charming flush; the other palerand hollow, as if already iced over by death. Her hands white as thelily, with her meandering veins more transparently blue than ever I hadseen even her's, (veins so soon, alas! to be choked up by the congealmentof that purple stream, which already so languidly creeps, rather thanflows, through them!) her hands hanging lifelessly, one before her, theother grasped by the right-hand of the kind widow, whose tears bedewedthe sweet face which her motherly boson supported, though unfelt by thefair sleeper; and either insensibly to the good woman, or what she wouldnot disturb her to wipe off, or to change her posture: her aspect wassweetly calm and serene: and though she started now and then, yet hersleep seemed easy; her breath, indeed short and quick; but tolerablyfree, and not like that of a dying person.
In this heart-moving attitude she appeared to us when we approached her,and came to have her lovely face before us.
The Colonel, sighing often, gazed upon her with his arms folded, and withthe most profound and affectionate attention; till at last, on herstarting, and fetching her breath with greater difficulty than before, heretired to a screen, that was drawn before her house, as she calls it,which, as I have heretofore observed, stands under one of the windows.This screen was placed there at the time she found herself obliged totake to her chamber; and in the depth of our concern, and the fulness ofother discourse at our first interview, I had forgotten to apprize theColonel of what he would probably see.
Retiring thither, he drew out his handkerchief, and, overwhelmed withgrief, seemed unable to speak; but, on casting his eye behind the screen,he soon broke silence; for, struck with the shape of the coffin, helifted up a purplish-coloured cloth that was spread over it, and,starting back, Good God! said he, what's here?
Mrs. Smith standing next him, Why, said he, with great emotion, is mycousin suffered to indulge her sad reflections with such an object beforeher?
Alas! Sir, replied the good woman, who should controul her? We are allstrangers about her, in a manner: and yet we have expostulated with herupon this sad occasion.
I ought, said I, (stepping softly up to him, the lady again falling intoa doze,) to have apprized you of this. I was here when it was broughtin, and never was so shocked in my life. But she had none of her friendsabout her, and no reason to hope for any of them to come near her; and,assured she should not recover, she was resolved to leave as little aspossible, especially as to what related to her person, to her executor.But it is not a shocking object to her, though it be to every body else.
Curse upon the hard-heartedness of those, said he, who occasioned her tomake so sad a provision for herself!--What must her reflections have beenall the time she was thinking of it, and giving orders about it? Andwhat must they be every time she turns her head towards it? Theseuncommon genius's--but indeed she should have been controuled in it, hadI been here.
The lady fetched a profound sigh, and, starting, it broke off our talk;and the C
olonel then withdrew farther behind the screen, that his suddenappearance might not surprise her.
Where am I?--said she. How drowsy I am! How long have I dozed? Don'tgo, Sir, (for I was retiring,) I am very stupid, and shall be more andmore so, I suppose.
She then offered to raise herself; but being ready to faint throughweakness, was forced to sit down again, reclining her head on her chairback; and, after a few moments, I believe now, my good friends, said she,all your kind trouble will soon be over. I have slept, but am notrefreshed, and my fingers' ends seem numbed--have no feeling! (holdingthem up,)--'tis time to send the letter to my good Norton.
Shall I, Madam, send my servant post with it?
O no, Sir, I thank you. It will reach the dear woman too soon, (as shewill think,) by the post.
I told her this was not post-day.
Is it Wednesday still, said she; bless me! I know not how the time goes--but very tediously, 'tis plain. And now I think I must soon take to mybed. All will be most conveniently, and with least trouble, over there--will it not, Mrs. Lovick?--I think, Sir, turning to me, I have leftnothing to these last incapacitating hours. Nothing either to say, or todo--I bless God, I have not. If I had, how unhappy should I be! Canyou, Sir, remind me of any thing necessary to be done or said to makeyour office easy?
If, Madam, your cousin Morden should come, you would be glad to see him,I presume?
I am too weak to wish to see my cousin now. It would but discompose me,and him too. Yet, if he come while I can see him, I will see him, wereit but to thank him for former favours, and for his present kindintentions to me. Has any body been here from him?
He has called, and will be here, Madam, in half an hour; but he feared tosurprise you.
Nothing can surprise me now, except my mamma were to favour me with herlast blessing in person. That would be a welcome surprise to me, evenyet. But did my cousin come purposely to town to see me?
Yes, Madam, I took the liberty to let him know, by a line last Monday,how ill you were.
You are very kind, Sir. I am, and have been greatly obliged to you. ButI think I shall be pained to see him now, because he will be concerned tosee me. And yet, as I am not so ill as I shall presently be--the soonerhe comes the better. But if he come, what shall I do about the screen?He will chide me, very probably, and I cannot bear chiding now. Perhaps,[leaning upon Mrs. Lovick and Mrs. Smith,] I can walk into the nextapartment to receive him.
She motioned to rise, but was ready to faint again, and forced to sitstill.
The Colonel was in a perfect agitation behind the screen to hear thisdiscourse; and twice, unseen by his cousin, was coming from it towardsher; but retreated for fear of surprising her too much.
I stept to him, and favoured his retreat; she only saying, Are you going,Mr. Belford? Are you sent for down? Is my cousin come? For she heardsomebody step softly across the room, and thought it to be me; herhearing being more perfect than her sight.
