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THE
BRITISH NOVELISTS;
*/
*
WITH AN
ESSAY, AND PREFACES
BIOGRAPHICAL AND CRITICAL,
BY
MRS. BARBAULD.
% (2em (fuítion.
WOL. XXXVI.
LONDON :
printed for F. c. AND J. Rivington; w. Lowndes; scatch ERD
AND LETTERMAN ; J. NuNN; J. cuthell; Jeffery AND son;
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AND co. ; S. BAGSTER ; J. Mur RAY ; J. Booker ; J. BLACK :
Black AND co.; J. Richardson ; J. M. Richardson ; R. scho-
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cRADock AND Joy ; t. Hodgson ; J. Boh N ; J Ebers; sher-
wood, Neely AND Jones; G. AND w. B. whitTAKER ; setch-
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AND co. ; Rodwell AND MART IN; hurst, Robunson AND Co.;
wilson AND sons, York; sterling AND slape; AND FAIR-
RAIRN AND ANDERson, edinsuash.
1820.


G. Woodfall, Printer, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London.


THE
OLD MANOR HOUSE.
-º-
BY CHARLOTTE SMITH.
---
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.





MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.
AMONG those writers who have distinguished
themselves in the polite literature of the present
day, the late Mrs. CHARLOTTE SMITH well
deserves a place, both from the number and ele-
gance of her publications. She was the eldest
daughter of Nicholas Turner, esq., a gentleman
of fortune, who possessed estates in Surry and
Sussex; a man, it is said, of an improved mind
and brilliant conversation. She lost her mother
when very young, and was brought up under
the care of an aunt, whose ideas of female edu-
cation were less favourable to mental accomplish-
ments than those of her father. She received,
therefore, rather a fashionable than a literary
education, and she was left to gratify her taste
for books by desultory reading, and almost by .
stealth. Her genius, indeed, early showed itself
in a propensity to poetry; but she was intro-
duced while very young to the gaieties and dis-
sipation of London, and, becoming a wife before
she was sixteen, was plunged into the cares of a
married life before her fine genius had received
all the advantages it might have gained by a cul-
ture more regular and persevering,
VOL. XXXVI. 3.


ii MRs. CHARLOTTE SMITH.
Her husband, Mr. Smith, was the younger
son of a rich West-Indian merchant, and asso-
ciated with him in the business. The marriage
had been brought about by parents, and did not
prove a happy one; it had probably been hasten-
ed on her side by the dread of a mother-in-law,
as her father was on the point of marrying a
second wife. The married pair lived at first in
London, in the busy part of the town, but soon
after took a house at Southgate. The husband
had little application to business; and probably,
of the young couple, neither party had much
notion of economy. The management of the
concern was soon resigned to the father of Mr.
Smith, who purchased for them an estate in
Hampshire, called Lys Farm. Here Mrs. Smith
found her tastes for rural scenery and for elegant
society gratified; but building and expensive im-
provements, joined to an increasing family, soon
brought them into difficulties, which were not
lessened by the death of her husband's grand-
father, to whom Mr. Smith acted as executor,
in the discharge of which office a litigation arose
with the other branches of the family, which
plunged them into lawsuits for life. The vex-
ation attending these perplexities, together with
the pecuniary embarrassments she was conti-
nually involved in, clouded the serenity of Mrs.
Smith's mind, and gave to her writings that
bitter and querulous tone of complaint which is
discernible in so many of them.
Possessed of a fine imagination, an ear and a
taste for harmony, an elegant and correct style,
the natural bent of Mrs. Smith's genius seems


MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH. iii
to have been more to poetry than to any other
walk of literature. Her Sonnets, which was the
first publication she gave to the world, were
universally admired. That species of verse,
which in this country may be reckoned rather
an exotic, had at that time been but little culti-
vated. For plaintive, tender, and polished sen-
timent the Sonnet forms a proper vehicle, and
Mrs. Smith's success fixed at once her reputa-
tion as a poet of no mean class. They were
published while her husband was in the King's
Bench, where she attended him with laudable
assiduity, and exerted herself to further his li-
beration; her feelings upon which event she thus
describes in a letter to a friend : “For more than
a month I had shared the restraint of my hus-
band amidst scenes of misery, of vice, and even
of terror. Two attempts had, since my last re-
sidence among them, been made by the prisoners
to procure their liberation by blowing up the
walls of the house. Throughout the night ap-
pointed for this enterprise I remained dressed,
watching at the window. After such scenes.
and such apprehensions, how deliciously soothing
to my wearied spirits was the soft pure air of
the summer's morning, breathing over the dewy
grass, as, having slept one night upon the road,
we passed over the heaths of Surry !”
Their difficulties, however, were far from being
terminated; and the increasing derangement
of Mr. Smith's affairs soon afterwards obliged
them to leave England; and they were settled
some time in a large gloomy chateau in Nor-
mandy, where Mrs. Smith gave birth to her
a 2


