A Simple Story

by Mrs. Inchbald

  CHAPTER XII.

  During the illness of Rushbrook, news had been sent of his danger, fromthe servants in town to those at Elmwood House, and Lady Matildaexpressed compassion when she was told of it--she began to conceive, theinstant she thought he would soon die, that his visit to her had meritrather than impertinence in its design, and that he might possibly be amore deserving man, than she had supposed him to be. Even Sandford andMiss Woodley, began to recollect qualifications he possessed, which theynever had reflected on before, and Miss Woodley in particular,reproached herself that she had been so severe and inattentive to him.Notwithstanding the prospects his death pointed out to her, it was withinfinite joy she heard he was recovered; nor was Sandford lesssatisfied; for he had treated the young man too unkindly not to dread,lest any ill should befall him; but although he was glad to hear of hisrestored health, when he was informed he was coming down to ElmwoodHouse for a few weeks in the style of its master, Sandford, with all hisreligious and humane principles, could not help thinking, "That if thelad had been properly preps well out of the world as in it."

  He was still less his friend when he saw him arrive with his usualflorid complexion: had he come pale and sickly, Sandford had been kindto him; but in apparently good health and spirits, he could not form hislips to tell him he was "Glad to see him."

  On his arrival, Matilda, who for five months had been at large, secludedherself as she would have done upon the arrival of Lord Elmwood; butwith far different sensations. Notwithstanding her restriction on thelatter occasion, the residence of her father in that house had been asource of pleasure, rather than of sorrow to her; but from the abode ofRushbrook she derived punishment alone.

  When, from inquiries, Rushbrook found that on his approach, Matilda hadretired to her own confined apartments, the thought was torture to him;it was the hope of seeing and conversing with her, of being admitted atall times to her society as the mistress of the house, that had raisedhis spirits, and effected his perfect cure beyond any other cause; andhe was hurt to the greatest degree at this respect, or rather contempt,shown to him by her retreat.

  It was, nevertheless, a subject too delicate for him to touch upon inany one sense--an invitation for her company on his part, might carry theappearance of superior authority, and an affected condescension, whichhe justly considered as the worst of all insults. And yet, how could hesupport the idea that his visit had placed the daughter of hisbenefactor, as a dependent stranger in that house, where in reality _he_was the dependent, and she the lawful heir? For two or three days hesuffered the torment of these reflections, hoping that he should come toan explanation of all he felt, by a fortunate meeting with Miss Woodley;but when that meeting occurred, though he observed she talked to himwith less reserve than she had formerly done, and even gave some proofsof the native goodness of her disposition, yet she scrupulously avoidednaming Lady Matilda; and when he diffidently inquired of her health, acold restraint overspread Miss Woodley's face, and she left himinstantly. To Sandford it was still more difficult for him to apply; forthough frequently together, they were never sociable; and as Sandfordseldom disguised his feelings, to Rushbrook he was always extremelysevere, and sometimes unmannerly.

  In this perplexed situation, the country air was rather of detrimentthan service to the invalid; and had he not, like a true lover, clungfast to hope, while he could perceive nothing but despair, he would havereturned to town, rather than by his stay have placed in a subordinatestate, the object of his adoration. Persisting in his hopes, he onemorning met Miss Woodley in the garden, and engaging her a longer timethan usual in conversation, at last obtained her promise "She would thatday dine with him and Mr. Sandford." But no sooner had she parted fromhim, than she repented of her consent; and upon communicating it,Matilda, for the first time in her life, darted upon her kind companion,a look of the most cutting reproach and haughty resentment. MissWoodley's own sentiments had upbraided her before; but she was notprepared to receive so pointed a mark of disapprobation from her youngfriend, till now duteous and humble to her as to a mother, and not lessaffectionate. Her heart was too susceptible to bear this disrespectfuland contumelious frown, from the object of her long-devoted care andconcern; the tears instantly covered her face, and she laid her handsupon her heart, as if she thought it would break. Matilda was moved, butshe possessed too much of the manly resentment of her father, todiscover what she felt for the first few minutes. Miss Woodley, who hadgiven so many tears to her sorrows, but never till now, one to heranger, had a deeper sense of this indifference, than of the angeritself, and to conceal what she suffered, left the room. Matilda, whohad been till this time working at her needle, seemingly composed, nowlet her work drop from her hand, and sat for a while in a deep reverie.At length she rose up, and followed Miss Woodley to the other apartment.She entered grave, majestic and apparently serene, while her poor heartfluttered with a thousand distressing sensations. She approached MissWoodley (who was still in tears) with silence; and awed by her manners,the faithful friend of her deceased mother exclaimed, "Dear LadyMatilda, think no more on what I have done--do not resent it any longer,and on my knees I'll beg your pardon." Miss Woodley rose as she utteredthese last words; but Matilda laid fast hold of her to prevent theposture she offered to take, and instantly assumed it herself. "Oh, letthis be my atonement!" she cried with the most earnest supplication.

