The history continued.
Our fair heroine continued some time alone in her chamber, so transported at this unexpected meeting with her brother, that she sometimes doubted whether her happiness was real, and whether all that had past was not an illusion of her fancy. When her spirits were a little composed, she began to consider what reason she should give miss Belmour for quitting her so suddenly: she rightly judged that the secrecy her brother had recommended to her, proceeded from his embarrassment with regard to Mr. Melvil; and she resolved, however strange her going away might appear to miss Belmour, to follow his directions punctually.
The treachery this young lady had been guilty of towards her, excited less resentment than grief for the conviction it brought her, that her principles were not changed. Several circumstances now rushed upon her memory, which served to convince her she was relapsing into her former indiscretions; and she doubted not but miss Belmour would be rejoiced to be delivered from her presence. This thought gave her courage to go to her immediately, and acquaint her with her intention.
“A strange alteration has happened in my affairs, madam,” said she, entering her apartment, “within this hour.”
“That letter has brought you some good news, I suppose,” said miss Belmour, coldly.
“It came from a dear and worthy friend, madam,” replied Henrietta; “and I have indeed heard some good news, which I little expected: but I am obliged to leave you, and so suddenly, that I am afraid you will think me ungrateful for your kindness, in submitting to this necessity.”
“Pray make no apologies,” interrupted miss Belmour, with great indifference, “you are entirely at your liberty.”
Henrietta, who thought she had reason for this behaviour, was studying for some answer, which, without revealing the secret motive of her conduct, might tend in some measure to excuse it; when a servant introduced a gentleman into the room, who, though she had seen but once, she knew immediately to be Mr. Morley. She turned eagerly to observe how miss Belmour was affected by this visit; and discovering no signs of surprise or anger in her countenance, but an excess of joy and satisfaction, she concluded this meeting was concerted, and retired immediately, in great concern, to her own room.
Here, while she waited her brother’s return, she employed herself in writing to miss Belmour. In this letter she repeated what she had often urged before, to guard her against the base designs of her lover: she recalled to her remembrance the resolution she had made, and the vows with which she had sealed it, never more to listen to his destructive addresses; and conjured her, by every motive of religion, honour, and virtue, to banish from her sight a man whose only aim was to ruin her.
She had scarce finished her letter, when a servant came to tell her that some company waited for her in a coach. She made haste to seal it, and gave it to miss Belmour’s maid, with orders to deliver it to her lady. At the door she found her brother, who helped her into the coach, and came in after her. He asked her, smiling, how she had parted with miss Belmour?
Henrietta told him, she had left her with company. “It is indifferent to me what company she sees now you are not with her,” said he: “but my heart will not be at rest till I hear all your story, sister.”
Henrietta promised to satisfy him when they were arrived at her new lodgings. “I am also impatient (said she) to know your adventures; why you called yourself Freeman, and what was the cause of your not writing to me for so many months past.”
“To say the truth, my dear sister (said he) I have been guilty of a little neglect in not writing to you oftener: however, some of my letters must certainly have miscarried; for I wrote to you both from Brussels and Genoa, and I don’t remember I had any answer. The account you gave me of Mr. Damer’s kindness in taking upon him the office of your guardian, and your happy settlement with lady Meadows, made me perfectly easy with regard to you. I had informed you that I was appointed governor to the marquis of ——: this young nobleman had contracted a friendship with me during his stay at Leyden, where his governor dying, he wrote to his father the duke of ——, in such pressing terms in my favour, which, joined to the knowledge of my birth, and very high recommendations from the university, had so much weight with him, that his grace, notwithstanding my youth, appointed me governor to his son, with a salary of five hundred pounds a year. I have endeavoured to acquit myself faithfully of this trust; my pupil and I have always lived together like brothers; and I flatter myself his father will have no cause to repent his having consigned him to my care.”
“But why did you take the names of Melvil and Freeman?” interrupted Henrietta.
“The marquis,” replied Mr. Courteney, “had an inclination to travel without the parade of quality, that he might, as he wrote to his father, make nearer and more useful observations upon men and manners; and, being indulged in this scheme, we have travelled through France and Italy under those names, and with a very small equipage. And now, Henrietta, that you know the quality of my friend, I expect you will not entertain any ridiculous hopes from the liking he has expressed for you. I will do him the justice to own that he never formed any dishonourable designs upon you. The character of the woman you lived with, encouraged me to make you some shocking proposals. You behaved very properly; but, my dear sister, no words can express my anguish and confusion, when I heard you own the name of Courteney, and your connexions with Mr. Damer—Good Heaven! what did I not suffer at that moment—What a wretch did I seem in my own eyes!”
“Let not this cruel remembrance disturb you now, my dear brother,” said Henrietta; “I am so happy in finding you, that I forget all my past uneasinesses.”
