Ormsby, from the moment he had learned that he had a daughter living, who was worthy, for her own sake, of the tenderness he was disposed to feel towards the representative of the woman he adored, he cherished the most flattering hopes of happiness with a lovely being, who would recall continually to his mind the hours of his early felicity, and gild the evening of his life. He now found all visionary bliss vanished at once, and the bitterness of his disappointment was aggravated, when he remembered that the blow, which had murdered his happiness a second time, came from the same family that had destroyed it before. The injuries, the deceptions, the tyranny, of Old Montalbert, which had driven him from the bosom of his first Rosalie to exile and to sorrow, now seemd to be revived in the nephew to rob him of all he had left; and, in the anguish of heart, which these thoughts gave him, he forgot, that, by his unguarded transports, he was deepening the wounds he deplored. Such, however, were the unhappy effects of his expressions on the bewildered mind of his daughter, who catching from them some vague ideas about her mother, (whose name he often repeated), though unable to follow the chain of circumstances to which these expressions alluded, that her spirits were entirely overcome; and, when he fondly called her his daughter, his only hope on earth, his poor unfortunate child! she was so far from understanding it was her father who spoke to her, that she wildly fancied it was the same person who had been sent by Montalbert to take her child from her. She shuddered, therefore, as he approached her; withdrew her hand from him, as he attempted to take it, and looking with wild and eager eyes towards Lessington, who engaged her notice more than Vyvian, she appeared silently to entreat that he would deliver her from the presence of a person, of whom, was evident from her manner, she had conceived some unfavourable impression.
Shocked by this conviction, and assured that her intellects were entirely gone, the unhappy father hastily left the room, and threw himself into a chair in the parlour below, where he gave way to the anguish of his soul.
The sight of Rosalie, though she resembled her mother more by her air and voice than by any positive likeness of features, had brought to his mind a thousand tender recollections; and, in believing her irreparable hurt both in her understanding and constitution, he felt as if the wounds that had been so long healing, after his separation from her mother, were now torn open afresh; and the happiness which he had fondly hoped might gild the evening of his life seemed now vanished for ever. — Why Montalbert had left Rosalie, or why he had so cruelly taken her child from her, he could not imagine. Vyvian had learned these particulars from Claudine, and had unguardedly communicated them to the rest; but as Claudine was herself ignorant of his motives, she could only relate the facts, and Mr. Ormsby, never disposed to think favourably of the family of Montalbert, could see nothing in such actions but an hereditary depravity and malignity, which he execrated. It was not long before Vyvian joined him in the parlour. Ormsby said little to him of the resolution he was silently forming, while Vyvian, who was extremely hurt at the situation of Rosalie, whom he had ever tenderly loved, believing it impossible that Montalbert could act, as he was represented to have done, without some very strange misunderstanding, determined to set out immediately in quest of him, and, representing the situation of his wife, endeavour to develope the cause of his having thrown her into it by his rash and unkind conduct.
Mr. Lessington, in the mean time, was attempting to sooth and appease the troubled mind of his ever-beloved Rosalie, in hopes of learning and alleviating her distress. He at length succeeded so far, as to procure from her the words “Yes!” or “No!” to some of the questions he put to her; but to others she remained silent, or answered only by a deep sigh. Finding he could gain, therefore, but little information, though he stayed with her near half an hour longer than the other two gentlemen, he left her, saying he would return to her immediately, and rejoined his distressed friends below.
Some conversation there passed between them, in which the calmness of Mr. Lessington was happily opposed to the agitation of the father oppressed with sorrow, and the natural vivacity of Vyvian, who now felt disposed to quarrel with his cousin, and now to account for conduct which seemed to him unpardonable, if some reason could not be given for it.
Lessington, whose attachment to Rosalie had grown up with him, listened to each of them with patience, but acquiesced in neither of their plans. That of Mr. Ormsby, though he did not openly avow it, was to seek Montalbert, demand an explanation of his conduct, and, if he could not give some very good reason for measures so harsh and violent as he had adopted, to demand of him the satisfaction due to the injured honour and peace of the unfortunate Rosalie. Lessington perfectly understood this by the half sentences and angry expressions of Ormsby, and he saw the necessity of preventing a measure which must involve the object of his solicitude in yet deeper calamity. It was not easy, in the present agitated state of his mind, to say any thing that would not rather irritate than sooth, and, therefore, Lessington affected to attend rather to the project of Vyvian, who proposed setting out immediately to find Montalbert, and endeavour to clear up whatever mistake had given rise to proceedings so unlike the usual tenor of his conduct.
