THE FEMALE QUIXOTE;

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF ARABELLA.

BY

CHARLOTTE LENNOX

In Two Volumes.

The Second Edition:

Revised and Corrected.

1752

[Contents]

Transcribers' note: The text of this digital edition was prepared from printed edition of 1752 (the revised and corrected 2nd edition) with some further standardisation of spelling and punctuation (also making use of the 1820 edition)

[PREFACE]

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF MIDDLESEX.

My Lord,

Such is the power of interest over almost every mind, that no one is long without arguments to prove any position which is ardently wished to be true, or to justify any measures which are dictated by inclination.

By this subtle sophistry of desire, I have been persuaded to hope that this book may, without impropriety, be inscribed to your lordship; but am not certain that my reasons will have the same force upon other understandings.

The dread which a writer feels of the public censure; the still greater dread of neglect; and the eager wish for support and protection, which is impressed by the consciousness of imbecility; are unknown to those who have never adventured into the world; and I am afraid, my lord, equally unknown to those who have always found the world ready to applaud them.

It is, therefore, not unlikely, that the design of this address may be mistaken, and the effects of my fear imputed to my vanity: they who see your lordship's name prefixed to my performance, will rather condemn my presumption, than compassionate my anxiety.

But, whatever be supposed my motive, the praise of judgment cannot be denied me; for to whom can timidity so properly fly for shelter, as to him who has been so long distinguished for candour and humanity? How can vanity be so completely gratified, as by the allowed patronage of him whose judgment has so long given a standard to the national taste? Or by what other means could I so powerfully suppress all opposition, but that of envy, as by declaring myself,

My Lord,

Your Lordship's

Obliged and most obedient

Humble Servant,

THE AUTHOR.

THE FEMALE QUIXOTE.

[VOLUME I.]

[BOOK I.]

[Chapter I.]

Contains a turn at court, neither new nor surprising. Some useless additions to a fine lady's education. The bad effects of a whimsical study, which some will say is borrowed from Cervantes.

The Marquis of ——, for a long series of years, was the first and most distinguished favourite at court: he held the most honourable employments under the crown, disposed of all places of profit as he pleased, presided at the council, and in a manner governed the whole kingdom.

This extensive authority could not fail of making him many enemies: he fell at last a sacrifice to the plots they were continually forming against him; and was not only removed from all his employments, but banished the court for ever.

The pain his undeserved disgrace gave him, he was enabled to conceal by the natural haughtiness of his temper; and, behaving rather like a man who had resigned, than been dismissed from his posts, he imagined he triumphed sufficiently over the malice of his enemies, while he seemed to be wholly insensible of the effects it produced. His secret discontent, however, was so much augmented by the opportunity he now had of observing the baseness and ingratitude of mankind, which in some degree he experienced every day, that he resolved to quit all society whatever, and devote the rest of his life to solitude and privacy. For the place of his retreat he pitched upon a castle he had in a very remote province of the kingdom, in the neighbourhood of a small village, and several miles distant from any town. The vast extent of ground which surrounded this noble building, he had caused to be laid out in a manner peculiar to his taste: the most laborious endeavours of art had been used to make it appear like the beautiful product of wild, uncultivated nature. But if this epitome of Arcadia could boast of only artless and simple beauties, the inside of the castle was adorned with a magnificence suitable to the dignity and immense riches of the owner.

While things were preparing at the castle for his reception, the marquis, though now advanced in years, cast his eyes on a young lady, greatly inferior to himself in quality, but whose beauty and good sense promised him an agreeable companion. After a very short courtship, he married her, and in a few weeks carried his new bride into the country, from whence he absolutely resolved never to return.

The marquis, following the plan of life he had laid down, divided his time between the company of his lady, his library, which was large and well furnished, and his gardens. Sometimes he took the diversion of hunting, but never admitted any company whatever; his pride and extreme reserve rendered him so wholly inaccessible to the country gentry about him, that none ever presumed to solicit his acquaintance.

In the second year of his retirement, the marchioness brought him a daughter, and died in three days after her delivery. The marquis, who had tenderly loved her, was extremely afflicted at her death; but time having produced its usual effects, his great fondness for the little Arabella entirely engrossed his attention, and made up all the happiness of his life. At four years of age he took her from under the direction of the nurses and women appointed to attend her, and permitted her to receive no part of her education from another, which he was capable of giving her himself. He taught her to read and write in a very few months; and, as she grew older, finding in her an uncommon quickness of apprehension, and an understanding capable of great improvements, he resolved to cultivate so promising a genius with the utmost care; and, as he frequently, in the rapture of paternal fondness, expressed himself, render her mind as beautiful as her person was lovely.

Nature had indeed given her a most charming face, a shape easy and delicate, a sweet and insinuating voice, and an air so full of dignity and grace, as drew the admiration of all that saw her. These native charms were improved with all the heightenings of art; her dress was perfectly magnificent; the best masters of music and dancing were sent for from London to attend her. She soon became a perfect mistress of the French and Italian languages, under the care of her father; and it is not to be doubted, but she would have made a great proficiency in all useful knowledge, had not her whole time been taken up by another study.

From her earliest youth she had discovered a fondness for reading, which extremely delighted the marquis; he permitted her therefore the use of his library, in which, unfortunately for her, were great store of romances, and, what was still more unfortunate, not in the original French, but very bad translations.

The deceased marchioness had purchased these books to soften a solitude which she found very disagreeable; and, after her death, the marquis removed them from her closet into his library, where Arabella found them.

The surprising adventures with which they were filled, proved a most pleasing entertainment to a young lady who was wholly secluded from the world; who had no other diversion, but ranging like a nymph through gardens, or, to say better, the woods and lawns in which she was enclosed; and who had no other conversation but that of a grave and melancholy father, or her own attendants.

Her ideas, from the manner of her life, and the objects around her, had taken a romantic turn; and, supposing romances were real pictures of life, from them she drew all her notions and expectations. By them she was taught to believe, that love was the ruling principle of the world; that every other passion was subordinate to this; and that it caused all the happiness and miseries of life. Her glass, which she often consulted, always showed her a form so extremely lovely, that, not finding herself engaged in such adventures as were common to the heroines in the romances she read, she often complained of the insensibility of mankind, upon whom her charms seemed to have so little influence.

The perfect retirement she lived in afforded, indeed, no opportunities of making the conquests she desired; but she could not comprehend how any solitude could be obscure enough to conceal a beauty like hers from notice; and thought the reputation of her charms sufficient to bring a crowd of adorers to demand her of her father. Her mind being wholly filled with the most extravagant expectations, she was alarmed by every trifling incident; and kept in a continual anxiety by a vicissitude of hopes, fears, wishes, and disappointments.

[Chapter II.]

Contains a description of a lady's dress, in fashion not much above two thousand years ago. The beginning of an adventure which seems to promise a great deal.

Arabella had now entered into her seventeenth year, with the regret of seeing herself the object of admiration to a few rustics only, who happened to see her; when, one Sunday, making use of the permission the marquis sometimes allowed her, to attend Divine service at the church belonging to the village near which they lived, her vanity was flattered with an adorer not altogether unworthy of her notice.

This gentleman was young, gay, handsome, and very elegantly dressed; he was just come from London with an intention to pass some weeks with a friend in that part of the country; and at the time Arabella entered the church, his eyes, which had wandered from one rural fair to another, were in an instant fixed upon her face. She blushed with a very becoming modesty; and, pleased with the unusual appearance of so fine a gentleman, and the particular notice he took of her, passed on to her seat through a double row of country people; who, with a profusion of awkward bows and curtsies, expressed their respect.

Mr. Hervey, for that was the stranger's name, was no less surprised at her beauty, than the singularity of her dress; and the odd whim of being followed into the church by three women attendants, who, as soon as she was seated, took their places behind her.

Her dress, though singular, was far from being unbecoming. All the beauties of her neck and shape were set off to the greatest advantage by the fashion of her gown, which, in the manner of a robe, was made to sit tight to her body; and fastened on the breast with a knot of diamonds. Her fine black hair hung upon her neck in curls, which had so much the appearance of being artless, that all but her maid, whose employment it was to give them that form, imagined they were so. Her head-dress was only a few knots advantageously disposed, over which she wore a white sarsenet hood, somewhat in the form of a veil, with which she sometimes wholly covered her fair face, when she saw herself beheld with too much attention.

This veil had never appeared to her so necessary before. Mr. Hervey's eager glances threw her into so much confusion, that, pulling it over her face as much as she was able, she remained invisible to him all the time they afterwards stayed in the church. This action, by which she would have had him understand, that she was displeased at his gazing on her with so little respect, only increased his curiosity to know who she was.