iv MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.
youngest child. Here also she translated Manon
!’Escaut, a novel of the Abbé Prevöt, a work
of affecting pathos, though exceptionable with
regard to its moral tendency. -
Returning to England, they occupied for some
time an ancient mansion belonging to the Mills’
family, at Woodlading, in Sussex, where Mrs.
Smith wrote several of her poems.
An entire separation afterwards taking place
between her and her husband, she removed with
most of her children to a small cottage near
Chichester, where she wrote her novel of Em–
meline in the course of a few months. She af-
terwards resided in various places, mostly on the
coast of Sussex; for she was particularly fond
of the neighbourhood of the sea. The frequent
changes of scene which, either from necessity or
inclination, she experienced, were no doubt fa-
vourable to that descriptive talent which forms
a striking feature of her genius. Her frequent
removals may be traced in her poems and other
works. The name of the Arun is consecrated
in poetry, and is often mentioned by her:
“Farewell, Aruna! on whose varied shore
My early vows were paid to Nature's shrine,
And whose lorn stream has heard me since deplore
Too many sorrows.....”
In another sonnet she addresses the South
Downs:
“Ah, hills beloved! where once, a happy child,
Your beechen shades, your turf, your flowers among,
I wove your blue-bells into garlands wild,
And woke your echoes with my artless song:


MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH. V
Ah, hills beloved' your turf, your flowers remain:
But can they peace to this sad breast restore,
For one poor moment soothe the sense of pain,
And teach a breaking heart to throb no more?”
Poets are apt to complain, and often take a
pleasure in it; yet they should remember that
the pleasure of their readers is only derived from
the elegance and harmony with which they do
it. The reader is a selfish being, and seeks only
his own gratification. But for the language of
complaint in plain prose, or the exasperations of
personal resentment, he has seldom much sym-
pathy. It is certain, however, that the life of
this lady was a very chequered one.
Mrs. Smith had a family of twelve children,
six only of whom survived her. Her third son
lost a limb in the service of his country, and
afterwards fell a sacrifice to the yellow fever at
Barbadoes, whither he had gone to look after
the family property. The severest stroke she
met with was the loss of a favourite daughter,
who died at Bath, where Mrs. Smith also was
for the recovery of her health. The young lady
had been married to the Chevalier de Faville, a
French emigrant. Her mother is said never en-
tirely to have recovered from this affliction.
Her last removal was to Stoke, a village in
Surry, endeared to her by her having spent there
many years of her childhood; and there she died,
Oct. 28th, 1806, in her 57th year, after a te-
dious and painful illness. She was a widow at
the time of her death, and, being in possession
of her own fortune, had a prospect of greater
ease in her pecuniary circumstances than she


vi MRS. CHARLOTTE SMITH.
had for some time enjoyed. Her youngest son,
who was advancing in the military career, fell a
victim to the pestiferous climate of Surinam
before her death; but the news had not reached
her.
Though she was worn by illness, the powers
of her mind retained their full vigour, and her
last volume of poems, entitled Beachy Head,
was in the press at the time of her decease;
an elegant work, which no ways discredits her
former performances. -
She was the author of several publications
for children and young people, which are ex-
ecuted with great taste and elegance, and com-
municate, in a pleasing way, much knowledge.
of botany and natural history, of which two
studies she was very fond. That entitled Con-
versations is interspersed with beautiful little de-
scriptive poems on natural objects.
Mrs. Smith is most known to readers in ge-
meral by her novels; yet they seem to have been
less the spontaneous offspring of her mind than
her poems. She herself represents them as being
written to supply money for those emergencies
which, from the perplexed state of her affairs, she
was often thrown into ; but, though not of the
first order, they hold a respectable rank among
that class of publications. They are written in
a style correct and elegant; they show a know-
ledge of life, and of genteel life; and there is
much beauty in the descriptive scenery, which
Mrs. Smith was one of the first to introduce.
Descriptions, of whatever beauty, are but little
attended to in a novel of high interest, particu-