Though Lessington was clearly of opinion that Vyvian was not the properest person to engage in this explanation, yet, as he hoped to obtain Ormsby’s patience while he was about it, and that something might happen in the mean time to clear up the darkness in which they were involved, he seemed to agree to Vyvian’s departure, still, however, with coldness and reluctance, and as if he meditated on some scheme which he thought more eligible. At this instant Lady Llancarrick and Miss Gillman appeared; the former having heard of the arrival of the strangers, introducing herself to them as the dear friend of Mrs. Sheffield, and, as such, it seemed probable that she could give them information as to the cause of the appearances which had so greatly distressed them. The change of name, which, though Mrs. Lessington had mentioned it, had been hardly attended before, now seemed to strike Mr. Ormsby as if it were entirely now to him —— Why should his daughter have changed her name? — An appearance of concealment is always injurious. It might, however, be at the desire of her husband, since their marriage was clandestine. This reflection satisfied his mind for a moment as to the circumstance, but, as Mr. Lessington and Mr. Vyvian continued to converse one with Lady Llancarrick and the other with Miss Gillman, Mr. Ormsby, who listened to them alternately, found so many obscure hints, or evasive answers in their conversation, and thought them women whose acquaintance seemed so little creditable to his daughter, that his uneasiness became unsupportable.
He dreaded lest in the conduct of Rosalie he should find but too strong a justification of that of Montalbert. This idea was infinitely more painful to him than to believe her innocent and suffering only from misapprehension or injustice, and unable to bear the distress of mind, which every moment increased, he started up, and, leaving the room, walked up a lane near the house, which he traversed with hasty and uncertain steps while the conference lasted, which had already given him so much uneasiness.
Before that conference ended, the conviction that both Lessington and Vyvian had entertained of the perfect and unimpeachable discretion of Rosalie was very cruelly shaken. They had learned from Lady Llancarrick, who either could not or would not conceal any thing she knew, that, under a feigned name herself, and under the protection of a young man of the name of Walsingham, she had appeared at the village, where she had lived since in a retired way, but frequently receiving him at her house, and, as it was generally understood, supported by him.
To two young men, who knew nothing of the extraordinary chain of events which had separated Rosalie from Montalbert, (for Vyvian had passed eighteen months in the German Courts, from whence he had come to England only three months before this period), these circumstances could not fail of having a very unfavorable appearance. Vyvian, as soon as the ladies from whom they had gathered this intelligence were gone, talked of seeking this Mr. Walsingham, and demanding an explanation o
f him; a scheme which appeared to Lessington to be more pregnant with mischief than even that proposed by Ormsby. They now went in search of the latter, and found him overwhelmed with sorrow and anxiety. The state in which his daughter was, gave him the most acute pain, which was infinitely increased by the dread he now entertained as to her conduct. — What Lessington and Vyvian had to say, though the former softened it all he could, was but ill calculated to appease these fears; and a conflict now arose in the breast of the unhappy father, between his wish to return to, and, if possible, comfort his afflicted child, and his reluctance even to see her, if it could be true that she had deserted her husband, and disgraced herself.
He determined, however, once more to see her, and to see her alone. He found, on entering her apartment, that all the symptoms that seemed to have a little subsided, while she had been flattered with hopes of hearing news of her child, had since returned with renewed violence; a deadly paleness overspread her countenance, and a fever seemed to devour her. If Claudine spoke to her, she answered only by a deep sigh, and when she became sensible that a stranger was in the room, and opening her eyes saw Ormsby, she cast a reproaching look towards Claudine, waved with her hand for him to leave her, and then, covering her face with her handkerchief, sunk into silence, from which not even the voice of Lessington could rouse her: — he, at the desire of Mr. Ormsby, went to her, spoke to her, and entreated her to attend to her own health, to the anxiety of her friends; he even named her father to her, but he could obtain no other answer, than a faint entreaty that he would leave to her destiny a creature born only to be miserable. At length, she said, “My father! — alas! I have no father! — Do not mock me! I never saw a father! — I had a husband — indeed I had a child, but now both are gone, and I am now a wretched outcast?”
“Have you no friends, Rosalie? — (Lessington then ventured to say) — Surely there are some in whom you place confidence and friendship, though you deny it to him whom you once loved to call by the tender name of brother?”
To this it seemed as if she was either unable or unwilling to answer directly; for again, with a deep-drawn sigh, and in a half-stifled voice, she said, “You — you are my brother still, William, if you do not disdain the title — and then I shall not be —— as, indeed, I think myself now — quite — quite friendless!”
She was now again sensible, yet Lessington doubted whether it was a proper hour to speak to her of her father, since every time he had either spoken to her, or been named to her, her ideas seemed to have taken a confused flight, from whence it was not very easy to recall them; and though Mr. Ormsby earnestly wished she might be made to understand that he was her father, yet Lessington saw her mind so shaken by trying to impress on it what her mother had, he believed, never fully related to her, that he dreaded lest such an attempt now might be the worst of consequences.
All he judged prudent to do, therefore, was to sooth her mind as much as he could for that night, and persuade her father to leave her. This, though not without difficulty, he effected. Ormsby went again with him to the parlour, whither the landlady was now summoned to give information where the best physician in the neighbourhood was to be obtained.
A messenger was dispatched for one, but hardly was he gone, and Lessington entering into conversation with his two friends on what he thought was properest to be done, when a servant on horseback brought a letter, directed to Mrs. Sheffield, which, he said required an immediate answer. — On being questioned by Mr. Vyvian who it was from, the man answered insolently enough, “That he had no orders to tell that, unless to the lady herself; but that, for his part, he was never ashamed of his master’s name — it came from Squire Walsingham.”