Her looks bore delightful witness to the truth of what she said. Joy sparkled in her charming eyes, heightened the rosy bloom of her complexion, and animated her whole air: but, dearly as she loved her brother, the assurance he gave her, that her lover had no part in the dishonourable proposals he had made her, was a circumstance that greatly increased her satisfaction in this meeting.
Mr. Courteney looked at her with admiration and delight, while a tender sense of the misfortunes she had been exposed to, almost melted him into tears. As soon as the coach stopped, he told her, that the master of the house they were going into was a very worthy man, with whom he was intimately acquainted, and whose prudence he could depend upon. “His wife (pursued he) is a virtuous, sensible woman: I know no family so proper to place you in as this; and it was extremely lucky that I thought of them upon this occasion, for it was not fit you should stay with miss Belmour, and in so short a time it was difficult to dispose of you properly.”
As soon as they alighted, Mrs. Knight came to receive Henrietta, and presented her husband to her. Both seemed greatly charmed with her appearance, and politely thanked Mr. Courteney for bringing them so agreeable a guest.
After a few compliments they withdrew, supposing the brother and sister would be glad of an opportunity to converse together in private. Mr. Courteney immediately drew his chair near his sister’s, and, with a look of impatience, demanded the account she had promised him.
Henrietta blushed, and begged him not to judge her errors too severely. She then gave him a candid relation of all that had happened to her, from her mother’s death till the time she met him at the inn, concealing nothing from him but miss Belmour’s passion for Mr. Morley.
Mr. Courteney was variously affected during the course of her little story. He often changed countenance, but would not interrupt her. He observed with pleasure, that she laid no stress upon any part of her conduct, which might with justice challenge esteem and admiration, but appeared nicely conscious of every little imprudence; and, when she had ended, waited for his reply, with an anxiety that shewed she rather expected censure than praise.
“My dear Henrietta,” said Mr. Courteney, at length, with tears in his eyes; “you have acted nobly; you cannot imagine how much your sufferings endear you to me, since you have behaved under them with such becoming fortitude.”
“How happy you make me,” cried Henrietta, “by your approbation—Indeed I was afraid you would have chidden me severely for leaving my aunt in the manner I did.”
“It was a rash step,” replied Mr. Courteney, “but your subsequent conduct has effaced it; and I see not how you could have otherwise avoided being in the power of that villain-priest.”
After some farther conversation on different parts of her story, he looked at his watch: “How fast the minutes fly!” said he, smiling. “My dear Henrietta, I must leave you now, yet I have a thousand things to say to you: but I will see you to-morrow morning. You will be very happy (continued he) with Mrs. Knight, and I shall have no scruple to trust you to her care, till I have conducted the marquis to London: we shall go in a day or two: and, after I have delivered my charge safe to his father, I will come back to Paris, and fetch you.”
Henrietta turned pale at these words: “Then we are to part again soon!” said she, in a melancholy accent.
“It would be highly improper for you (replied he) to take this journey with us, on several accounts: I shall be concerned to leave you, but it must be so.”
“Could you not stay till Mr. Damer comes?” interrupted Henrietta; and, taking his letter out of her pocket, “see here how affectionately he writes to me (added she): he proposes to be in Paris in three weeks, and insists upon my going to England with him.”
Mr. Courteney read the letter with great pleasure. Mr. Damer addressed her in it by the tender name of daughter; and assured her, that he would in every respect act like a father towards her. He praised her conduct in terms of the highest admiration, and begged her not to be uneasy at her aunt’s desertion of her; since it was in his power to make her easy, and he was resolved to do so.
“This letter,” said Mr. Courteney, after a pause, “will make some little alteration in my plan: I had resolved not to take any notice to the marquis, that I had discovered you to be my sister, but to make some excuse for your disappearing; however I see it will be necessary to wait for Mr. Damer. I congratulate you, my dear Henrietta, on the friendship of so worthy a man.”
“But will you stay till he comes to Paris?” interrupted the tender, anxious Henrietta.
“May I depend upon your prudence, sister?” said Mr. Courteney. “It is possible the marquis may talk to you of love: if you give him the least encouragement, you will forfeit my esteem for ever; it shall never be said, that I took advantage of his youth to draw him into a marriage with my sister.”
“Oh! do not suspect me of such meanness,” said Henrietta, blushing: “if the marquis was a thousand times more amiable than he is, and were I ever so much prejudiced in his favour, I have too just a sense of what I owe to my birth, to your honour, and my own, to admit of a clandestine address—You may be entirely easy upon this article.”
“I am satisfied,” replied Mr. Courteney, tenderly pressing her hand; “and now, my dear Henrietta, adieu for this evening.”
“Don’t fail to come, to-morrow,” said she, following him to the door. He smiled assentingly; and having taken leave of Mrs. Knight, who met him as he was going in search of her, he hurried home to his pupil, by whom he was expected with extreme impatience.