  They interchanged forgiveness; and as this reconciliation was sincere,they each, without reserve, gave their opinion upon the subject that hadcaused the misunderstanding; and it was agreed an apology should be sentto Mr. Rushbrook, "That Miss Woodley had been suddenly indisposed:" norcould this be said to differ from the truth, for since what had passedshe was unfit to pay a visit.

  Rushbrook, who had been all the morning elated with the advance hesupposed he had made in that lady's favour, was highly disappointed,vexed, and angry, when this apology was delivered; nor did he, norperhaps could he, conceal what he felt, although his severe observer,Mr. Sandford, was present.

  "I am a very unfortunate man!" said he, as soon as the servant was gonewho brought the message.

  Sandford cast his eyes upon him with a look of surprise and contempt.

  "A very unfortunate man indeed, Mr. Sandford," repeated he, "althoughyou treat my complaint contemptuously."

  Sandford made no reply, and seemed above making one.

  They sat down to dinner;--Rushbrook eat scarce any thing, but drankfrequently; Sandford took no notice of either, but had a book (which washis custom when he dined with persons whose conversation was notinteresting to him) laid by the side of his plate, which he occasionallylooked into, as the dishes were removing, or other opportunities served.

  Rushbrook, just now more hopeless than ever of forming an acquaintancewith Lady Matilda, began to give way to symptoms of despondency; andthey made their first attack, by urging him, to treat on the same levelof familiarity that he himself was treated, Mr. Sandford, to whom hehad, till now, ever behaved with the most profound tokens of respect.

  "Come," said he to him as soon as the dinner was removed, "lay asideyour book and be good company."

  Sandford lifted up his eyes upon him--stared in his face--and cast them onthe book again.

  "Pshaw," continued Rushbrook, "I want a companion; and as Miss Woodleyhas disappointed me, I must have your company."

  Sandford now laid his book down upon the table; but still holding hisfingers in the pages he was reading, said, "And why are you disappointedof Miss Woodley's company? When people expect what they have no right tohope, 'tis impertinent assurance to complain they are disappointed."

  "I had a right to hope she would come," answered Rushbrook, "for shepromised she would."

  "But what right had you to ask her?"

  "The right every one has, to make his time pass as agreeably as he can."

  "But not at the expence of another."

  "I believe, Mr. Sandford, it would be a heavy expence to you, to see mehappy; I believe it would cost you even
your own happiness."

  "That is a price I have not now to give:" replied Sandford, and beganreading again.

  "What, you have already paid it away? No wonder that at your time oflife it should be gone. But what do you think of my having alreadysquandered mine?"

  "I don't think about you;" returned Sandford, without taking his eyesfrom the book.

  "Can you look me in the face and say that, Mr. Sandford? No, youcannot--for you know you _do_ think of me, and you know you hateme."--Here he drank two glasses of wine one after another; "And I cantell you why you hate me," continued he: "It is from a cause for which Ioften hate myself."

  Sandford read on.

  "It is on Lady Matilda's account you hate me, and use me thus."