When the congregation was dismissed, he hastened to the door, with an intention to offer her his hand to help her to her coach; but seeing the magnificent equipage that waited for her, and the number of servants that attended it, he conceived a much higher idea of her quality than he had at first; and, changing his design, contented himself with only bowing to her as she passed; and as soon as her coach drove away, enquired of some persons nearest him, who she was?

These rustics, highly delighted with the opportunity of talking to the gay Londoner, whom they looked upon as a very extraordinary person, gave him all the intelligence they were able, concerning the lady he enquired after; and filled him with an inconceivable surprise at the strange humour of the marquis, who buried so beautiful a creature in obscurity.

At his return home, he expressed his admiration of her in terms that persuaded his friend she had made some impression on his heart; and, after rallying him a little upon this suspicion, he assumed a more serious air, and told him, if he really liked Lady Bella, he thought it not impossible but he might obtain her. The poor girl, added he, has been kept in confinement so long, that I believe it would not be difficult to persuade her to free herself by marriage. She never had a lover in her life; and therefore the first person who addresses her has the fairest chance for succeeding.

Mr. Hervey, though he could not persuade himself his cousin was in earnest when he advised him to court the only daughter of a man of the marquis's quality, and heiress to his vast estates; yet relished the scheme, and resolved to make some attempt upon her before he left the country. However, he concealed his design from his cousin, not being willing to expose himself to be ridiculed, if he did not succeed; and, turning the advice he had given him into a jest, left him in the opinion that he thought no more of it.

Chapter III.

In which the adventure goes on after the accustomed manner.

Arabella, in the mean time, was wholly taken up with the adventure, as she called it, at church: the person and dress of the gentleman who had so particularly gazed on her there, was so different from what she had been accustomed to see, that she immediately concluded he was of some distinguished rank. It was past a doubt, she thought, that he was excessively in love with her; and as she soon expected to have some very extraordinary proofs of his passion, her thoughts were wholly employed on the manner in which she should receive them.

As soon as she came home, and had paid her duty to the marquis, she hurried to her chamber, to be at liberty to indulge her agreeable reflections; and, after the example of her heroines, when any thing extraordinary happened to them, called her favourite woman; or, to use her own language, her, "in whom she confided her most secret thoughts."

Well, Lucy, said she, did you observe that stranger who eyed us[1] so heedfully to-day at church?

This girl, notwithstanding her country simplicity, knew a compliment was expected from her on this occasion; and therefore replied, that she did not wonder at the gentleman's staring at her; for she was sure he had never seen any body so handsome as her ladyship before.

I have not all the beauty you attribute to me, said Arabella, smiling a little: and with a very moderate share of it, I might well fix the attention of a person who seemed to be not over much pleased with the objects about him. However, pursued she, assuming a more serious air, if this stranger be weak enough to entertain any sentiments more than indifferent for me, I charge you, upon pain of my displeasure, do not be accessary to the conveying his presumptuous thoughts to me, either by letters or messages; nor suffer him to corrupt your fidelity with the presents he will very probably offer you.

Lucy, to whom this speech first gave a hint of what she ought to expect from her lady's lovers, finding herself of more importance than she imagined, was so pleased at the prospect which opened to her, that it was with some hesitation she promised to obey her orders.

Arabella, however, was satisfied with her assurances of observing her directions; and dismissed her from her presence, not without an apprehension of being too well obeyed.

A whole week being elapsed without meeting with the importunities she expected, she could hardly conceal her surprise at so mortifying a disappointment; and frequently interrogated Lucy, concerning any attempts the stranger had made on her fidelity; but the answers she received only increased her discontent, as they convinced her, her charms had not had the effect she imagined.

Mr. Hervey, however, had been all this time employed in thinking of some means to get acquainted with the marquis; for, being possessed with an extraordinary opinion of his wit, and personal accomplishments, he did not fear making some impression on the heart of the young lady; provided he could have an opportunity of conversing with her.

His cousin's advice was continually in his mind, and flattered his vanity with the most agreeable hopes: but the marquis's fondness for solitude, and that haughtiness which was natural to him, rendered him so difficult of access, that Hervey, from the intelligence he received of his humour, despaired of being able to prosecute his scheme; when, meeting with a young farmer in one of his evening walks, and entering into conversation with him upon several country subjects, the discourse at last turned upon the Marquis of ——, whose fine house and gardens were within their view; upon which the young fellow informed him, he was brother to a young woman that attended the Lady Arabella; and, being fond of lengthening out the conversation with so fine a gentleman, gave him, without being desired, the domestic history of the whole family, as he had received it from Lucy, who was the sister he mentioned.

Hervey, excessively delighted at this accidental meeting with a person so capable of serving his design, affected a great desire of being better acquainted with him; and, under pretence of acquiring some knowledge in rural affairs, accustomed himself to call so often at William's farm, that, at last, he met with the person whom the hopes of seeing had so often carried him thither.

Lucy, the moment she saw him enter, knowing him again, blushed at the remembrance of the discourse which had passed between her lady and herself concerning him; and was not at all surprised at the endeavours he used to speak to her apart: but, as soon as he began a conversation concerning Arabella, she interrupted him by saying, I know, sir, that you are distractedly in love with my lady; but she has forbid me to receive any letters or messages from you; and therefore I beg you will not offer to bribe me; for I dare not disobey her.

Mr. Hervey was at first so astonished at her speech, that he knew not what to think of it; but, after a little reflection, attributing to an excess of awkward cunning what, in reality, was an effect of her simplicity, he resolved to make use of the hint she had given him; and, presenting her with a couple of guineas, entreated her to venture displeasing her lady, by bearing a letter from him; promising to reward her better, if she succeeded.

Lucy made some difficulty to comply; but, not being able absolutely to refuse the first bribe that ever was offered to her, she, after some entreaties, consented to take the letter; and receiving the money he presented her, left him at liberty to write, after she had got her brother to furnish him with materials for that purpose.

[1] The heroines always speak of themselves in the plural number.

[Chapter IV.]

A mistake, which produces no great consequences. An extraordinary comment upon a behaviour natural enough. An instance of a lady's compassion for her lover, which the reader may possibly think not very compassionate.

Hervey, who was master of no great elegance in letter-writing, was at first at some loss, how to address a lady of her quality, to whom he was an absolute stranger, upon the subject of love; but, conceiving there was no great occasion for much ceremony in declaring himself to one who had been educated in the country, and who, he believed, could not be displeased with a lover of his figure, he therefore, in plain terms, told her how deeply he was enamoured of her; and conjured her to afford him some opportunity of paying his respects to her.

Lucy received this letter from him with a worse grace than she did the gold; and, though she promised him to deliver it to her lady immediately, yet she kept it a day or two before she had the courage to attempt it: at last, drawing it out of her pocket, with a bashful air, she presented it to her lady, telling her it came from the fine gentleman whom she saw at church.

Arabella blushed at the sight of the letter; and though, in reality, she was not displeased; yet, being a strict observer of romantic forms, she chid her woman severely for taking it. Carry it back, added she, to the presumptuous writer of it; and let him know how greatly his insolence has offended me.

Lucy, however, suffered the letter to remain on the toilet, expecting some change in her lady's mind; for she traversed the chamber in great seeming irresolution, often stealing a glance to the letter, which she had a strong inclination to open; but, searching the records of her memory for a precedent, and not finding that any lady ever opened a letter from an unknown lover, she reiterated her commands to Lucy to carry it back, with a look and accent so very severe, that the girl, extremely apprehensive of having offended her, put the letter again in her pocket, resolving to return it the first opportunity.

Mr. Hervey, who had his thoughts wholly taken up with the flattering prospect of success, no sooner saw Lucy, who gave him his letter without speaking a word, than, supposing it had been the answer he expected, he eagerly snatched it out of her hand, and, kissing it first in a rapture of joy, broke it open; but his surprise and confusion, when he saw it was his own letter returned, was inexpressible. For some moments he kept his eyes fastened upon the tender billet, as if he was really reading it. His disappointment, and the ridiculous figure he knew he must make in the eyes of his messenger, filled him with so much confusion, that he did not dare to look up; but, recovering himself at last, he affected to turn it into a jest; and, laughing first himself, gave Lucy the liberty of laughing also, who had, with much difficulty, been able to prevent doing it before.

The curiosity he felt to hear how she had acquitted herself of the trust he had reposed in her, made him oblige her to give a truce to her mirth, in order to satisfy him; and Lucy, who was extremely exact in her relations, told him all that had passed, without omitting the smallest circumstance.

