Chapter vi.
Containing a scene which we doubt not will affect all our readers.
Mr Jones closed not his eyes during all the former part of the night;not owing to any uneasiness which he conceived at being disappointedby Lady Bellaston; nor was Sophia herself, though most of his wakinghours were justly to be charged to her account, the present cause ofdispelling his slumbers. In fact, poor Jones was one of thebest-natured fellows alive, and had all that weakness which is calledcompassion, and which distinguishes this imperfect character from thatnoble firmness of mind, which rolls a man, as it were, within himself,and like a polished bowl, enables him to run through the world withoutbeing once stopped by the calamities which happen to others. He couldnot help, therefore, compassionating the situation of poor Nancy,whose love for Mr Nightingale seemed to him so apparent, that he wasastonished at the blindness of her mother, who had more than once, thepreceding evening, remarked to him the great change in the temper ofher daughter, "who from being," she said, "one of the liveliest,merriest girls in the world, was, on a sudden, become all gloom andmelancholy."
Sleep, however, at length got the better of all resistance; and now,as if he had already been a deity, as the antients imagined, and anoffended one too, he seemed to enjoy his dear-bought conquest.--Tospeak simply, and without any metaphor, Mr Jones slept till eleven thenext morning, and would, perhaps, have continued in the same quietsituation much longer, had not a violent uproar awakened him.
Partridge was now summoned, who, being asked what was the matter,answered, "That there was a dreadful hurricane below-stairs; thatMiss Nancy was in fits; and that the other sister, and the mother,were both crying and lamenting over her." Jones expressed muchconcern at this news; which Partridge endeavoured to relieve, bysaying, with a smile, "he fancied the young lady was in no danger ofdeath; for that Susan" (which was the name of the maid) "had givenhim to understand, it was nothing more than a common affair. Inshort," said he, "Miss Nancy hath had a mind to be as wise as hermother; that's all; she was a little hungry, it seems, and so satdown to dinner before grace was said; and so there is a child comingfor the Foundling Hospital."----"Prithee, leave thy stupid jesting,"cries Jones. "Is the misery of these poor wretches a subject ofmirth? Go immediately to Mrs Miller, and tell her I beg leave--Stay,you will make some blunder; I will go myself; for she desired me tobreakfast with her." He then rose and dressed himself as fast as hecould; and while he was dressing, Partridge, notwithstanding manysevere rebukes, could not avoid throwing forth certain pieces ofbrutality, commonly called jests, on this occasion. Jones was nosooner dressed than he walked downstairs, and knocking at the door,was presently admitted by the maid, into the outward parlour, whichwas as empty of company as it was of any apparatus for eating. MrsMiller was in the inner room with her daughter, whence the maidpresently brought a message to Mr Jones, "That her mistress hoped hewould excuse the disappointment, but an accident had happened, whichmade it impossible for her to have the pleasure of his company atbreakfast that day; and begged his pardon for not sending him upnotice sooner." Jones desired, "She would give herself no troubleabout anything so trifling as his disappointment; that he washeartily sorry for the occasion; and that if he could be of anyservice to her, she might command him."
He had scarce spoke these words, when Mrs Miller, who heard them all,suddenly threw open the door, and coming out to him, in a flood oftears, said, "O Mr Jones! you are certainly one of the best young menalive. I give you a thousand thanks for your kind offer of yourservice; but, alas! sir, it is out of your power to preserve my poorgirl.--O my child! my child! she is undone, she is ruined for ever!""I hope, madam," said Jones, "no villain"----"O Mr Jones!" said she,"that villain who yesterday left my lodgings, hath betrayed my poorgirl; hath destroyed her.--I know you are a man of honour. You have agood--a noble heart, Mr Jones. The actions to which I have been myselfa witness, could proceed from no other. I will tell you all: nay,indeed, it is impossible, after what hath happened, to keep it asecret. That Nightingale, that barbarous villain, hath undone mydaughter. She is--she is--oh! Mr Jones, my girl is with child by him;and in that condition he hath deserted her. Here! here, sir, is hiscruel letter: read it, Mr Jones, and tell me if such another monsterlives."
The letter was as follows:
"DEAR NANCY,
"As I found it impossible to mention to you what, I am afraid, will be no less shocking to you, than it is to me, I have taken this method to inform you, that my father insists upon my immediately paying my addresses to a young lady of fortune, whom he hath provided for my--I need not write the detested word. Your own good understanding will make you sensible, how entirely I am obliged to an obedience, by which I shall be for ever excluded from your dear arms. The fondness of your mother may encourage you to trust her with the unhappy consequence of our love, which may be easily kept a secret from the world, and for which I will take care to provide, as I will for you. I wish you may feel less on this account than I have suffered; but summon all your fortitude to your assistance, and forgive and forget the man, whom nothing but the prospect of certain ruin could have forced to write this letter. I bid you forget me, I mean only as a lover; but the best of friends you shall ever find in your faithful, though unhappy,
"J. N."