MIRS, CHARLOTTE SMITH. vii
larly if introduced, as they often are, during a
period of anxious suspense for the hero or he-
roine; but are very properly placed, at judicious
intervals, in compositions of which variety rather
than deep pathos, and elegance rather than
strength, are the characteristics.
The two most finished novels of Mrs. Smith
are Emmeline and Celestina. In the first she is
supposed to have drawn her own character
(with what degree of impartiality others must
judge) in that of Mrs. Stafford.
Celestina is not inferior to Emmeline in the
conduct of the piece, and possesses still more
beauties of description. The romantic scenes
in the south of France are rich and picturesque.
The story of Jesse and her lover is interesting, as
well as that of Jaquelina.
The Old Manor-House is said to be the most
popular of the author's productions. The best
drawn character in it is that of a wealthy old
lady who keeps all her relations in constant
dependence, and will not be persuaded to name
her heir. This was written during the war with
America; and the author takes occasion, as also
in many other of her publications, to show the
strain of her politics.
She also wrote Desmond, The Wanderings of
Warwick, Montalbert, and many others, to the
number of thirty-eight volumes. They all
show a knowledge of life, and facility of execu-
tion, without having any very strong features,
or particularly aiming to illustrate any moral
truth. The situations and the scenery are often


viii MRS. CHIARLOTTE SMITH.
romantic; the characters and the conversations
are from common life.
Her later publications would have been more
pleasing, if the author in the exertions of fancy
could have forgotten herself; but the asperity of
invective and the querulousness of complaint
too frequently cloud the happier exertions of her
imagination.
Another publication of this lady's ought to
have been mentioned, The Romance of real Life,
a very entertaining work, consisting of a selec-
tion of remarkable trials from the Causes Cé-
lèbres. The title, though a happy and a just
one, had the inconvenience of misleading many
readers, who really thought it a novel. Their
mistake was pardonable; for few novels present
incidents so wonderful as are to be found in
these surprising stories, which rest upon the
sanction of judicial records.


THE
OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER I.
IN an old Manor House in one of the most southern
counties of England, resided some few years since
the last of a family that had for along series of years
possessed it. Mrs. Rayland was the only survivor
of the three co-heiresses of Sir Hildebrand Ray-
land; one of the first of those to whom the title of
Baronet had been granted by James the First. The
name had been before of great antiquity in the
county—and the last baronet having only daughters
to share his extensive possessions, these ladies had
been educated with such very high ideas of their
own importance, that they could never be prevailed
upon to lessen, by sharing it with any of those nu-
merous suitors who for the first forty or fifty years
of their lives surrounded them ; and Mrs. Barbara
the eldest, and Mrs. Catharine the youngest, died
single—one at the age of seventy, and the other at
that of sixty-eight; by which events the second,
Mrs. Grace, saw herself at the advanced age of
sixty-nine sole inheritor of the fortunes of her
house, without any near relation, or indeed any re-
lation at all whom she chose to consider as entitled
to possess it after her death.
About four miles from the ancient and splendid
seat she inhabited, dwelt the only person, who
could claim any affinity with the Rayland family;
this was a gentleman of the name of Somerive;
VOL., XXXVI. - B - -


2 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
who was considered by the people of the country as
heir at law, as he was the grandson of one of the
sisters of Sir Hildebrand ; but Mrs. Rayland her-
self, whose opinion was more material, since it was
all at her own disposal, did not by any means seem
to entertain the same idea.
The venerable lady, and her two sisters, had ne-
ver beheld this their relation with the eyes of friend-
ly interest; nor had they ever extended towards
him that generous favour which they had so much
the power to afford, and which could not have fail-
ed to prove very acceptable; since he had married
early in life, and had a family of two sons and four
daughters to support on the produce of an estate,
which, though he farmed it himself, did not bring
in a clear five hundred pounds a year.
Various reasons, or rather prejudices, had con-
curred to occasion this coolness on the part of the
ladies towards their cousin.—Their aunt, who had
married his ancestor, had, as they had always been
taught, degraded herself extremely, by giving her-
self to a man who was a mere yeoman,—The son
of this union had however been received and ac-
knowledged as the cousin of the illustrious heiresses
of the house of Rayland; but following most ple-
beian-like the unaspiring inclination of his own fa-
mily, he had fallen in love with a young woman
who lived with them as companion; when it was
believed that, as he was a remarkably handsome
man, he might have lifted his eyes with impunity
to one of the ladies, his cousins: this occasioned an
estrangement of many years, and had never been
forgiven.—The recollection of it returned with acri-
monious violence, when the son of this imprudent
man imitated his father, five-and-twenty years af.
terwards, and married a woman who had nothing to
recommendher but beauty, simplicity, and goodness.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 3
However, notwithstanding the repeated causes
of complaint which this luckless family of Somerive
had given to the austere and opulent inhabitants of
Rayland Hall, the elder lady had on her death-bed
recollected, that though debased by the alloy of
unworthy alliances, they carried in their veins a
portion of that blood which had circulated in those
of the august personage Sir Orlando de Rayland
her grandfather; and she therefore recommended
Mr. Somerive and his family, but particularly his
youngest son (who was named, by reluctantly ob-
tained permission, after Sir Qrlando), to the con-
sideration of her sisters, and even gave to Mr.
Somerive himself a legacy of five hundred pounds;
a gift which her sisters took so much amiss (though
they possessed between them a yearly income of
near twice five thousand) that it had nearly rendered
her injunction abortive; and they treated the whole
family for some time afterwards with the greatest
coolness, and even rudeness; as if to convince
them, that though Mrs. Rayland had thus acknow-
ledged their relationship, it gave them no claim
whatever on the future kindness of her surviving
sisters.
For some years afterwards the dinners, to which
in great form the whole family were invited twice
a year, were entirely omitted, and none of them ad-
mitted to the honour of visiting at the Hall, but
Orlando, then a child of nine or ten years old;
and even his introduction was principally owing to
the favour of an old lady, the widow of a .#.
man, who was among the ancient friends of the fa-
mily, that still enjoyed the privilege of being regu-
larly sent for in the old family coach, once a year;
a custom which, originating in the days of Sir Hil-
debrand, was still retained.
This lady was a woman of sense and benevolence,
B 2


4. THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
and had often attempted to do kind offices to the
Somerive family with their rich maiden relations;
but the height of her success amounted to no more
than obtaining a renewal of the very little notice
that had ever been taken of them, after those ca-
pricious fits of coldness which sometimes happened;
and once, some time after the death of the elder
Mrs. Rayland, bringing Orlando to the Hall in
her hand (whom she had met by chance fishing in
a stream that ran through their domain), not with-
out being chidden for encouraging an idle child to
catch minnows, or for leading him all dirty and wet
into their parlour, at a time when the best em-
broidered chairs, done by the hands of dame Ger-
trude Rayland, were actually unpapered, and un-
covered for the reception of company.
There was indeed in the figure, face, and man-
ner of the infant Orlando, something so irresistible,
that if Mesdames Alecto, Tisiphone, and Megara
had seen him, they would probably have been
softened in his favour—And this something, had
always so pleaded for him with the three equally
formidableladies his relations, that notwithstanding
the opposition of their favourite maid, who was in
erson and feature well worthy to make the fourth
in such a group, and the tales of their old and con-
fidential butler, who did not admire the intro-
duction of any competitor whatever, Orlando had
always been in some degree of favour—even when
his father, mother, and sisters were shut out, and
his elder brother entirely disclaimed as a wild and
incorrigible boy, who had been caught in the fact
of hunting divers cats, and shooting one of their
guinea hens—Orlando, though not at all less wild
than his brother, and too artless to conceal his viva-
city, was still endured—A new half-crown from
each of the ladies was presented to him on every


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 5
return to school, together with abundance of excel-
lent advice; and if any one observed that he was a
remarkably handsome boy, the ladies never contra-
dicted it; though, when the same observation was
made as to the rest of the family, it was declared to
be most absurd, and utterly unfounded in truth.-
To the beauty indeed of any female the ladies of
Rayland Hall had a particular objection, but that
of the Miss Somerives was above all obnoxious to
them—Nor could they ever forget the error the
grandfather of these children had committed in
marrying for her beauty the young woman, whose
poverty having reduced her to be their humble
companion, they had considered as an inferior be-
ing, and had treated with supercilious insolence and
contempt—To those thereforetowhom her unlucky
beauty was transmitted, they bore irreconcileable
enmity, even in the second generation; and had
any one been artful enough to have suggested that
Orlando was like his grandmother, it would proba-
bly have occasioned the loss even of the slight share
of favour he possessed.
When Orlando was about twelve years old, the
younger of the three antique heiresses died: she
left not however even a small legacy to the Some-
rive family, but gave every thing she possessed to
her surviving sister. Yet even by this lady, though
the coldest and most unsociable tempered of the
three, Orlando was not entirely forgotten—she left
him the bible she always used in her closet, and ten
pounds to buy mourning; the other members of
his family were not even named.
One only of the Mrs. Raylands now remained;
a woman who, except regularly keeping up the
payment of the annual alms, which had by her
ancestors been given once a year to the poor of
her parish, was never known to have done a vo-
B 3