Though it was impossible to draw any favourable omen from what he heard, yet he determined to make another effort, before he set out for London; and, taking leave of his confidante, after he had appointed her to meet him again the next day, at her brother's, he went home to consider upon means to effect his designs, which the ill success of his first attempt had not forced him to abandon.

Arabella, who expected to hear, that the return of his letter would make her lover commit some very extravagant actions; and having impatiently waited for an account of them from Lucy; finding she seemed to have no intention to begin a discourse concerning him; asked her, at last, if she had executed her commission, and returned the letter to the insolent unknown?

The girl answered, Yes.

Which not being all that her lady expected, And how did he receive it? resumed she, peevishly.

Why, madam, replied Lucy, I believe he thought your ladyship had sent him an answer; for he kissed the letter several times.

Foolish wench! replied Arabella, how can you imagine he had the temerity to think I should answer his letter? A favour, which, though he had spent years in my service, would have been infinitely greater than he could have expected. No, Lucy, he kissed the letter, either because he thought it had been touched at least by my hands, or to show the perfect submission with which he received my commands; and it is not to be doubted but his despair will force him to commit some desperate outrage against himself, which I do not hate him enough to wish, though he has mortally offended me.

Arabella was possessed of great sensibility and softness; and being really persuaded that her lover would entertain some fatal design, seemed so much affected with the thoughts of what might happen, that Lucy, who tenderly loved her, begged her not to be so much concerned for the gentleman: There is no fear, added she, that he will do himself a mischief; for when he discovered his mistake, he laughed heartily, as well as myself.

How! replied Arabella, extremely surprised: did he laugh?

Which Lucy confirming, Doubtless, resumed she, having taken a little time to consider of so strange a phænomenon, he laughed, because his reason was disturbed at the sudden shock he received: unhappy man! his presumption will be severely enough punished, though I do not add anger to the scorn which I have expressed for him: therefore, Lucy, you may tell him, if you please, that, notwithstanding the offence he has been guilty of, I am not cruel enough to wish his death, and that I command him to live, if he can live without hope.

[Chapter V.]

In which one would imagine the adventure concluded, but for a promise that something else is to come.

Lucy now began to think there was something more than she imagined in this affair. Mr. Hervey, indeed, in her opinion, had seemed to be very far from having any design to attempt his own life; but her lady, she thought, could not possibly be mistaken; and therefore she resolved to carry her message to him immediately, though it was then late in the evening.

Accordingly, she went to her brother's, where she had some hope of meeting with him; but not finding him there, she obliged him to go to the house where he lived, and tell him she desired to speak with him.

William, being let into the secret of his sister's frequent meetings with Mr. Hervey, imagined she had some agreeable news to acquaint him with; and therefore ran immediately to his relation's house, which was but at a small distance; but he was told Mr. Hervey was in bed, very much indisposed, and could not be seen.

This news put Lucy in a terrible fright: she told her apprehensions to her brother; which being such as her lady had put into her head, and were now confirmed by Mr. Hervey's illness, the young farmer stood amazed, not being able to comprehend her meaning; and she, without staying to explain herself any further, went home to the castle, and told her lady, that what she feared was come to pass, the gentleman would certainly die; for he was very ill in bed.

This being no more than what Arabella expected, she discovered no surprise; but only asked Lucy, if she had delivered her message to him?

Would you have me, madam, replied she, go to his house? I am afraid the Marquis will hear of it.

My father, replied Arabella, can never be offended with me for doing a charitable action.

Ah! madam, interrupted Lucy, let me go then immediately, for fear the poor gentleman should grow worse.

If he be sick almost to death, resumed Arabella, he will recover, if I command him to do so. When did you hear of a lover dying through despair, when his mistress let him know it was her pleasure he should live? But as it will not be altogether so proper for you to go to his house, as it may be suspected you come from me; I'll write a few lines, which you shall copy, and your brother may carry them to him to-morrow, and I'll engage he shall be well in a few hours.

Saying this, she went into her closet, and, having written a short note, made Lucy write it over again. It was as follows:

"LUCY, TO THE UNFORTUNATE LOVER OF HER LADY.

"My lady, who is the most generous person in the world, has commanded me to tell you, that, presumptuous as you are, she does not desire your death; nay, more, she commands you to live, and permits you, in case you obey her, to hope for her pardon, provided you keep within the bounds she prescribes to you.

ADIEU."

This letter Lucy copied; and Arabella, examining it again, thought it rather too kind; and, seeming desirous of making some alteration in it, Lucy, who was extremely anxious for Mr. Hervey's life, fearing lest she should alter it in such a manner that the gentleman might be at liberty to die if he chose it, conjured her lady in such pressing terms to let it remain as it was, that Arabella suffered herself to be prevailed upon by her entreaties; and, remembering that it was not uncommon for the ladies in romances to relax a little in their severity through the remonstrances of their women, told her, with an enchanting smile, that she would grant her desire; and went to bed with that pleasing satisfaction, which every generous mind experiences at the consciousness of having done some very benevolent action.

In the morning, this life-restoring billet was dispatched by Lucy to her brother, enclosed in one to him, charging him to carry it to the sick gentleman immediately.

William, having a strong curiosity to see what his sister had written, ventured to open it; and, not being able to imagine Lady Bella had really given her orders to write what appeared to him the most unintelligible stuff in the world, resolved to suppress this letter till he had questioned her a little concerning it.

A few hours after, Mr. Hervey, who expected to meet Lucy at her brother's, came in. His illness having been only a violent head-ache, to which he was subject, being now quite off, he remembered the appointment he had made; but, having waited some time, and she not coming, he returned again to his cousin's, leaving word for her, that he would see her the next day.

Scarce was he gone out, when Lucy, who longed to know what effect her letter had produced in his health, came in; and eagerly enquiring of her brother how Mr. Hervey was, received for answer, that he had been there a moment before she came.

Well, cried she, clasping her hands together with surprise, my lady said her letter would cure him, if he was ever so sick; but I did not imagine he would have been well enough to come abroad so soon.

Your lady! interrupted William: why, was it not yourself that wrote that letter you gave to me?

No, truly, brother, resumed she: how was it possible I should write so fine a letter? My lady made every word of it, and I only wrote it after her.

William, hearing this, would not own the indiscretion he now thought he had been guilty of, in keeping the letter; but suffered his sister to return to her lady, in the belief that he had delivered it; resolving, when he saw her next, to say he had lost it; for he knew not what excuse to make to Mr. Hervey for not giving it him when he saw him.

Arabella received the account of her lover's recovery as a thing she was absolutely sure of before; and thinking she had now done all that could be expected from her compassion, resumed her usual severity, and commanded Lucy to mention him no more. If he loves me with that purity he ought to do, pursued she, he will cease to importune me any further: and though his passion be ever so violent, his respect and submission to my commands will oblige him to silence. The obedience he has already shown, in recovering at the first intimation I gave, that it was my will he should do so, convinces me I need not apprehend he will renew his follies to displease me.

Lucy, who found by this discourse of her lady's, that her commission was at an end with regard to Mr. Hervey, followed her directions so exactly, that she not only spoke no more of him to her; but also, in order to avoid him, neglected to go to her brother's.

His impatience at not seeing her made him prevail upon her brother to go to the castle, and entreat her to give him another interview: but Lucy positively refused; and, to make a merit with her lady of her obedience, informed her what he had requested.

Arabella, resenting a boldness which argued so little respect to her commands, began now to repent of the compassion she had shown him; and, commending Lucy for what she had done, bid her tell the insolent unknown, if he ever sent to her again, that she was resolved never to pardon the contempt he had shown for her orders.

Mr. Hervey, finding himself deserted by Lucy, resolved to give over his attempts, congratulating himself for his discretion in not acquainting his cousin with what he had already done: his heart not being very much engaged, he found no great difficulty in consoling himself for his bad success. In a few days he thought of Lady Bella no more than if he had never seen her; but an accident bringing her again in his way, he could not resist the inclination he felt to speak to her; and by that means drew upon himself a very sensible mortification.

[Chapter VI.]

In which the adventure is really concluded; though, possibly, not as the reader expected.

The marquis sometimes permitting his daughter to ride out, and this being the only diversion she was allowed, or ever experienced, she did not fail to take it as often as she could.