I told her, I believed he was; and she said, We must make the best of it,Mrs. Lovick, and Mrs. Smith. I shall otherwise most grievously shock mypoor cousin: for he loved me dearly once.--Pray give me a few of thedoctor's last drops in water, to keep up my spirits for this oneinterview; and that is all, I believe, that can concern me now.
The Colonel, (who heard all this,) sent in his name; and I, pretending togo down to him, introduced the afflicted gentleman; she having firstordered the screen to be put as close to the window as possible, that hemight not see what was behind it; while he, having heard what she hadsaid about it, was determined to take no notice of it.
He folded the angel in his arms as she sat, dropping down on one knee;for, supporting herself upon the two elbows of the chair, she attemptedto rise, but could not. Excuse, my dear Cousin, said she, excuse me,that I cannot stand up--I did not expect this favour now. But I am gladof this opportunity to thank you for all your generous goodness to me.
I never, my best-beloved and dearest Cousin, said he, (with eyes runningover,) shall forgive myself, that I did not attend you sooner. Littledid I think you were so ill; nor do any of your friends believe it. Ifthey did--
If they did, repeated she, interrupting him, I should have had morecompassion from them. I am sure I should--But pray, Sir, how did youleave them? Are you reconciled to them? If you are not, I beg, if youlove your poor Clarissa, that you will; for every widened differenceaugments but my fault; since that is the foundation of all.
I had been expecting to hear from them in your favour, my dear Cousin,said he, for some hours, when this gentleman's letter arrived, whichhastened me up; but I have the account of your grandfather's estate tomake up with you, and have bills and drafts upon their banker for thesums due to you; which they desire you may receive, lest you should haveoccasion for money. And this is such an earnest of an approachingreconciliation, that I dare to answer for all the rest being according toyour wishes, if----
Ah! Sir, interrupted she, with frequent breaks and pauses--I wish--I wishthis does not rather show that, were I to live, they would have nothingmore to say to me. I never had any pride in being independent of them;all my actions, when I might have made myself more independent, show this--But what avail these reflections now?--I only beg, Sir, that you, andthis gentleman--to whom I am exceedingly obliged--will adjust thosematters--according to the will I have written. Mr. Belford will excuseme; but it was in truth more necessity than choice that made me think ofgiving him the trouble he so kindly accepts. Had I the happiness to seeyou, my Cousin, sooner--or to know that you still honoured me with yourregard--I should not have had the assurance to ask this favour of him.--But, though the friend of Mr. Lovelace, he is a man of honour, and hewill make peace rather than break it. And, my dear Cousin, let me begof you while I have nearer relations than my Cousin Morden, dear as youare, and always were to me, you have no title to avenge my wrongs uponhim who has been the occasion of them. But I wrote to you my mind onthis subject, and my reasons--and I hope I need not further urge them.
I must do Mr. Lovelace so much justice, answered he, wiping his eyes, asto witness how sincerely he repents him of his ungrateful baseness toyou, and how ready he is to make you all the amends in his power. Heowns his wickedness, and your merit. If he did not, I could not pass itover, though you have nearer relations; for, my dear Cousin, did not yourgrandfather leave me in trust for you? And should I think myselfconcerned for your fortune, and not for your honour? But since he is sodesirous to do you justice, I have the less to say; and you may makeyourself entirely easy on that account.
I thank you, thank you, Sir, said she;--all is now as I wished.--But I amvery faint, very weak. I am sorry I cannot hold up; that I cannot betterdeserve the honour of this visit--but it will not be--and saying this, shesunk down in her chair, and was silent.
Hereupon we both withdrew, leaving word that we would be at the BedfordHead, if any thing extraordinary happened.
We bespoke a little repast, having neither of us dined; and, while it wasgetting ready, you may guess at the subject of our discourse. Bothjoined in lamentation for the lady's desperate state; admired hermanifold excellencies; severely condemned you and her friends. Yet, tobring him into better opinion of you, I read to him some passages fromyour last letters, which showed your concern for the wrongs you had doneher, and your deep remorse: and he said it was a dreadful thing to labourunder the sense of a guilt so irredeemable.
We procured Mr. Goddard, (Dr. H. not being at home,) once more to visither, and to call upon us in his return. He was so good as to do so; buthe tarried with her not five minutes; and told us, that she was drawingon apace; that he feared she would not live till morning; and that shewished to see Colonel Morden directly.
The Colonel made excuses where none were needed; and though our littlerefection was just brought in, he went away immediately.
I could not touch a morsel; and took pen and ink to amuse myself, andoblige you; knowing how impatient you would be for a few lines: for,
fromwhat I have recited, you see it was impossible I could withdraw to writewhen your servant came at half an hour after five, or have an opportunityfor it till now; and this is accidental; and yet your poor fellow wasafraid to go away with the verbal message I sent; importing, as no doubthe told you, that the Colonel was with us, the lady excessively ill, andthat I could not stir to write a line.
TEN O'CLOCK.
The Colonel sent to me afterwards, to tell me that the lady having beenin convulsions, he was so much disordered that he could not possiblyattend me.
I have sent every half hour to know how she does--and just now I have thepleasure to hear that her convulsions have left her; and that she is goneto rest in a much quieter way than could be expected.
Her poor cousin is very much indisposed; yet will not stir out of thehouse while she is in such a way; but intends to lie down on a couch,having refused any other accommodation.
END OF VOL. 8.
Clarissa Harlowe; or the history of a young lady — Volume 8 Page 72