6 - THE old MANOR House.
luntary kindness to any human being; and though
she sometimes gave away money, it was never
without making the wretched petitioner pay most
dearly for it, by many a bitter humiliation—never,
but when it was surely known, and her great good-
ness, her liberal donation to such and such people,
were certainly related with exaggeration, at the
two market-towns within four or five miles of her
house.
With a very large income, and a great annual
saving, her expenses were regulated exactly by the
customs of her family. She lived, generally
alone, at the Old Hall, which had not received the
slightest alteration, either in its environs or its fur-
niture, since it was embellished for the marriage of
her father Sir Hildebrand, in 1698.
Twice a year, when courts were held for the
manors, there were tenants' feasts—and twice there
was a grand dinner, to which none were admitted
but a neighbouring nobleman, and the two or three
titled people who resided within ten miles.——
Twice too in the course of the year the family of
Somerive were invited in form; but Mrs. Rayland
generally took the same opportunity of asking the
clergy of the surrounding country with their wives
and daughters, the attorneys and apothecaries of
the adjoining towns with theirs, as if to convince
the Somerives that they were to expect no distinc-
tion on account of the kindred they claimed to the
house of Rayland.--—And indeed it was on these
occasions that Mrs. Rayland seemed to take pecu-
liar pleasure in mortifying Mrs. Somerive and her
daughters, who dreaded these dinner days as those
of the greatest penance; and who at Christmas,
one of the periods of these formal dinners, have
blest more than once the propitious snow; through
which that important and magisterial personage,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 7
the body coachman of Mrs. Rayland, did not choose
to venture himself, or the six sleek animals of
which he was sole governor; for on these occasions
it was the established rule to send for the family,
with the same solemnity and the same parade that
had been used ever since the first sullen and reluc-
tant reconciliation between Sir Hildebrand and his
sister ; when she dared to deviate from the fasti-
dious arrogance of her family, and to marry a man
who farmed his own estate—and who, though long
settled as a very respectable land-owner, had not
yet written “Armiger' after his name.
But when the snow fell not, and the ways were
passable; or when in summer no excuse was left,
and the rheumatism of the elder, or the colds of
the younger ladies could not be pleaded; the fe-
males of the family of Somerive were compelled to
endure, in all their terrific and tedious forms, the
grand dinners at the Hall. And though on these
occasions the mother and the daughters endeavour-
ed, by the simplicity of their dress, and the humi-
lity of their manners, to disarm the haughty dislike
which Mrs. Rayland never took any pains to con-
ceal, they never could obtain from her even as much
common civility as she deigned to bestow on the
ladies who were not connected with her; and Mr.
Somerive had often been so much hurt by her su-
percilious behaviour towards his wife and daugh-
ters, that he had frequently resolved they should
never again be exposed to endure it. But these reso-
lutions his wife, hateful as the ceremony was to her,
always contrived to prevail upon him to give up,
rather than incur the hazard of injuring her family
º an unpardonable offence against a capricious and
ill-natured old woman, who, however oddly she be-
haved, was still by many people believed to intend
giving all her fortune to those who had undoubt-


8 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
edly the best claim to it; others indeed thought,
with more appearance of probability, that she’.
would endow an hospital, or divide it among public
charities.
When the young Orlando was at home, and
accompanied his family in these visits, the austere
visage of Mrs. Rayland was alone seen to relax into
a smile—and as he grew older, this partiality was
observed evidently to increase, insomuch that the
neighbours observed, that whatever aversion the
old lady had to feminine beauty, she did not detest
that which nature had very liberally bestowed on
Orlando.—He was seventeen, and was not only one
^ of the finest looking lads in that country, but had
long since obtained all the knowledge he could ac-
quire at a neighbouring grammar school; from
| whence his father now took him, and began to con-
sider of plans for his future life.—The eldest son,
who would, as the father fondly hoped, succeed to
the Rayland estate, he had sent to Oxford, where
| he had been indulged in his natural turn to expense;
t and his father had suffered him to live rather suit-
ably to what he expected than to what he was sure
of-In this Mr. Somerive had acted extremely
wrong; but it was from motives so natural, that
his error was rather lamented than blamed. An er-
ror however, and of the most dangerous tendency,
he had now discovered it to be ; young Somerive
had violent passions, and an understanding very ill
suited to their management.—He had early in life
seized with avidity the idea, which servants and te-
nants were ready enough to communicate, that he
must have the Rayland estate; and had very
thoughtlessly expressed this to those who failed not
to repeat it to their present mistress, tenacious of
her power, andjealous of every attempt to encroach
on her property.—He had besides trespassed on