She was returning from one of these airings one day, attended by two servants, when Mr. Hervey, who happened to be at some distance, observing a lady on horseback, who made a very graceful figure, he rode up to her, in order to have a nearer view; and, knowing Lady Bella again, resolved to speak to her: but while he was considering how he should accost her, Arabella suddenly seeing him, and observing he was making up to her, her imagination immediately suggested to her, that this insolent lover had a design to seize her person; and this thought terrifying her extremely, she gave a loud shriek; which Mr. Hervey hearing, rode eagerly up to her to enquire the reason of it, at the same time that her two attendants, as much amazed as himself, came galloping up also.

Arabella, upon his coming close to her, redoubled her cries. If you have any valour, said she to her servants, defend your unfortunate mistress, and rescue her from this unworthy man.

The servants, believing him to be a highwayman, by this exclamation, and dreading lest he should present his pistol at their heads, if they offered to make any resistance, recoiled a few paces back, expecting he would demand their purses when he had robbed their lady: but the extreme surprise he was in, keeping him motionless, the fellows not seeing any pistols in his hand, and animated by Arabella's cries, who, calling them cowards and traitors, urged them to deliver her; they both, in a moment, laid hold of Mr. Hervey, and forced him to alight; which they did also themselves, still keeping fast hold of him, whom surprise, shame, and rage, had hitherto kept silent.

Rascals! cried he, when he was able to speak, what do you mean by using me in this manner? Do you suppose I had any intention to hurt the lady?—What do you take me for?

For a ravisher, interrupted Arabella; an impious ravisher, who, contrary to all laws both human and divine, endeavour to possess yourself by force of a person whom you are not worthy to serve; and whose charity and compassion you have returned with the utmost ingratitude.

Upon my word, madam, said Mr. Hervey, I don't understand one word you say: you either mistake me for some other person, or are pleased to divert yourself with the surprise I am in. But I beseech you carry the jest no farther, and order your servants to let me go; or, by Heaven—cried he struggling to get loose, if I can but free one of my hands, I'll stab the scoundrels before your face.

It is not with threats like these, resumed Arabella with great calmness, that I can be moved. A little more submission and respect would become you better; you are now wholly in my power; I may, if I please, carry you to my father, and have you severely punished for your attempt: but to show you, that I am as generous as you are base and designing, I'll give you freedom, provided you promise me never to appear before me again. But, in order to secure my own safety, you must deliver up your arms to my servants, that I may be assured you will not have it in your power to make a second attempt upon my liberty.

Mr. Hervey, whose astonishment was increased by every word she spoke, began now to be apprehensive that this might prove a very serious affair, since she seemed resolved to believe he had a design to carry her off; and, knowing that an attempt of that nature upon an heiress might have dangerous consequences, he resolved to accept the conditions she offered him: but while he delivered his hanger to the servant, he assured her in the strongest terms, that he had no other design in riding up to her, but to have a nearer view of her person.

Add not falsehood, said Arabella sternly, to a crime already black enough; for though, by an effect of my generosity, I have resolved not to deliver you up to the resentment of my father, yet nothing shall ever be able to make me pardon this outrage. Go, then, pursued she, go, base man, unworthy of the care I took of thy safety; go to some distant country, where I may never hear of thee more, and suffer me, if possible, to lose the remembrance of thy crimes.

Saying this, she ordered her servants, who had got the hanger in their possession, to set him at liberty, and mount their horses; which they did immediately, and followed their lady, who rode with all imaginable speed to the castle.

Mr. Hervey, not yet recovered from his surprise, stood some moments considering the strange scene he had been witness to; and in which he had, much against his will, appeared the principal character. As he was not acquainted with Lady Bella's foible, he concluded her fears of him were occasioned by her simplicity, and some misrepresentations that had been made her by Lucy, who, he thought, had betrayed him; and, fearing this ridiculous adventure would be soon made public, and himself exposed to the sneers of his country acquaintance, he resolved to go back to London as soon as possible.

The next day, pretending he had received a letter which obliged him to set out immediately, he took leave of his cousin, heartily glad at the escape he should make from his raillery; for he did not doubt but the story would very soon be known, and told greatly to his disadvantage.

But Arabella, in order to be completely generous, a quality for which all the heroines are famous, laid a command upon her two attendants not to mention what had passed, giving them at the same time money to secure their secrecy; and threatening them with her displeasure, if they disobeyed.

Arabella, as soon as she had an opportunity, did not fail to acquaint her faithful Lucy with the danger from which she had so happily escaped, thanking Heaven at the same time with great devotion, for having preserved her from the hands of the ravisher.

Two or three months rolled away, after this accident, without offering any new adventure to our fair visionary; when her imagination, always prepossessed with the same fantastic ideas, made her stumble upon another mistake, equally absurd and ridiculous.

[Chapter VII.]

In which some contradictions are very happily reconciled.

The marquis's head-gardener had received a young fellow into his master's service, who had lived in several families of distinction. He had a good face; was tolerably genteel; and having an understanding something above his condition, joined to a great deal of second-hand politeness, which he had contracted while he lived at London, he appeared a very extraordinary person among the rustics who were his fellow-servants.

Arabella, when she walked in the garden, had frequent opportunities of seeing this young man, whom she observed with a very particular attention. His person and air had something, she thought, very distinguishing. When she condescended to speak to him about any business he was employed in, she took notice that his answers were framed in a language vastly superior to his condition; and the respect he paid her had quite another air from that of the awkward civility of the other servants.

Having discerned so many marks of a birth far from being mean, she easily passed from an opinion that he was a gentleman, to a belief that he was something more; and every new sight of him adding strength to her suspicions, she remained, in a little time, perfectly convinced that he was some person of quality, who, disguised in the habit of a gardener, had introduced himself into her father's service, in order to have an opportunity of declaring a passion to her, which must certainly be very great, since it had forced him to assume an appearance so unworthy of his noble extraction.

Wholly possessed with this thought, she set herself to observe him more narrowly, and soon found out that he went very awkwardly about his work; that he sought opportunities of being alone; that he threw himself in her way as often as he could, and gazed on her very attentively. She sometimes fancied she saw him endeavour to smother a sigh when he answered her any question about his work; once saw him leaning against a tree with his hands crossed upon his breast; and, having lost a string of small pearls, which she remembered he had seen her threading as she sat in one of the arbours, was persuaded he had taken it up, and kept it for the object of his secret adoration.

She often wondered, indeed, that she did not find her name carved on the trees, with some mysterious expressions of love; that he was never discovered lying along the side of one of the little rivulets, increasing the stream with his tears; nor, for three months that he had lived there, had ever been sick of a fever caused by his grief and the constraint he put upon himself in not declaring his passion. But she considered again, that his fear of being discovered kept him from amusing himself with making the trees bear the records of his secret thoughts, or of indulging his melancholy in any manner expressive of the condition of his soul; and, as for his not being sick, his youth, and the strength of his constitution, might, even for a longer time, bear him up against the assaults of a fever: but he appeared much thinner and paler than he used to be; and she concluded, therefore, that he must in time sink under the violence of his passion, or else be forced to declare it to her, which she considered as a very great misfortune; for, not finding in herself any disposition to approve his love, she must necessarily banish him from her presence, for fear he should have the presumption to hope that time might do any thing in his favour; and it was possible also, that the sentence she would be obliged to pronounce, might either cause his death, or force him to commit some extravagant action, which would discover him to her father, who would, perhaps, think her guilty of holding a secret correspondence with him.

These thoughts perplexed her so much, that, hoping to find some relief by unburdening her mind to Lucy, she told her all her uneasiness. Ah! said she to her, looking upon Edward, who had just passed them, how unfortunate do I think myself in being the cause of that passion which makes this illustrious unknown wear away his days in so shameful an obscurity! Yes, Lucy, pursued she, that Edward, whom you regard as one of my father's menial servants, is a person of sublime quality, who submits to this disguise only to have an opportunity of seeing me every day. But why do you seem so surprised? Is it possible, that you have not suspected him to be what he is? Has he never unwittingly made any discovery of himself? Have you not surprised him in discourse with his faithful squire, who certainly lurks hereabouts to receive his commands, and is haply the confidant of his passion? Has he never entertained you with any conversation about me? Or have you never seen any valuable jewels in his possession by which you suspected him to be not what he appears?

Truly, madam, replied Lucy, I never took him for any body else but a simple gardener; but now you open my eyes, methinks I can find I have been strangely mistaken; for he does not look like a man of low degree, and he talks quite in another manner from our servants. I never heard him indeed speak of your ladyship, but once; and that was, when he first saw you walking in the garden, he asked our John if you was not the marquis's daughter; and he said you was as beautiful as an angel. As for fine jewels, I never saw any; and I believe he has none; but he has a watch, and that looks as if he was something, madam: nor do I remember to have seen him talk with any stranger that looked like a squire.

