The history still advances.
Henrietta, though an early riser, and though she rose next morning earlier than usual, yet found, upon her going down, Mrs. Willis had waited breakfast for her some time.
As soon as the tea-equipage was removed, she retired to leave Mrs. Willis at liberty to go about her domestick affairs; and, when alone, was again assaulted with all those cruel reflections which had almost incessantly filled her mind since her flight from her aunt. Among these, miss Woodby’s treachery suggested none of the least painful: she was ashamed of her credulity, of her ill-placed confidence; indignation for the shocking treatment she had met with from her succeeded. She was upon the point of sitting down to write to her, and to express the deepest resentment of her malice and treachery; when, recollecting the extreme levity of that young woman’s temper, her ridiculous affectation, her folly and insensibility, she thought it would ill become her to make serious remonstrances to one who only merited contempt; that by taking no further notice of her, that contempt would be best expressed, and her own consciousness of the part she had acted would account for it.
While she was thus ruminating, Mrs. Willis’s maid introduced two porters bringing in a large trunk to her apartment. They delivered her the key sealed up, and a letter from Mr. Damer, in which he informed her, he would wait on her that afternoon.
She opened the trunk trembling; it contained all her cloaths, linen, and all the trinkets her aunt had given her. She searched eagerly in it to see if there was a letter for her; but finding none, she threw herself into a chair, and burst into a flood of tears.
While her aunt retained her cloaths, she had formed a feeble hope that she was anxious for her return, and would facilitate it, by assuring Mr. Damer, that she would no more press her to the hated marriage, nor think of confining her in a convent; but now what could she conclude, but that she had abandoned her for ever, and that a reconciliation was not to be expected. The most gloomy prospects offered themselves to her view, poverty, dependence, neglect; but what was worse than all, the loss perhaps of reputation. How should she be able to excuse herself to the world for her late action; the world which judges actions only by their success: and when it beheld her unhappy and reduced to indigence, would not fail to conclude her guilty.
In these melancholy apprehensions did she wear away the hours till summoned to dinner by Mrs. Willis, who, with tender concern, perceived that she was afflicted, but would not discover that she perceived it; and used her utmost endeavours to amuse her, yet without any apparent solicitude, lest it should alarm her sensibility with a fear that her uneasiness was observed.
Mr. Damer came according to his promise in the afternoon: his arrival gave almost as much satisfaction to Mrs. Willis, as to her fair anxious lodger, from a hope that it would produce some comfort to her. The young merchant instantly discovered that Henrietta had been weeping; and, as soon as Mrs. Willis withdrew, he tenderly approached her, and taking her hand, asked her if any thing new had happened to give her disturbance? Henrietta replied with a hasty question, “Have you any message for me from my aunt, sir?”
“I cannot say I have a message for you, miss,” answered Mr. Damer; “your aunt has indeed wrote to me.” “May I not see her letter?” asked miss Courteney again, eagerly. “To be sure,” said he, taking it out of his pocket, and presenting it to her, “I wish it was conceived in more favourable terms.” Miss Courteney read it trembling, and found it as follows:
SIR,
I HAVE given directions that every thing which belongs to that unhappy girl my niece should be sent to you, that if you know where she is, they may be conveyed to her. She has, by her scandalously running away from me, ruined her own character, and brought aspersions upon mine; since even those who condemn her most, will likewise blame me, as if I had acted unkindly towards her.
May the loss of my affection be the least of her misfortunes; though the worst that can possibly happen are likely to be the punishment of her ingratitude and folly.
Henrietta returned the letter to Mr. Damer with a sigh. “I have indeed (said she) irrecoverably lost her affection: but, sir, it is fit my aunt should know where I am, and that I solicited your protection as soon as I could. This will preserve me from some of those unfavourable suspicions which she mentions so severely. I will write to her instantly.”
“Oh! no, by no means,” said Mr. Damer, “I think it will be best for me to make a visit to lady Meadows, and tell her, that you are under my care, and that I have placed you here.”
“And will you take the trouble to go to Windsor, sir,” said miss Courteney, extremely delighted with this expedient. “I would go any where,” said Mr. Damer, “to serve you. Pray make yourself easy.”
“I shall be easier,” said miss Courteney, “when my aunt knows that this scandalous runaway is under proper protection, and is accountable for all her actions to your father. Perhaps she may relent when she is convinced I am not so indiscreet as she imagined, and that I had no other motive for leaving her but the fear of being confined in a convent. If you find my aunt absolutely resolved not to be reconciled to me, I must then consider how to dispose of myself in a way more suitable to my circumstances.”
“Remember, miss,” said Mr. Damer, with some emotion, “that you are under my care—I hope you will take no resolution without acquainting me.” “No certainly,” replied Henrietta—“but, sir, I have no fortune; I am lodged, attended, and treated, as if I had a very considerable one. This expence I shall not be willing to support a great while longer, it will break in too much upon that trifling sum, which was put into your father’s hands, for my brother’s use as well as mine. Heaven knows (said she, sighing) whether he is alive; if he is, he will probably need it; if he is not, it will go but a very little way in supporting me in the manner in which I now live.”
While Henrietta was speaking in this manner, Mr. Damer seemed ready to interrupt her several times, but checked himself as if upon better recollection; when she was silent, he walked about the room, musing; then suddenly turning towards her,
“These considerations, miss, (said he) ought at least to be postponed till my father’s return, and I think you may rely upon his prudence: he will certainly take care that your expences shall not exceed your income; in placing you here, I have done what I thought would be agreeable to him.”
Henrietta, observing that he was in some confusion, was concerned that she had spoke so freely, being apprehensive that he understood what she had said as a distrust of his prudence. She therefore told him, that if he found her aunt implacable, she would be extremely well satisfied to continue with Mrs. Willis as long as Mr. Damer should think it necessary.
This assurance satisfied the young merchant, who left her with a promise to see lady Meadows the next day, and to wait on her as soon as possible, with an account of the success of his visit.
She passed this interval in a state of anxiety and suspence, that doubled every hour. As soon as she saw Mr. Damer again, she endeavoured to read in his countenance, before he spoke, the news he had brought her.
“Well, miss (said he) I have seen your aunt.” He paused; and Henrietta, in a faultering accent, begged him to tell her in one word, whether he had succeeded or not?
“Indeed I have not: (said he) lady Meadows seems resolved never to forgive you for running away from her; but don’t despair, my father may have more weight with her.” “It is at least some comfort (said she) that she knows I am under your protection.” “I have a letter from my father,” said Mr. Damer, “he has got the gout in his right hand; he dictated it to one of his clerks, and therefore speaks with reserve of you. He desires me to tell you, that he hopes to be in London in three weeks at farthest, when he will use his utmost endeavours to reconcile you to your aunt; and, in the mean time, recommends you most affectionately to my care.”
This account of her guardian’s kind concern for her, gave some relief to the depressed spirits of miss Courteney, who, although she had not flattered herself with any hope from the young merchant’s mediation with her aunt, was as much shocked at the confirmation of her continued displeasure, as if she had not expected it. However, she expressed a grateful sense of his services, and disposed herself to wait with patience for the arrival of Mr. Damer, who alone could determine her destiny.