The Greatest Regency Romance Novels. Maria EdgeworthЧитать онлайн книгу.
Is less pleasing than the former
After this solemn parting between Mr. Trueworth and Mrs. Munden, that lady's mind was in too much disorder to think what was become of the little picture that had occasioned it; till, an hour or two after, the maid of the house came running into the chamber with it in her hand. 'Does this pretty picture belong to you, Madam?' said she. Mrs. Munden started; but, soon recovering herself, answered that it did—said that it was the picture of her youngest brother—and that she believed she might pull it out of her pocket with her handkerchief, or some how or other drop it in the walk. 'Aye, to be sure, it was so,' said the maid; 'for it was there I found it: as I was going to the pump for some water, I saw something that glittered just by the little arbour, on which I ran and took it up; but my mistress told me she believed it was yours; for she knew your ladyship was in the walk this morning.'—'I am glad thou hast found it,' replied Mrs. Munden; 'for it would have vexed me to the heart to have lost it.'—'Aye, to be sure, Madam!' cried she; 'for it is a sweet picture—your brother is a handsome gentleman—I warrant there are a thousand ladies in love with him.' Mrs. Munden could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of the wench; but, willing to be rid of her, rewarded her honesty with a crown-piece, and dismissed her.
She was rejoiced, indeed, to have this picture once more in her possession; not only because some other might have found and kept it, but also because she thought she might indulge herself in looking on it without any breach of that duty to which she was resolved so strictly to adhere. To be secure, however, from a second rencounter with the original in that place, she kept close in the house, and stirred not out of it all the time he was there: but her apprehensions on this score were needless; Mr. Trueworth religiously observed the promise he had made her; and, lest he should be under any temptation to break it while so near her, took leave of his friend that same day, and returned to London; but carried with him sentiments very different from those he had brought down, as will hereafter appear.
As to Mrs. Munden, she found that she had no less occasion for exerting the heroine when alone, than when encircled in the arms of Mr. Trueworth: the accident which had betrayed the secret of her heart to him had also discovered it to herself. She was now convinced that it was something more than esteem—than friendship—than gratitude—his merits had inspired her with; she was conscious that, while she most resisted the glowing pressure of his lips, she had felt a guilty pleasure in the touch which had been near depriving her of doing so; and that, though she had resolved never to see him more, it would be very difficult to refrain wishing to be for ever with him.
This she thought so highly criminal in herself, that she ought not to indulge the remembrance of so dear, so dangerous, an invader of her duty; yet when she considered that, merely for her sake, and not through the weak resistance she had made, his own honour had nobly triumphed over wild desire in a heart so young and amorous as his, it increased that love and admiration which she in vain endeavoured to subdue: and she could not help crying out, with Calista in the play—
'Oh, had I sooner known thy wond'rous virtue,
Thy love, thy truth, thou excellent young man!
We might have both been happy.'
But, to banish as much as possible all those ideas which her nicety of honour made her tremble at, it was her fixed determination to retire into L——e as soon as she had ended her affairs with her husband, and pass the remainder of her days, where she should never hear the too dear name of Trueworth.
She did not, therefore, neglect sending her servant to town; but he returned that day, and several succeeding ones, without the least intelligence; no letter nor message from Mr. Munden having been left for her at her brother's: on which she began to imagine that he never had, in reality, intended to put his threats in execution.
Mr. Markland, in the mean time, had been twice to wait upon him; but the servants told him that their master was extremely indisposed, and could not be seen: this he looked upon as a feint to put off giving him an answer as he had promised; and both Mr. Thoughtless and his sister were of the same opinion when they heard it. Mr. Markland went again and again, however; but was still denied access: near a whole week passing over in this manner, Mrs. Munden grew very uneasy, fearing she should be able to obtain as little justice as favour from her husband.
But, guilty as he had been in other respects, he was entirely innocent in this: the force of the agitation he had of late sustained, joined to repeated debauches, had over-heated his blood, and thrown him into a very violent fever, insomuch that in a few days his life was despaired of; the whispers of all about him—the looks of the physician that attended him—and, above all, what he felt within himself, convincing him of the danger he was in—all his vices, all his excesses, now appeared to him such as they truly were, and filled him with a remorse which he had been but too much addicted to ridicule in others: in fine, the horrors of approaching dissolution, rendered him one of those many examples which daily verify these words of Mr. Dryden—
'Sure there are none but fear a future state!
And when the most obdurate swear they do not,
Their trembling hearts belie their boasting tongues!'
Among the number of those faults which presented him with the most direful images, that of the ill-treatment he had given a wife, who so little deserved it, lay not the least heavy upon his conscience: he sent his servants to Mr. Thoughtless, at whose house he imagined she still was, to intreat he would prevail on her to see him before he died; but that gentleman giving a very slight answer, as believing it all artifice, he engaged the apothecary who administered to him, and was known by Mr. Thoughtless, to go on the same errand; on which the brother of Mrs. Munden said she was not with him at present, but he would send to let her know what had happened. Accordingly, he dispatched one of his men immediately to her with the following billet.
'To Mrs. Munden.
Dear sister,
Mr. Cardiack, the apothecary, assures me that your husband is in fact ill, and in extreme danger; he is very pressing to see you: I will not pretend to advise you what to do on this occasion—you are the best judge; I shall only say that, if you think fit to comply with his request, you must be speedy; for, it seems, it is the opinion of the gentlemen of the faculty, that he is very near his end. I am, dear sister, yours affectionately,
T. Thoughtless.'
Not all the indifference she had for the person of Mr. Munden—not all the resentment his moroseness and ill-nature had excited in her—could hinder her from feeling an extreme shock on hearing his life was in danger: she sought for no excuses, either to evade or delay what he desired of her; she went directly to him, equally inclined to do so by her compassion, as she thought herself obliged to it by her duty.
As she entered the chamber, she met the apothecary coming out: in asking him some questions, though she spoke very low, Mr. Munden thought he distinguished her voice; and cried out, as loud as he was able, 'Is my wife here?' On which, approaching the bed, and gently opening one of the curtains, 'Yes, Mr. Munden,' replied she; 'I am come to offer all the assistance in my power; and am sorry to find you are in any need of it.'—'This is very kind,' said he, and stretched out one of his hands towards her, which she took between hers with a great deal of tenderness: 'I have been much to blame,' resumed he; 'I have greatly wronged you; but forgive me—if I live, I will endeavour to deserve it.'
'I hope,' said she, 'Heaven will restore your health, and that we may live together in a manner becoming persons united as we are.'—'Then you will not leave me?' cried he. 'Never,' answered she, 'till your behaviour shall convince me you do not desire my stay.'
Here he began to make solemn protestations of future amendment; but his voice failing him, through extreme weakness, a deep sigh, and tender pressure of his cheek to hers, as she leaned her head upon the pillow, gave her to understand what more he would have said: on this she assured him she was ready to believe every thing he would have her—intreated him to compose himself, and endeavour to get a little rest. 'In the mean time,'