Lucy, having thus with her usual punctuality, answered every question her lady put to her, proceeded to ask her, what she should say, if he should beg her to give her a letter as the other gentleman had done.

You must by no means take it, replied Arabella: my compassion had before like to have been fatal to me. If he discovers his quality to me, I shall know in what manner to treat him.

They were in this part of their discourse, when a noise they heard at some distance, made Arabella bend her steps to the place from whence it proceeded; and, to her infinite amazement, saw the head-gardener, with a stick he had in his hand, give several blows to the concealed hero, who suffered the indignity with admirable patience.

Shocked at seeing a person of sublime quality treated so unworthily, she called out to the gardener to hold his hand; who immediately obeyed; and Edward, seeing the young lady advance, sneaked off, with an air very different from an Oroondates.

For what crime, pray, said Arabella, with a stern aspect, did you treat the person I saw with you so cruelly? He whom you take such unbecoming liberties with, may possibly—But again I ask you, what has he done? You should make some allowance for his want of skill, in the abject employment he is in at present.

It is not for his want of skill, madam, said the gardener, that I corrected him; he knows his business very well, if he would mind it; but, madam, I have discovered him—

Discovered him, do you say? interrupted Arabella: and has the knowledge of his condition not been able to prevent such usage? Or rather, has it been the occasion of his receiving it?

His conditions are very bad, madam, returned the gardener; and I am afraid are such as will one day prove the ruin of body and soul too. I have for some time suspected he had evil designs in his head; and just now watched him to the fish-pond, and prevented him from—

O dear! interrupted Lucy, looking pitifully on her lady, whose fair bosom heaved with compassion, I warrant he was going to make away with himself.

No, resumed the gardener, smiling at the mistake, he was only going to make away with some of the carp, which the rogue had caught, and intended, I suppose, to sell; but I threw them into the water again; and if your ladyship had not forbid me, I would have drubbed him soundly for his pains.

Fie! fie! interrupted Arabella, out of breath with shame and vexation: tell me no more of these idle tales.

Then, hastily walking on to hide the blushes which this strange accusation of her illustrious lover had raised in her face, she continued for some time in the greatest perplexity imaginable.

Lucy, who followed her, and could not possibly reconcile what her lady had been telling her concerning Edward, with the circumstance of his stealing the carp, ardently wished to hear her opinion of this matter; but, seeing her deeply engaged with her own thoughts, she would not venture to disturb her.

Arabella indeed had been in such a terrible consternation, that it was some time before she even reconciled appearances to herself; but, as she had a most happy facility in accommodating every incident to her own wishes and conceptions, she examined this matter so many different ways, drew so many conclusions, and fancied so many mysteries in the most indifferent actions of the supposed noble unknown, that she remained, at last, more than ever confirmed in the opinion that he was some great personage, whom her beauty had forced to assume an appearance unworthy of himself: when Lucy, no longer able to keep silence, drew off her attention from those pleasing images, by speaking of the carp-stealing affair again.

Arabella, whose confusion returned at that disagreeable sound, charged her, in an angry tone, never to mention so injurious a suspicion any more: For, in fine, said she to her, do you imagine a person of his rank could be guilty of stealing carp? Alas! pursued she, sighing, he had, indeed, some fatal design; and, doubtless, would have executed it, had not this fellow so luckily prevented him.

But Mr. Woodbind, madam, said Lucy, saw the carp in his hand: I wonder what he was going to do with them.

Still, resumed Arabella, extremely chagrined, still will you wound my ears with that horrid sound? I tell you, obstinate and foolish wench, that this unhappy man went thither to die; and if he really caught the fish, it was to conceal his design from Woodbind: his great mind could not suggest to him, that it was possible he might be suspected of a baseness like that this ignorant fellow accused him of; therefore he took no care about it, being wholly possessed by his despairing thoughts.

However, madam, said Lucy, your ladyship may prevent his going to the fish-pond again, by laying your commands upon him to live.

I shall do all that I ought, answered Arabella; but my care for the safety of other persons must not make me forget what I owe to my own.

As she had always imputed Mr. Hervey's fancied attempt to carry her away, to the letter she had written to him, upon which he had probably founded his hopes of being pardoned for it, she resolved to be more cautious for the future in giving such instances of her compassion; and was at a great loss in what manner to comfort her despairing lover, without raising expectations she had no inclination to confirm: but she was delivered from her perplexity a few days after, by the news of his having left the marquis's service; which she attributed to some new design he had formed to obtain her; and Lucy, who always thought as her lady did, was of the same opinion; though it was talked among the servants, that Edward feared a discovery of more tricks, and resolved not to stay till he was disgracefully dismissed.

[Chapter VIII.]

In which a mistake, in point of ceremony, is rectified.

Arabella had scarce done thinking of this last adventure, when the marquis communicated a piece of intelligence to her, which opened a prospect of an infinite number of new ones.

His nephew, having just returned from his travels, was preparing to come and pay him a visit in his retreat; and, as he always designed to marry Arabella to this youth, of whom he was extremely fond, he told his daughter of the intended visit of her cousin, whom she had not seen since she was eight years old; and, for the first time, insinuated his design of giving him to her for an husband.

Arabella, whose delicacy was extremely shocked at this abrupt declaration of her father, could hardly hide her chagrin; for, though she always intended to marry some time or other, as all the heroines had done, yet she thought such an event ought to be brought about with an infinite deal of trouble; and that it was necessary she should pass to this state through a great number of cares, disappointments, and distresses of various kinds, like them; that her lover should purchase her with his sword from a crowd of rivals, and arrive to the possession of her heart by many years of services and fidelity.

The impropriety of receiving a lover of her father's recommending appeared in its strongest light. What lady in romance ever married the man that was chosen for her? In those cases the remonstrances of a parent are called persecutions; obstinate resistance, constancy and courage; and an aptitude to dislike the person proposed to them, a noble freedom of mind which disdains to love or hate by the caprice of others.

Arabella, strengthening her own resolutions by those examples of heroic disobedience, told her father, with great solemnity of accent, that she would always obey him in all just and reasonable things; and, being persuaded that he would never attempt to lay any force upon her inclinations, she would endeavour to make them conformable to his, and receive her cousin with that civility and friendship due to so near a relation, and a person whom he honoured with his esteem.

The marquis, having had frequent occasions of admiring his daughter's eloquence, did not draw any unpleasing conclusion from the nice distinctions she made; and, being perfectly assured of her consent whenever he demanded it, expected the arrival of his nephew with great impatience.

Arabella, whose thoughts had been fully employed since this conversation with her father, was indulging her meditations in one of the most retired walks in the garden; when she was informed by Lucy, that her cousin was come, and that the marquis had brought him into the garden to look for her.

That instant they both entered the walk; when Arabella, prepossessed, as she was, against any favourable thoughts of the young Glanville, could not help betraying some surprise at the gracefulness of his figure.

It must be confessed, said she to her attendant, with a smile, that this lover my father has brought us, is no contemptible person: nevertheless, I feel an invincible repugnance in myself against receiving him in that character.

As she finished these words, the marquis came up, and presented Mr. Glanville to her; who, saluting her with the freedom of a relation, gave her a disgust that showed itself immediately in her fair face, which was overspread with such a gloom, that the marquis was quite astonished at it. Indeed Arabella, who expected he would hardly have presumed to kiss her hand, was so surprised at his freedom, in attempting her lips, that she not only expressed her indignation by frowns, but gave him to understand he had mortally offended her.

Mr. Glanville, however, was neither surprised nor angry at her resentment; but, imputing it to her country education, endeavoured to rally her out of her ill humour; and the marquis, being glad to find a behaviour, which he thought proceeded from her dislike of her cousin, was only an effect of an over-scrupulous modesty, told her that Mr. Glanville had committed no offence by saluting her, since that was a civility which was granted to all strangers at the first interview, and therefore could not be refused to a relation.

Since the world is so degenerated in its customs from what it was formerly, said Arabella, with a smile full of contempt upon her cousin, I am extremely happy in having lived in a solitude which has not yet exposed me to the mortification of being a witness to manners I cannot approve; for if every person I shall meet with for the future be so deficient in their respects to ladies, as my cousin is, I shall not care how much I am secluded from society.

But, dear Lady Bella, interrupted Mr. Glanville gaily, tell me, I beseech you, how I must behave to please you; for I should be extremely glad to be honoured with your good opinion.

The person, resumed she, whom I must teach how to acquire my good opinion, will, I am afraid, hardly recompense me by his docility in learning, for the pains I should be at in instructing him.

But, resumed Glanville, that I may avoid any more occasions of offending you, only let me know how you would be approached for the future.