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 9
some remote corners of her manors; and her game-
keeper had represented him as a terrible depredator
among her partridges, pheasants, and hares. These
offences, added to the cat-chaces, and tying canis-
ters to the tails of certain dogs, of which he had
been convicted in the early part of his life, had
made so deep an impression against him, that now,
whenever he was at home, the family were never
asked ; and insensibly, from calling now and then
to inquire after her while Mrs. Rayland lay ill of
a violent fit of the gout, Orlando had been admitted
to drink his tea at the Hall; then to dine there;
and at last, as winter came on with stormy even-
ings and bad roads, he had been allowed to sleep
in a little tapestry room, next to the old library at
the end of the north wing—a division of the house
so remote from that inhabited by the female part
(or indeed by any part) of the family, that it could
give no ideas of indecorum even to the iron prudery
of Mrs. Rayland herself.
Though Orlando was of a temper which made it
impossible for him to practise any of those arts by
which the regard of such a woman could be se-
cured; and though the degree of favour he had
obtained was long rather a misery than a pleasure
to him; his brother beheld the progress he made
with jealousy and anger, and began to hate Or-
lando for having gained advantages of which he
openly avowed his disdain and contempt.—As his
expenses, which his father could no longer sup-
port, had by this time obliged him to quit the uni-
versity, he was now almost always at home; and
his sneering reproaches, as well as his wild and
unguarded conversation, rendered that home every
day less pleasant to Orlando—while the quiet
asylum he had obtained at the Hall, in a room ad-
joining to that where a great collection of books


1() THE OLD - MANOR HOUSE.
were never disturbed in their long slumber by any
human being but himself, endeared to him the
gloomy abode of the Sybil, and reconciled him to
the penance he was still obliged to undergo; for
he was now become passionately fond of reading,
and thought the use of such a library cheaply
earned by acting as a sort of chaplain, reading the
psalms and lessons every day, and the service in
very bad weather; with a sermon on Sunday even-
ing. And he even gradually forgot his murmur-
ings at being imprisoned on Sundays and on Fri-
days in the great old long-bottomed coach, while it
was dragged in a most solemn pace either to the
next parish church, which was indeed at but a short
distance from the mansion, or to that of a neigh-
bouring town, whither, on some propitious and
sunny days of summer, the old lady loved to pro-
ceed in state, and to display to her rustic or more
enlightened neighbours a specimen of the magnifi-
cence of the last century. But as history must con-
ceal no part of the truth, from partiality to the hero
it celebrates, it must not be denied that the young
Orlando had, though insensibly and almost un-
known to himself, another motive for submitting
with a good grace to pass much of his time in a
way, for which, thinking as he thought, the pros-
pect of even boundless wealth could have made
him no compensation.—To explain this, it may be
necessary to describe the persons who from his
minth year, when he became first so much distin-
guished by Mrs. Rayland, till his eighteenth, com-
posed the household, of which he, during that
period, occasionally made a part.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 11
CHAPTER II.
The confidential servant, or rather companion and
femme de charge of Mrs. Rayland, was a woman
of nearly her own age, of the name of Lennard.—
This person, who was as well as her mistress a spin-
ster, had been well educated, and was the daugh-
ter of a merchant who lost the fruits of a long
course of industry in the fatal year 1720. He died
of a broken heart, leaving his two daughters, who
had been taught to expect high affluence, to the
mercy of the world. Mrs. Rayland, whose pride
was gratified in having about her the victim of un-
successful trade, for which she had always a most
profound contempt, received Mrs. Lennard as her
own servant. She was however so much superior
to her mistress in understanding, that she soon go-
verned her entirely; and while the mean pliability
of her spirit made her submit to all the contemptu-
ous and unworthy treatment, which the paltry pride
of Mrs. Rayland had pleasure in inflicting, she se-
cretly triumphed in the consciousness of superior
abilities, and knew that she was in fact the mistress
of the supercilious being whose wages she received.
Every year she became more and more necessary
to Mrs. Rayland, who, after the death of both her
sisters, made her not only governess of her house,
but her companion. Her business was, to sit with
her in her apartment when she had no company;
to read the newspaper; to make tea; to let in and
out the favourite dogs (the task of combing and
washing them was transferred to a deputy); to
collect and report at due seasons intelligence of all
that happened in the neighbouring families; to give
regular returns of the behaviour of all the servants,
except the old butler and the old coachman, who