When Jones had read this letter, they both stood silent during aminute, looking at each other; at last he began thus: "I cannotexpress, madam, how much I am shocked at what I have read; yet let mebeg you, in one particular, to take the writer's advice. Consider thereputation of your daughter."----"It is gone, it is lost, Mr Jones,"cryed she, "as well as her innocence. She received the letter in aroom full of company, and immediately swooning away upon opening it,the contents were known to every one present. But the loss of herreputation, bad as it is, is not the worst; I shall lose my child; shehath attempted twice to destroy herself already; and though she hathbeen hitherto prevented, vows she will not outlive it; nor could Imyself outlive any accident of that nature.--What then will become ofmy little Betsy, a helpless infant orphan? and the poor little wretchwill, I believe, break her heart at the miseries with which she seesher sister and myself distracted, while she is ignorant of the cause.O 'tis the most sensible, and best-natured little thing! Thebarbarous, cruel----hath destroyed us all. O my poor children! Is thisthe reward of all my cares? Is this the fruit of all my prospects?Have I so chearfully undergone all the labours and duties of a mother?Have I been so tender of their infancy, so careful of their education?Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself even theconveniences of life, to provide some little sustenance for them, tolose one or both in such a manner?" "Indeed, madam," said Jones, withtears in his eyes, "I pity you from my soul."--"O! Mr Jones," answeredshe, "even you, though I know the goodness of your heart, can have noidea of what I feel. The best, the kindest, the most dutiful ofchildren! O my poor Nancy, the darling of my soul! the delight of myeyes! the pride of my heart! too much, indeed, my pride; for to thosefoolish, ambitious hopes, arising from her beauty, I owe her ruin.Alas! I saw with pleasure the liking which this young man had for her.I thought it an honourable affection; and flattered my foolish vanitywith the thoughts of seeing her married to one so much her superior.And a thousand times in my presence, nay, often in yours, he hathendeavoured to soothe and encourage these hopes by the most generousexpressions of disinterested love, which he hath always directed to mypoor girl, and which I, as well as she, believed to be real. Could Ihave believed that these were only snares laid to betray the innocenceof my child, and for the ruin of us all?"--At these words little Betsycame running into the room, crying, "Dear mamma, for heaven's sakecome to my sister; for she is in another fit, and my cousin can't holdher." Mrs Miller immediately obeyed the summons; but first orderedBetsy to stay with Mr Jones, and begged him to entertain her a fewminutes, saying, in the most pathetic voice, "Good heaven! let mepreserve one of my children at least."
Jones, in compliance wit
h this request, did all he could to comfortthe little girl, though he was, in reality, himself very highlyaffected with Mrs Miller's story. He told her "Her sister would besoon very well again; that by taking on in that manner she would notonly make her sister worse, but make her mother ill too." "Indeed,sir," says she, "I would not do anything to hurt them for the world. Iwould burst my heart rather than they should see me cry.--But my poorsister can't see me cry.--I am afraid she will never be able to see mecry any more. Indeed, I can't part with her; indeed, I can't.--Andthen poor mamma too, what will become of her?--She says she will dietoo, and leave me: but I am resolved I won't be left behind." "And areyou not afraid to die, my little Betsy?" said Jones. "Yes," answeredshe, "I was always afraid to die; because I must have left my mamma,and my sister; but I am not afraid of going anywhere with those Ilove."
Jones was so pleased with this answer, that he eagerly kissed thechild; and soon after Mrs Miller returned, saying, "She thanked heavenNancy was now come to herself. And now, Betsy," says she, "you may goin, for your sister is better, and longs to see you." She then turnedto Jones, and began to renew her apologies for having disappointed himof his breakfast.
"I hope, madam," said Jones, "I shall have a more exquisite repastthan any you could have provided for me. This, I assure you, will bethe case, if I can do any service to this little family of love. Butwhatever success may attend my endeavours, I am resolved to attemptit. I am very much deceived in Mr Nightingale, if, notwithstandingwhat hath happened, he hath not much goodness of heart at the bottom,as well as a very violent affection for your daughter. If this be thecase, I think the picture which I shall lay before him will affecthim. Endeavour, madam, to comfort yourself, and Miss Nancy, as well asyou can. I will go instantly in quest of Mr Nightingale; and I hope tobring you good news."
Mrs Miller fell upon her knees and invoked all the blessings of heavenupon Mr Jones; to which she afterwards added the most passionateexpressions of gratitude. He then departed to find Mr Nightingale, andthe good woman returned to comfort her daughter, who was somewhatcheared at what her mother told her; and both joined in resounding thepraises of Mr Jones.
History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Page 161