Since, answered she, there is no necessity to renew the ceremony of introducing you again to me, I have not a second affront of that kind to apprehend; but I pray tell me, if all cavaliers are as presuming as yourself; and if a relation of your sex does not think a modest embrace from a lady a welcome sufficiently tender[1]?

Nay, cousin, cried Glanville, eagerly, I am now persuaded you are in the right; an embrace is certainly to be preferred to a cold salute. What would I give, that the marquis would introduce me a second time, that I might be received with so delightful a welcome?

The vivacity with which he spoke this was so extremely disagreeable to Arabella, that she turned from him abruptly, and, striking into another walk, ordered Lucy to tell him she commanded him not to follow her.

Mr. Glanville, however, who had no notion of the exact obedience which was expected from him, would have gone after her, notwithstanding this prohibition, which Lucy delivered in a most peremptory manner, after her lady's example: but the marquis, who had left the two young people at liberty to discourse, and had walked on, that he might not interrupt them, turning about, and seeing Glanville alone, called him to have some private discourse with him; and, for that time, spared Arabella the mortification of seeing her commands disobeyed.

[1] The heroines, though they think a kiss of the hand a great condescension to a lover, and never grant it without blushes and confusion; yet make no scruple to embrace him upon every short absence.

[Chapter IX.]

In which a lover is severely punished for faults which the reader never would have discovered, if he had not been told.

The marquis, though he had resolved to give Arabella to his nephew, was desirous he should first receive some impressions of tenderness for her, before he absolutely declared his resolution; and ardently wished he might be able to overcome that reluctance which she seemed to have for marriage: but, though Glanville in a very few days became passionately in love with his charming cousin, yet she discovered so strong a dislike to him, that the marquis feared it would be difficult to make her receive him for an husband: he observed she took all opportunities of avoiding his conversation; and seemed always out of temper when he addressed any thing to her; but was well enough pleased, when he discoursed with him; and would listen to the long conversations they had together with great attention.

The truth is, she had too much discernment not to see Mr. Glanville had a great deal of merit: his person was perfectly handsome; he possessed a great share of understanding, an easy temper, and a vivacity which charmed every one, but the insensible Arabella.

She often wondered, that a man, who, as she told her confidante, was master of so many fine qualities, should have a disposition so little capable of feeling the passion of love, with the delicacy and fervour she expected to inspire; or that he, whose conversation was so pleasing on every other subject, should make so poor a figure when he entertained her with matters of gallantry. However, added she, I should be to blame to desire to be beloved by Mr. Glanville; for I am persuaded that passion would cause no reformation in the coarseness of his manners to ladies, which makes him so disagreeable to me, and might possibly increase my aversion.

The marquis, having studied his nephew's looks for several days, thought he saw inclination enough in them for Arabella, to make him receive the knowledge of his intention with joy: he, therefore, called him into his closet, and told him in few words, that, if his heart was not pre-engaged, and his daughter capable of making him happy, he resolved to bestow her upon him, together with all his estates.

Mr. Glanville received this agreeable news with the strongest expressions of gratitude; assuring his uncle, that Lady Bella, of all the women he had ever seen, was most agreeable to his taste; and that he felt for her all the tenderness and affection his soul was capable of.

I am glad of it, my dear nephew, said the marquis, embracing him: I will allow you, added he smiling, but a few weeks to court her: gain her heart as soon as you can, and when you bring me her consent, your marriage shall be solemnized immediately.

Mr. Glanville needed not a repetition of so agreeable a command: he left his uncle's closet, with his heart filled with the expectation of his approaching happiness; and, understanding Arabella was in the garden, he went to her with a resolution to acquaint her with the permission her father had given him to make his addresses to her.

He found his fair cousin, as usual, accompanied with her women; and, seeing that, notwithstanding his approach, they still continued to walk with her, and impatient of the restraint they laid him under, I beseech you, cousin, said he, let me have the pleasure of walking with you alone: what necessity is there for always having so many witnesses of our conversation? You may retire, said he, speaking to Lucy, and the other woman; I have something to say to your lady in private.

Stay, I command you, said Arabella, blushing at an insolence so uncommon, and take orders from no one but myself.—I pray you, Sir, pursued she frowning, what intercourse of secrets is there between you and me, that you expect I should favour you with a private conversation? An advantage which none of your sex ever boasted to have gained from me; and which, haply, you should be the last upon whom I should bestow it.

You have the strangest notions, answered Glanville, smiling at the pretty anger she discovered: certainly you may hold a private conversation with any gentleman, without giving offence to decorum; and I may plead a right to this happiness, above any other, since I have the honour to be your relation.

It is not at all surprising, resumed Arabella gravely, that you and I should differ in opinion upon this occasion: I don't remember that ever we agreed in any thing; and, I am apt to believe, we never shall.

Ah! don't say so, Lady Bella, interrupted he: what a prospect of misery you lay before me! For, if we are always to be opposite to each other, it is necessary you must hate me as much as I admire and love you.

These words, which he accompanied with a gentle pressure of her hand, threw the astonished Arabella into such an excess of anger and shame, that, for a few moments, she was unable to utter a word.

What a horrid violation this, of all the laws of gallantry and respect, which decree a lover to suffer whole years in silence before he declares his flame to the divine object that causes it; and then with awful tremblings and submissive prostrations at the feet of the offended fair!

Arabella could hardly believe her senses when she heard a declaration, not only made without the usual forms, but also, that the presumptuous criminal waited for an answer, without seeming to have any apprehension of the punishment to which he was to be doomed; and that, instead of deprecating her wrath, he looked with a smiling wonder upon her eyes, as if he did not fear their lightning would strike him dead.

Indeed, it was scarce possible for him to help smiling, and wondering too, at the extraordinary action of Arabella; for, as soon as he had pronounced those fatal words, she started back two or three steps; cast a look at him full of the highest indignation; and, lifting up her fine eyes to heaven, seemed, in the language of romance, to accuse the gods for subjecting her to so cruel an indignity.

The tumult of her thoughts being a little settled, she turned again towards Glanville, whose countenance expressing nothing of that confusion and anxiety common to an adorer in so critical a circumstance, her rage returned with greater violence than ever.

If I do not express all the resentment your insolence has filled me with, said she to him, affecting more scorn than anger, it is because I hold you too mean for my resentment; but never hope for my pardon for your presumptuous confession of a passion I could almost despise myself for inspiring. If it be true that you love me, go and find your punishment in that absence to which I doom you; and never hope I will suffer a person in my presence, who has affronted me in the manner you have done.

Saying this, she walked away, making a sign to him not to follow her.

Mr. Glanville, who was at first disposed to laugh at the strange manner in which she received his expressions of esteem for her, found something so extremely haughty and contemptuous in the speech she had made, that he was almost mad with vexation.

As he had no notion of his cousin's heroic sentiments, and had never read romances, he was quite ignorant of the nature of his offence; and, supposing the scorn she had expressed for him was founded upon the difference of their rank and fortune, his pride was so sensibly mortified at that thought, and at her so insolently forbidding him her presence, that he was once inclined to show his resentment of such ungenteel usage, by quitting the castle without taking leave even of the marquis, who, he thought, could not be ignorant of the reception he was likely to meet with from his daughter; and ought to have guarded him against it, if he really meant him so well as he seemed to do.

As he was extremely violent and hasty in his resolutions, and nicely sensible of the least affront, he was not in a condition to reason justly upon the marquis's conduct in this affair; and while he was fluctuating with a thousand different resolutions, Lucy came to him with a billet from her lady, which she delivered without staying till he opened it; and was superscribed in this manner:

"ARABELLA, TO THE MOST PRESUMPTUOUS MAN IN THE WORLD——

"You seem to acknowledge so little respect and deference for the commands of a lady, that I am afraid it will be but too necessary to reiterate that, which, at parting, I laid upon you: know then, that I absolutely insist upon your repairing, in the only manner you are able, the affront you have put upon me; which is, by never appearing before me again. If you think proper to confine me to my chamber, by continuing here any longer, you will add disobedience to the crime by which you have already mortally offended

"ARABELLA."

The superscription of this letter, and the uncommon style of it, persuaded Mr. Glanville that what he had been foolish enough to resent as an affront, was designed as a jest, and meant to divert him as well as herself: he examined her behaviour again, and wondered at his stupidity in not discovering it before. His resentment vanishing immediately, he returned to the house; and went, without ceremony, to Arabella's apartment, which he entered before she perceived him, being in a profound musing at one of the windows: the noise he made, in approaching her, obliged her at last to look up; when, starting, as if she had seen a basilisk, she flew to her closet, and shutting the door with great violence, commanded him to leave her chamber immediately.