  Sandford put down the book hastily, and put both his hands by his side.

  "Yes," resumed Rushbrook, "you think I am wronging her."

  "I think you insult her," exclaimed Sandford, "by this rude mention ofher name; and I command you at your peril to desist."

  "At my peril! Mr. Sandford? Do you assume the authority of my LordElmwood?"

  "I do on this occasion; and if you dare to give your tongue a freedom"----

  Rushbrook interrupted him--"Why then I boldly say, (and as her friend youought rather to applaud than resent it) I boldly say, that my heartsuffers so much for her situation, that I am regardless of my own. Ilove her father--I loved her mother more--but I love _her_ beyondeither."

  "Hold your licentious tongue," cried Sandford, "or quit the room."

  "Licentious! Oh! the pure thoughts that dwell in her innocent mind, arenot less sensual than mine towards her. Do you upbraid me with myrespect, my pity for her? They are the sensations which impel me tospeak thus undisguised, even to you, my open--no, even worse--my secretenemy!"

  "Insult _me_ as you please, Mr. Rushbrook,--but beware how you mentionLord Elmwood's daughter."

  "Can it be to her dishonour that I pity her? that I would quit the housethis moment never to return, so that she supplied the place I with-holdfrom her."

  "Go, then;" cried Sandford.

  "It would be of no use to her, or I would. But come, Mr. Sandford, Iwill dare do as much as you. Only second me, and I will entreat LordElmwood to be reconciled--to see and own her."

  "Your vanity would be equal to your temerity--_you_ entreat? She mustgreatly esteem those paternal favours which _your_ entreaties gainedher! Do you forget, young man, how short a time it is, since you were_entreated for?_"

  "I prove that I do not, while this anxiety for Lady Matilda, arises,from what I feel on that account."

  "Remove your anxiety, then, from her to yourself; for were I to let LordElmwood know what has now passed"--

  "It is for your own sake, not for mine, if you do not."

  "You shall not dare me to it, Mr. Rushbrook." And he rose from his seat:"You shall not dare me to do you an injury. But to avoid the temptation,I will never again come into your company, unless my friend, LordElmwood, be present, to protect me and his child from your insults."

  Rushbrook rose in yet more warmth than Sandford

  "Have you the injustice to say that I have insulted Lady Matilda?"

  "To speak of her at all, is in you an insult. But you have done more--youhave dared to visit her--to force into her presence and shock her withyour offers of services which she scorns; and with your compassion,which she is above."

  "Did she complain to you?"

  "She or her friend did."

  "I rather suppose, Mr. Sandford, that you have bribed some of theservants to reveal this."

  "The suspicion becomes Lord Elmwood's heir."

  "It becomes the man, who lives in a house with you."

  "I thank you, Mr. Rushbrook, for what has passed this day--it has taken aweight off my mind. I thought my disinclination to you, might perhapsarise from prejudice--this conversation has relieved me from those fears,and--I thank you." Saying this he calmly walked out of the room, and leftRushbrook to reflect on what he had been doing.

  Heated with the wine he had drank (and which Sandford, engaged on hisbook, had not observed) no sooner was he alone, than he became bydegrees cool and repentant. "What had he done?" was the first questionto himself--"He had offended Sandford."--The man, whom reason as well asprudence had ever taught him to respect, and even to revere. He hadgrossly offended the firm friend of Lady Matilda, by the unreserved andwanton use of her name. All the retorts he had uttered came now to hismemory; with a total forgetfulness of all that Sandford had said toprovoke them.

  He once thought to follow him and beg his pardon; but the contempt withwhich he had been treated, more than all the anger, with-held him.

  As he sat forming plans how to retrieve the opinion, ill as it was,which Sandford formerly entertained of him, he received a letter fromLord Elmwood, kindly enquiring after his health, and saying that heshould be down early in the following week. Never were the friendlyexpressions of his uncle half so welcome to him; for they served tosooth his imagination, racked with Sandford's wrath, and his owndispleasure.