In which Henrietta concludes her history.
Oh! my dear,” interrupted miss Woodby, laughing, “you have given an excellent name to a species of folly, which at once excites one’s laughter and indignation. I know an old lady who is a constant frequenter of the chapel in Oxford-road, that has arrived to such a heighth of spiritual vanity as you justly term it, that she fancies Providence is perpetually exerting itself in miracles for her preservation, and that her most inconsiderable actions are under the immediate direction of Heaven; for she will tell you with surprising meekness and humility, that unworthy as she is, she is in high favour with God; if she happens to stumble against a stone without falling, she says, with a smile of conscious satisfaction, To be sure God is very good to me. According to her, God acts by partial, not by general laws. And should it cease raining immediately before she is to go out, either to church or a visit, it is all one, she supposes that Providence is at that moment at work for her, and has cleared the skies that she may walk with conveniency; for she cannot always purchase a coach or a chair, half of her little income being appropriated to the preachers, from whose doctrine she has imbibed these self-flattering ideas.”
“Oh!” said miss Courteney, laughing, “you have heightened the colouring of this picture exceedingly.”
“Upon my word I have not,” said miss Woodby, “and—but that I am not willing to interrupt your story so long, I could give you an hundred proofs of this odd species of pride; for I assure you, my dear, the haughtiest beauty in the drawing-room, amidst a croud of adorers, and in the fullest display of airs and graces, has not half the vanity of one of these saints of Whitefield’s or Wesley’s creation.”23
“I really pity the poor woman you mentioned,” said Henrietta; “she appears to me to be very far from attaining to any degree of perfection: for may it not be supposed that this unreasonable confidence will lead her to neglect many duties very essential to a good christian? For I have heard it observed, that the preachers of that sect chiefly declaim against fashionable follies; and, according to them, to dress with elegance, to go to a play or an opera, or to make one at a party of cards, are mortal sins; mean time poor morals are wholly neglected, and superstition is made an equivalent to a virtuous life.”
“Yet a writer,” replied miss Woodby, “who is greatly admired by our sex, and who in his works pays court to all religions, carrying himself so evenly amidst them, that it is hard to distinguish to which he most inclines, has introduced these modern saints reclaiming a woman who had led a very vicious life, and doing more than all the best orthodox divines had done; and he has not thrown away his compliment: I dare say this numerous sect has bought up an impression of his book; and is not the third edition upon the title-page a very good return to it?24 Oh! my dear, there is no vanity like the vanity of some authors: it is not to be doubted but if there were mussulmen25 enough in the kingdom to add a unit more to the account of those editions, but we should find him introducing the alcoran,26 making proselytes from luxury—But how have we wandered from your story—You are still at Windsor—I long to hear the rest.”
“I assure you, my dear,” said miss Courteney, sighing, “I have not been sorry for this little interruption: it has given some relief to my mind; for I know not how it is, but the recollection of this period is painful to me; and yet under the same perplexity, and with the same apprehensions, I should certainly act again as I have done. I think I told you that Mr. Danvers went in the coach with my aunt; a circumstance with which I had reason to be rejoiced, as it greatly facilitated my escape. I was still lingering over the tea-table, uncertain in what manner I should perform my little journey, when Mrs. White came into the room: she was apprehensive that I should be uneasy at my aunt’s and the chaplain’s excursion together, as supposing it was to settle something relating to their scheme; and therefore made haste to inform me, that my aunt had been summoned to Richmond, by a message from a Roman catholic friend of her’s, who was dangerously ill there; and desired to see her, together with Mr. Danvers, who was her ghostly father, as they term it.
“Mrs. White continued to talk to me on the subject of my aunt’s design, while I was considering whether it would be proper to make her the confident of my intended flight to London, and engage her to procure me some vehicle to carry me thither. But it was possible she might not approve of my leaving my aunt so suddenly, in which case I should find it difficult to get away: besides, I did not think it reasonable to involve her in the consequences of my flight, by making her privy to it; and that the only way to enable her to justify herself to my aunt was not to make her guilty. I therefore resolved to steal out of the house, and go as far as I could on foot, not doubting but chance would throw some carriage in my way, in which I might finish my journey; and to gain all the time I could, I told Mrs. White, that my anxiety had hindered me from sleeping all night; that I was not well, and would go to my chamber and try to get some repose, desiring her not to disturb me.
“Having thus got four hours at least before me, I resolved to write a short letter to my aunt before I went. In this letter I told her, that having accidentally discovered her intention of sending me to a convent abroad, my terrors of such a confinement had forced me to throw myself under the protection of Mr. Damer; that I hoped, through his mediation, to convince her I had been guilty of no imprudences which could merit such severe usage as a punishment, and was not so unsettled in my religion as to be perverted by that or any other means. I begged her to believe, that except in that article, and in marrying contrary to my inclinations, I would pay her the same obedience as to a parent; but that I would rather submit to the lowest state of poverty, than marry a man whom I could neither love nor esteem; or change the religion in which I was bred, and with which I was entirely satisfied. I concluded with earnestly intreating to be restored to her good opinion, which I assured her I would always endeavour to deserve.