Mr. Glanville, still supposing her in jest, entreated her to open the door; but, finding she continued obstinate, Well, said he, going away, I shall be revenged on you some time hence, and make you repent the tricks you play me now.

Arabella not being able to imagine any thing, by these words he spoke in raillery, but that he really, in the spite and anguish of his heart, threatened her with executing some terrible enterprise; she did not doubt, but he either intended to carry her away; or, thinking her aversion to him proceeded from his having a rival happy enough to be esteemed by her, those mysterious words he had uttered related to his design of killing him; so that as she knew he could discover no rival to wreak his revenge upon, she feared that, at once to satisfy that passion as well as his love, he would make himself master of her liberty: For, in fine, said she to Lucy, to whom she communicated all her thoughts, have I not every thing to apprehend from a man who knows so little how to treat my sex with the respect which is our due; and who, after having, contrary to the timorous nature of that passion, insulted me with a free declaration of love, treated my commands with the utmost contempt by appearing before me again; and even threatens me with the revenge he is meditating at this moment?

Had Mr. Glanville been present, and heard the terrible misfortunes which she presaged from the few words he had jestingly spoke, he would certainly have made her quite furious, by the diversion her mistake would have afforded him. But the more she reflected on his words, the more she was persuaded of the terrible purpose of them.

It was in vain to acquaint her father with the reasons she had for disliking his choice: his resolution was fixed, and if she did not voluntarily conform to it, she exposed herself to the attempts of a violent and unjust lover, who would either prevail upon the marquis to lay a force upon her inclinations, or make himself master of her person, and never cease persecuting her, till he had obliged her to give him her hand.

Having reasoned herself into a perfect conviction that all these things must necessarily happen, she thought it both just and reasonable to provide for her own security by a speedy flight. The want of a precedent, indeed, for an action of this nature, held her a few moments in suspense; for she did not remember to have read of any heroine that voluntarily left her father's house, however persecuted she might be: but she considered, that there was not any of the ladies in romances, in the same circumstances with herself, who was without a favoured lover, for whose sake it might have been believed she had made an elopement, which would have been highly prejudicial to her glory; and, as there was no foundation for any suspicion of that kind in her case, she thought there was nothing to hinder her from withdrawing from a tyrannical exertion of parental authority, and the secret machinations of a lover, whose aim was to take away her liberty, either by obliging her to marry him, or by making her a prisoner.

[Chapter X.]

Contains several incidents, in which the reader is expected to be extremely interested.

Arabella had spent some hours in her closet, revolving a thousand different stratagems to escape from the misfortune that threatened her; when she was interrupted by Lucy, who, after desiring admittance, informed her, that the marquis, having rode out to take the air that evening, had fallen from his horse and received some hurt; that he was gone to bed, and desired to see her.

Arabella, hearing her father was indisposed, ran to him, excessively alarmed; and reflecting on the resolution she had just before taken, of leaving him, which aggravated her concern, she came to his bed-side with her eyes swimming in tears. Mr. Glanville was sitting near him; but, rising at her appearance to give her his chair, which she accepted without taking any notice of him, he stood at some distance contemplating her face, to which sorrow had given so many charms, that he gazed on her with an eagerness and delight that could not escape her observation.

She blushed excessively at the passionate looks he gave her; and, finding the marquis's indisposition not considerable enough to oblige her to a constant attendance at his bed-side, she took the first opportunity of returning to her chamber; but as she was going out, Glanville presented his hand to lead her up stairs: which she scornfully refusing;

Sure, cousin, said he, a little piqued, you are not disposed to carry on your ill-natured jest any further?

If you imagined I jested with you, said Arabella, I am rather to accuse the slowness of your understanding, for your persisting in treating me thus freely, than the insolence I first imputed it to: but, whatever is the cause of it, I now tell you again, that you have extremely offended me; and, if my father's illness did not set bounds to my resentment at present, I would make you know, that I would not suffer the injury you do me, so patiently.

Since you would have me to believe you are serious, replied Glanville, be pleased to let me know what offence it is you complain of; for I protest I am quite at a loss to understand you.

Was it not enough, resumed Arabella, to affront me with an insolent declaration of your passion, but you must also, in contempt of my commands to the contrary, appear before me again, pursue me to my chamber, and use the most brutal menaces to me?

Hold, pray, madam, interrupted Glanville, and suffer me to ask you, if it is my presumption, in declaring myself your admirer that you are so extremely offended at?

Doubtless it is, sir, answered Arabella; and such a presumption, as, without the aggravating circumstances you have since added to it, is sufficient to make me always your enemy.

I beg pardon, returned Mr. Glanville gravely, for that offence; and also, for staying any longer in a house which you have so genteelly turned me out of.

My pardon, Mr. Glanville, resumed she, is not so easily gained: time, and your repentance, may, indeed, do much towards obtaining it.

Saying this, she made a sign to him to retire, for he had walked up with her to her chamber: but, finding he did not obey her, for really he was quite unacquainted with these sorts of dumb commands, she hastily retired to her closet, lest he should attempt to move her pity by any expressions of despair for the cruel banishment she had doomed him to.

Mr. Glanville, seeing she had shut herself up in her closet, left her chamber, and retired to his own, more confounded than ever at the behaviour of his cousin.

Her bidding him so peremptorily to leave the house, would have equally persuaded him of her ignorance and ill-breeding, had not the elegance of her manners, in every other respect, proved the contrary; nor was it possible to doubt she had a great share of understanding, since her conversation, singular as some of her sentiments seemed to him, was far superior to most other ladies. Therefore, he concluded the affront he had received proceeded from her disdain to admit the addresses of any person whose quality was inferior to hers; which, probably, was increased to some particular dislike she had to his person.

His honour would not permit him to make use of that advantage her father's authority could give him; and, wholly engrossed by his resentment of the usage he had received from her, he resolved to set out for London the next day without seeing the marquis, from whom he was apprehensive of some endeavours to detain him.

Having taken this resolution, he ordered his servant to have the horses ready early in the morning; and, without taking any notice of his intention, he left the castle, riding, as fast as possible to the next stage, from whence he wrote to his uncle; and, dispatching a messenger with his letter, held on his way to London.

The marquis, being pretty well recovered from his indisposition by a good night's rest, sent for Mr. Glanville in the morning, to walk with him, as was his custom, in the garden; but, hearing he had rode out, though he imagined it was only to take the air, yet he could not help accusing him, in his own thoughts, of a little neglect; for which he resolved to chide him, when he returned: but his long stay filling him with some surprise, he was beginning to express his fears that something had befallen him, to Arabella, who was then with him; when a servant presented him the letter, which Mr. Glanville's messenger had that moment brought.

The marquis casting his eyes on the direction, and knowing his nephew's hand, Bless me! cried he, extremely surprised, what can this mean? Bella, added he, here's a letter from your cousin.

Arabella, at these words, started up; and, preventing her father, with a respectful action, from opening it, I beseech you, my lord, said she, before you read this letter, suffer me to assure you, that if it contains any thing fatal, I am not at all accessary to it: it is true I have banished my cousin, as a punishment for the offence he was guilty of towards me; but, Heaven is my witness, I did not design his death; and if he has taken any violent resolution against himself, he has greatly exceeded my commands.

The marquis, whose surprise was considerably increased by these words, hastily broke open the letter, which she perceiving, hurried out of the room; and, locking herself up in her closet, began to bewail the effect of her charms, as if she was perfectly assured of her cousin's death.

The marquis, however, who, from Lady Bella's exclamation, had prepared himself for the knowledge of some very extraordinary accident, was less surprised than he would otherwise have been at the contents; which were as follow:—

"MY LORD,

"As my leaving your house so abruptly will certainly make me appear guilty of a most unpardonable rudeness, I cannot dispense with myself from acquainting your lordship with the cause; though, to spare the reproaches Lady Bella will probably cast on me for doing so, I could wish you knew it by any other means.

"But, my lord, I value your esteem too much to hazard the loss of it by suffering you to imagine, that I am capable of doing any thing to displease you. Lady Bella was pleased to order me to stay no longer in the house; and menaced me with some very terrible usage, if I disobeyed her: she used so many other contemptuous expressions to me, that, I am persuaded, I shall never be so happy as to possess the honour you designed for, my lord, your most obedient, &c.

"CHARLES GLANVILLE."

When the marquis had read this letter, he went to his daughter's apartment with an intention to chide her severely for her usage of his nephew; but, seeing her come to meet him with her eyes bathed in tears, he insensibly lost some part of his resentment.