12 THE OLD MANOR Hous E.
had each a jurisdiction of their own; to take espe-
cial care that the footmen and helpers behaved re-
spectfully to the maids (who were all chosen by her-
self, and exhibited such a group, as secured, better
than her utmost vigilance, this decorous behaviour
from the male part of the family); to keep the
keys; to keep her mistress in good humour with
herself, and as much as possible at a distance from
the rest of the world, above all, from that part of it
who might interfere with her present and future
views; which certainly were to make herself amends
for the former injustice of fortune, by securing to
her own use a considerable portion of the great
wealth possessed by Mrs. Rayland.
Of the accomplishment of this she might well
entertain a reasonable hope; for she was some few
years younger than her mistress (though she art-
fully added to her age, whenever she had occasion
to speak of it), and was besides of a much better
constitution, possessing one of those frames where
a good deal of bone and no flesh seem to defy the
gripe of disease. The sister of this Mrs. Lennard
had experienced a very different destiny—She had
been taken at the time of her father's misfortunes
into the family of a nobleman; she had married the
chaplain, ...} retired with him on a small living,
where she died in a few years, leaving several chil-
dren; among others a daughter, to whom report
imputed uncommon beauty, and scandal a too in-
timate connexion with the noble patron of her
father. Certain it is, that on his marriage, he gave
her a sum of money, and she became the wife of a
young attorney, who was a kind of steward, by
whom she had three children; of which none sur-
vived their parents, but a little girl born after her
father's death, and whose birth occasioned that of
her mother. To this little orphan, her great aunt


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 13
Mrs. Lennard, who with all her starched prudery
had a considerable share of odd romantic whim in
her composition, had given the dramatic and un-
common name of Monimia—Such at least was the
history given in Mrs. Rayland's family of an infant
girl, which at about four years old had been by the
permission of her patroness taken, as it was said,
from nurse, at a distant part of the county, and re-
ceived by Mrs. Lennard at Rayland Hall; where
she at first never appeared before the lady but by
accident, but was the inhabitant of the house-
keeper's room, and under the immediate care of
the still-room maid, who was a person much de-
voted to Mrs. Lennard.
Mrs. Rayland had an aversion to children, and
had consented to the admission of this into her
house, on no other condition, but that she should
never hear it cry, or ever have any trouble about
it.—Her companion easily engaged for that; as
Rayland Hall was so large, that les enfans trouvés
at Paris might have been the inhabitants of one of
its wings, without alarming a colony of ancient vir-
gins at the other. The little Monimia, though she
was described as having been
“The child of misery, baptiz'd in tears.” LANGHoRN.
was not particularly disposed to disturb, by infan-
tine expressions of distress, the chaste and silent
solitudes of the Hall; for though her little fair
countenance had at times something of a melan-
choly cast, there was more of sweetness than of
sorrow in it; and if she ever shed tears, they were
so mingled with smiles, that she might have sat to
the painter of the Seasons for the representative
of infant April. Her beauty however was not
likely to recommend her to the favour of her aunt's
affluent patroness; but as to recommend her was
the design of Mrs. Lennard, she saw that a beauty
VOL, XXXVI. C


14 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
of four or five years old would be much less ob-
noxious than one of fifteen, or even nine or ten;
and therefore she contrived to introduce her by de-
grees; that when she grew older, her charms, by
being long seen, might lose their power to offend.
She contrived that Mrs. Rayland might first see
the little orphan as by chance; then she sent her
in, when she knew her mistress was in good humour,
with a basket of fruit, an early pine, some preserves
in brandy, or something, or other which was ac-
ceptable to her lady's palate; and on these occa-
sions Monimia acquitted herself to a miracle; and
presented her little offering, and made her little
curtsey, with so much innocent grace, that Hecate
in the midst of her rites might have suspended her
incantations to have admired her. At six years
old she had so much won upon the heart of Mrs.
Rayland, that she became a frequent guest in the
parlour, and saved her aunt the trouble of opening
the door for Bella, and Pompey, and Julie. From
the tenderness of her nature she became an admira-
ble nurse for the frequent litters of kittens, with
which two favourite cats continually increased the
family of her protectress; and the numerous daily
applications from robins and sparrows under the
windows, were never so well attended to as since
Monimia was entrusted with the care of answering
their demands.
But her name—Monimia—was an incessant oc-
casion of reproach—Why, said Mrs. Rayland, why
would you, Lennard, give the child such a name 2
As the girl will have nothing, why put such ro-
mantic notions in her head, as may perhaps prevent
her getting her bread honestly?—Monimia —I
protest I don't love even to repeat the name; it puts
me so in mind of a very hateful play, which I re-
member shocked me so when I was a mere girl, that