“Having sealed and directed this letter, I put it into one of my dressing-boxes, not doubting but as soon as I was missing, every thing that belonged to me would be searched for letters, in hopes of further discoveries. I next tied up some linen in a handkerchief, and with an aking heart, sallied out of my chamber, and crossed a passage-room which had steps leading to the garden. As soon as I had got out of the back-door, which opened into the forest, I concluded myself safe from discovery: and mended my pace; having no difficulty in finding my way, because I pursued the road which I had often traversed in a coach or a chaise.
“You will easily imagine my mind was full of melancholy reflections, and indeed so entirely was I engrossed by them for near an hour, that I did not perceive I was tired, till I grew so faint I was hardly able to move a step farther. I had now got into the open road, and it being about the time when I might expect to see some of the stage-coaches from Windsor pass that way, I sat down under the shade of a large tree, at some distance from the road, impatiently wishing for the sight. All this time I had not been alarmed with the fear of meeting with any insult, for I had seen no one from whom I could apprehend any such thing; but I had scarce enjoyed this comfortable shelter three minutes, when I perceived two ill looking fellows, as I thought them, making towards me with all the speed they were able. I started up in inconceivable terror, looking round me to see if any help was near if they should assault me, when I fortunately discovered the stage-coach; and being now eased of my fears, I resumed my station, till it was come near enough for me to speak to the driver. The two fellows who had given me such a terrible alarm, stopped short upon seeing the coach, and I really believe I had an escape from them.
“I called out to the coachman as soon as he could hear me. You know, my dear, the difficulties I found in getting admission. Little did those good women, who refused it, imagine that to avoid a slight inconvenience to themselves, they were consigning me over to the greatest distress imaginable.”
“Wretches!” exclaimed miss Woodby, “I cannot think of them without detestation; but, my dear, (pursued she) did not you wonder to see a person of any figure in a stage-coach? As for you, I soon discovered there was something extraordinary in your case: but what did you think of me with such company, and in such an equipage?”
“Indeed, my dear,” said miss Courteney, “at that time a stage-coach appeared to me a most desirable vehicle, and I had not then the least notion of its being a mean one; so greatly do our opinions of things alter with our circumstances and situations: besides, a difficulty then occurred to my thoughts, which, amidst the hurry and precipitation with which I quitted my aunt’s house, had not been sufficiently attended to before, and that was how I should dispose of myself for a few days, till Mr. Damer’s return; for it was necessary I should conceal myself with great care, having so much to apprehend from my aunt’s bigotry and prejudices, and the (perhaps) interested officiousness of her chaplain.
“Under what strange disadvantages had I lodgings to seek for! by an assumed name, with an immediate occasion for them; and no recommendation to any particular house, which I could be sure was a reputable one. Your politeness, and the unexpected offer of your friendship, encouraged me to communicate my distress to you, and to intreat your assistance; and I must still regret the unlucky mistake that brought me hither instead of Mrs. Egret’s. And now, my dear, you have my whole story before you. Have I not been very unfortunate? and am I not in a most dreadful situation? But what it chiefly concerns me to know, does your judgment acquit me of imprudence and folly in this precipitate flight from my aunt, to whom I owed so many benefits, and on whom I depended for support?”
“Approve your flight!” cried miss Woodby; “Yes certainly, child: who would not fly from a bigot, a priest, and an old hideous lover? I protest I would in your case have done the same thing.” “Well, that is some comfort,” replied miss Courteney; “but every body will not think as you do; and to a mind of any delicacy, sure nothing is so shocking as to have a reputation to defend; and the step I have taken will no doubt expose me to many unfavourable censures.”
“And do you imagine,” said miss Woodby, “that with a form so pleasing, and an understanding so distinguished, you will be exempted from the tax that envy is sure to levy upon merit? Don’t you know what the most sensible of all poets says:
Envy will merit as its shade pursue,
And like a shadow proves the substance true.27
“Take my word for it, it is no great compliment we pay to persons, when we tell them that all the world speaks well of them; for those who are remarkable for any shining qualities will be more envied than admired, and frequently more calumniated than praised. But, child,” pursued the volatile miss Woodby, assuming a sprightly air, “how do you intend to dispose of yourself to-day; it is late: I must go home to dress.”
“Dispose of myself,” repeated miss Courteney, “even in this solitary chamber; for I am determined, since I must stay here a day or two longer, to be as little with my landlady as possible.”
Miss Woodby then fluttered down stairs, followed by her fair friend, who took that opportunity to tell Mrs. Eccles, that she should not leave her so suddenly as she had imagined, which was very agreeable news to the millener; who had no other objection to her beautiful lodger, but her extreme reserve, which did not at all suit her purposes.