Alas! my lord, said she, I know you come prepared to load me with reproaches, upon my cousin's account; but, I beseech your lordship, do not aggravate my sorrows: though I banished Mr. Glanville, I did not desire his death; and, questionless, if he knew how I resent it, his ghost would be satisfied with the sacrifice I make him.

The marquis, not being able to help smiling at this conceit, which he saw had so strongly possessed her imagination, that she had no sort of doubt but that her cousin was dead, asked her, if she really believed Mr. Glanville loved her well enough to die with grief at her ill usage of him?

If, said she, he loves me not well enough to die for me, he certainly loves me but little; and I am the less obliged to him.

But I desire to know, interrupted the marquis, for what crime it was you took the liberty to banish him from my house?

I banished him, my lord, resumed she, for his presumption in telling me he loved me.

That presumption, as you call it, though I know not for what reason, said the marquis, was authorised by me: therefore, know, Bella, that I not only permit him to love you, but I also expect you should endeavour to return his affection; and look upon him as the man whom I design for your husband: there's his letter, pursued he, putting it into her hand. I blush for the rudeness you have been guilty of; but endeavour to repair it, by a more obliging behaviour for the future: I am going to send after him immediately to prevail upon him to return: therefore, write him an apology, I charge you; and have it done by the time my messenger is ready to set out.

Saying this, he went out of the room; Arabella eagerly opened the letter; and, finding it in a style so different from what she expected, her dislike of him returned with more violence than ever.

Ah! the traitor! said she aloud, is it thus that he endeavours to move my compassion? How greatly did I over-rate his affection, when I imagined his despair was capable of killing him? Disloyal man! pursued she, walking about, is it by complaints to my father that thou expectest to succeed? And dost thou imagine the heart of Arabella is to be won by violence and injustice?

In this manner she wasted the time allotted for her to write; and, when the marquis sent for her letter, having no intention to comply, she went to his chamber, conjuring him not to oblige her to a condescension so unworthy of her.

The marquis, being now excessively angry with her, rose up in a fury, and, leading her to his writing-desk, ordered her, instantly, to write to her cousin.

If I must write, my lord, said she, sobbing, pray be so good as to dictate what I must say.

Apologize for your rude behaviour, said the marquis; and desire him, in the most obliging manner you can, to return.

Arabella, seeing there was a necessity for obeying, took up the pen, and wrote the following billet:

"The unfortunate Arabella, to the most ungenerous Glanville.

"It is not by the power I have over you, that I command you to return, for I disclaim any empire over so unworthy a subject; but, since it is my father's pleasure I should invite you back, I must let you know, that I repeal your banishment, and expect you will immediately return with the messenger who brings this. However, to spare your acknowledgments, know, that it is in obedience to my father's absolute commands, that you receive this mandate from

"Arabella."

Having finished this billet, she gave it to the marquis to read; who, finding a great deal of his own haughtiness of temper in it, could not resolve to check her for a disposition so like his own: yet, he told her, her style was very uncommon. And pray, added he, smiling, who taught you to superscribe your letters thus? "The unfortunate Arabella, to the most ungenerous Glanville." Why, Bella, this superscription is wholly calculated for the bearer's information: but come, alter it immediately; for I don't choose my messenger should know, that you are unfortunate, or that my nephew is ungenerous.

Pray, my lord, replied Arabella, content yourself with what I have already done in obedience to your commands, and suffer my letter to remain as it is: methinks it is but reasonable I should express some little resentment at the complaint my cousin has been pleased to make to you against me; nor can I possibly make my letter more obliging, without being guilty of an unpardonable meanness.

You are a strange girl, replied the marquis, taking the letter, and enclosing it in one from himself; in which he earnestly entreated his nephew to return, threatening him with his displeasure if he disobeyed; and assuring him, that his daughter would receive him as well as he could possibly desire.

The messenger being dispatched, with orders to ride post, and overtake the young gentleman, he obeyed his orders so well, that he came up with him at ——, where he intended to lodge that night.

Mr. Glanville, who expected his uncle would make use of some methods to recall him, opened his letter without any great emotion; but seeing another enclosed, his heart leaped to his mouth, not doubting but it was a letter from Arabella; but the contents surprised him so much, that he hardly knew whether he ought to look upon them as an invitation to return, or a new affront, her words were so distant and haughty. The superscription being much the same with a billet he had received from her in the garden, which had made him conclude her in jest, he knew not what to think of it. One would swear this dear girl's head is turned, said he to himself, if she had not more wit than her whole sex besides.

After reading Arabella's letter several times, he at last opened his uncle's; and, seeing the pressing instances he made him to return, he resolved to obey; and the next morning he set out for the castle.

Arabella, during the time her cousin was expected, appeared so melancholy and reserved, that the marquis was extremely uneasy. You have never, said he to her, disobeyed me in any one action of your life; and I may with reason expect you will conform to my will in the choice I have made of a husband for you, since it is impossible to make any objection either to his person or mind; and, being the son of my sister, he is certainly not unworthy of you, though he has not a title.

My first wish, my lord, replied Arabella, is to live single, not being desirous of entering into any engagement which may hinder my solicitude and cares, and lessen my attendance, upon the best of fathers, who, till now, has always most tenderly complied with my inclinations in every thing: but if it is your absolute command, that I should marry, give me not to one, who, though he has the honour to be allied to you, has neither merited your esteem, nor my favour, by any action worthy of his birth, or the passion he pretends to have for me; for, in fine, my lord, by what services has he deserved the distinction with which you honour him? Has he ever delivered you from any considerable danger? Has he saved your life, and hazarded his own for you, upon any occasion whatever? Has he merited my esteem, by his sufferings, fidelity, and respect; or, by any great and generous action, given me a testimony of his love, which should oblige me to reward him with my affection? Ah! my lord, I beseech you, think not so unworthily of your daughter, as to bestow her upon one who has done so little to deserve her: if my happiness be dear to you, do not precipitate me into a state from whence you cannot recall me, with a person whom I can never affect.

She would have gone on, but the marquis interrupted her sternly: I'll hear no more, said he, of your foolish and ridiculous objections. What stuff is this you talk of? What service am I to expect from my nephew? And by what sufferings is he to merit your esteem? Assure yourself, Arabella, continued he, that I will never pardon you, if you presume to treat my nephew in the manner you have done. I perceive you have no real objection to make to him: therefore I expect you will endeavour to obey me without reluctance; for, since you seem to be so little acquainted with what will most conduce to your own happiness, you must not think it strange, if I insist upon directing your choice in the most important business of your life.

Arabella was going to reply, but the marquis ordered her to be silent; and she went to her own apartment in so much affliction, that she thought her misfortunes were not exceeded by any she had ever read.

[Chapter XI.]

In which a logical argument is unseasonably interrupted.

The marquis was also extremely uneasy at her obstinacy: he desired nothing more ardently than to marry her to his nephew; but he could not resolve to force her consent; and, however determined he appeared to her, yet, in reality, he intended only to use persuasions to effect what he desired; and, from the natural sweetness of her temper, he was sometimes not without hopes that she might at last be prevailed upon to comply.

His nephew's return restored him to part of his usual tranquillity: after he had gently chid him for suffering himself to be so far transported with his resentment at the little humours of a lady, as to leave his house without acquainting him, he bade him go to Arabella, and endeavour to make his peace with her.

Mr. Glanville accordingly went to her apartment, resolving to oblige her to come to some explanation with him concerning the offence she complained of; but that fair incensed lady, who had taken shelter in her closet, ordered Lucy to tell him she was indisposed, and could not see him.

Glanville, however, comforted himself for this disappointment by the hopes of seeing her at supper; and accordingly she came, when the supper-bell rung, and, making a very cool compliment to her cousin, placed herself at table. The soft languor that appeared in her eyes, gave such an additional charm to one of the loveliest faces in the world, that Glanville, who sat opposite to her, could not help gazing on her with a very particular attention; he often spoke to her, and asked her trifling questions, for the sake of hearing the sound of her voice, which sorrow had made enchantingly sweet.

When supper was over, she would have retired; but the marquis desired her to stay and entertain her cousin, while he went to look over some dispatches he had received from London.

Arabella blushed with anger at this command; but not daring to disobey, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, as if she dreaded to hear something that would displease her.

Well, cousin, said Glanville, though you desire to have no empire over so unworthy a subject as myself, yet I hope you are not displeased at my returning, in obedience to your commands.

Since I am not allowed any will of my own, said she, sighing, it matters not whether I am pleased or displeased; nor is it of any consequence to you to know.