Ormsby, who saw in the name of Walsingham, and in such a correspondence, a confirmation of all the fears that had assailed him for the reputation and peace of his daughter, determined to open the letter. Lessington at first doubted how far this might be justifiable; but yielding at length to the authority of a father, the letter was opened, and, to the astonishment and indignation of the parties, was found to contain these words ——
“MADAM,:
“A gentleman of the name of Montalbert has taken the trouble to write to me, on a supposition of my being a much more fortunate man than I have ever suspected myself to be. He wishes me to meet him at my own time and place, to explain to him my pretensions to the very great favour which he assures me you have honoured me with, as well in a certain long voyage, which it seems we made together, as since our return to England, where he affirms you have remained under my protection.
“Having hinted to him that I am perfectly unconscious of all this, I have received a second letter, couched in terms which do not generally pass unnoticed between gentlemen. Now, Madam, if I must risk the penalty, it is but just that I should be made conscious of the happy trespass by which I have incurred it; when I am persuaded I shall meet with exultation whatever may happen; or if it hitherto exists only in the imagination of my correspondent, I am, nevertheless, ready to meet him as he desires, provided that before I become his adversary, you will permit me to assume the pleasing and honourable title of your champion.
“But, as no time is to be lost, I await your answer with extreme impatience, flattering myself it will bring permission to throw himself at your feet, one who is,
Dear Madam,
Your most devoted servant,
S. WALSINGHAM.”
Vyvian had no sooner heard the contents of this extraordinary billet, than he flew out of the room to find the servant that had brought it, for it appeared as if the writer of it was waiting somewhere in the neighbourhood, and he was at all event resolved to find him.
Of Mr. Walsingham, neither Ormsby, Vyvian, nor Lessington knew any thing but the name; and this letter, of whatever nature might have been his acquaintance with Rosalie, having certainly the air of an insult, was not calculated to give them a favourable opinion of him. None of them could help seeing, that a meeting between him and Montalbert must be attended with fatal consequences, if not to the life of either, at least to the honour of the unfortunate young woman, who was the cause of their quarrel. Vyvian, breathing nothing but vengeance against a man capable of writing such a letter, would listen to nothing that Lessington could say; and Ormsby, lost in bewildering conjectures, but more uneasy than ever, determined at length to pursue his original plan of finding Montalbert; and, having learned the cause of his conduct, and of the present extraordinary letter, to take Rosalie and conceal her in some obscure retreat if she was guilty; or, if she was innocent, to vindicate that innocence in the face of the world. It was, however, necessary for him to await the arrival of the physician who was sent for, as it was certain the personal sufferings of his unhappy daughter became every hour more alarming. Lessington, with the most patient pity both for Ormsby and his child, remained with him; but his arguments had no longer any effect on the impetuosity of Vyvian, who having learned, from the servant he questioned, that Mr. Walsingham was at Brighthelmstone, set off thither in a post chaise, attended only by his servant, assuring his friends that he had no design of taking the resentment of Montalbert out of his hands; but that he was determined to clear up this extraordinary business in some way or other, and that they should hear of him in a very few hours.
With these assurances, since he would hear nothing Ormsby or Lessington could say to urge remaining with them, they were compelled to suffer him to depart.
CHAPTER 36
IT was already late in the evening, and Ormsby and Lessington awaited in the most distressing suspence the arrival of the physician they expected; the messenger sent to him having returned, to say he would be with them as soon as possible. Rosalie, though still conscious of, and grateful for the attentions of Lessington, seemed too ill to enter into conversation or explanation of any kind. But at length in attempting to sooth and to reason with her, he prevailed upon her to say, that she should die contented, and even prefer death, if she could but see her child once more, and ask his
father’s protection for him. This was more than she had yet coherently said; and Lessington, who was now alone by her bed-side, made an effort to carry the conversation farther. “And why, my dear Rosalie,” said he, “why do you doubt his protecting his son? Since he has taken from you, however unkind that step may have been, as far as it regards you, Mr. Montalbert had probably no other design than to take care of him, and give him a father’s protection.”— “Good God!” exclaimed Rosalie, “can you, my dear Sir, believe he could have been guilty of so very cruel an action, as tearing him from me, had he not determined to destroy me, and to erase all recollection of a marriage, which he probably repents, and is ashamed of? — His mother, his cruel mother, and his treacherous friend Alozzi” — she here paused a moment, unable to go on— “have prevailed on him to abandon me. Perhaps too, some newer attachment....for I can never think that they alone could influence him — some newer attachment.” She could proceed no farther; the idea was too cruel to be supported; and her voice became inarticulate through the violence of her emotions.
Lessington had never heard her speak so much, and so consistently before, and greatly as he saw she was affected, he yet hoped that tears might rather relieve than injure her; he therefore ventured, after waiting a moment that she might recover herself, to go on.
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