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 15
I have always detested the name. Monimia!—'tis
so very unlike a Christian's name, that, if the child
is much about me, I must insist upon having her
called Mary.
To this Mrs. Lennard of course consented, ex-
cusing herself for the romantic impropriety of
which her lady accused her, by saying, that she
understood Monimia signified an orphan, a person
left alone and deserted; and therefore had given it
to a child who was an orphan from her birth—but
that, as it was displeasing, she should at least never
be called so. The little girl then was Mary in the
parlour; but among the servants, and with the
people around the house, she was still Monimia.
Among those who fondly adhered to her original
name was Orlando; who, when he first became a
frequent visitor as a school-boy at the Hall, stole
often into the still-room to play with the little girl,
who was three years younger than himself—and
insensibly grew as fond of her as of one of his sis-
ters. Mrs. Lennard always checked this innocent
mirth; and when she found it impossible wholly
to prevent two children who were in the same house
from playing with each other, she took every pos-
sible precaution to prevent her lady's ever seeing
them together; and threatened the severest punish-
ment to the little Monimia, if she at any time even
spoke to Master Somerive, when in the presence of
Mrs. Rayland.—But nothing could be so irksome
to a healthy and lively child of nine or ten years
old, as the sort of confinement to which Monimia
was condemned in consequence of her admission to
the parlour; where she was hardly ever suffered
to speak, but sat at a distant window, where, whe-
ther it was winter or summer, she was to remain no
otherwise distinguished from a statue than by being
employed in making the household linen, and some-
C 2


16 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
times in spinning it with a little wheel which Mrs.
Rayland, who piqued herself upon following the
notable maxims of her mother, had bought for her,
and at which she kept her closely employed when
there was no other work to do.—When any com-
pany came, then and then only she was dismissed;
but this happened very rarely; and many many
hours poor Monimia vainly prayed for the sight of
a coach or chaise at the end of the long avenue,
which was to her the blessed signal of transient
liberty.
Her dress, the expense of which Mrs. Rayland
very graciously took upon herself, was such as in-
dicated to all who saw her, at once the charity and
prudence of her patroness, who repeatedly told her
visitors, that she had taken the orphan niece of her
old servant Lennard, not with any view of making
her a gentlewoman, but to bring her up to get her
bread honestly; and therefore she had directed her
to be dressed, not in gauzes and flounces, like the
flirting girls she saw so tawdry at church, but in a
plain stuff; not flaring without a º which she
thought monstrously indecent for a female at any
age, but in a plain cap, and a clean white apron,
that she might never be encouraged to vanity by
any kind of finery that did not become her situa-
tion.—Monimia, though dressed like a parish girl,
or in a way very little superior, was observed by
the visitors who happened to see her, and to whom
this harangue was made, to be so very pretty, that
nothing could conceal or diminish her beauty.
Her dark stuff gown gave new lustre to her lovely
complexion; and her thick muslin cap could not
confine her luxuriant dark hair. Her shape was
symmetry itself, and her motions so graceful, that
it was impossible to behold her, even attached to
her humble employment at the wheel, without ac-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 17
knowledging that no art could give what nature had
bestowed upon her.
Orlando, who had loved her as aplay-fellow while
they were both children, now began to feel a more
tender and more respectful affection for her; though
unconscious himself that it was her beauty that
awakened these sentiments. On the last of his
holidays, before he entirely left school, the vigi-
lance of Mrs. Lennard was redoubled, and she so
contrived to confine Monimia, that their romping
was at end, and they hardly ever saw each other,
except by mere chance, at a distance, or now and
then at dinner, when Monimia was suffered to dine
at table; an honour which she was not always
allowed, but which Mrs. Lennard cautiously avoid-
ed entirely suspending when Orlando was at the
Hall, as there was nothing she seemed to dread so
much as alarming Mrs. Rayland with any idea of
Orlando's noticing her niece. This however never
happened at that time to occur to the old lady;
not only because Mrs. Lennard took such pains to
lead her imagination from any such probability,
but because she considered them both as mere
children, and Monimia as a servant.
It was however at this time that a trifling inci-
dent had nearly awakened such suspicions, and oc-
casioned such displeasure, as it would have been
very difficult to have subdued or appeased. Mrs.
Rayland had been long confined by a fit of the
gout; and the warm weather of Whitsuntide had
only just enabled her to walk, leaning on a crutch
on one side, and on Mrs. Lennard on the other, in
a long gallery which reached the whole length of
the south wing, and which was hung with a great
number of family pictures.—Mrs. Rayland had pe-
culiar satisfaction in relating the history of the
heroes and dames of her family, who were repre-
c 3


18 The old MANOR HOUSE.
sented by these portraits.-Sir Roger De Coverley
never went over the account of his ancestors with
more correctness or more delight. Indeed, the re-
flections of Mrs. Rayland wereuninterrupted by any
of those little blemishes in the history of her proge-
nitors, that somewhat bewildered the good knight;
for she boasted that not one of the Rayland family
had ever condescended to degrade himself by
trade; and that the marriage of Mrs. Somerive,
her aunt, was the only instance in which a daugh-
ter of the Raylands had stooped to an inferior al-
liance.—The little withered figure, bent down with
age and infirmity, and the last of a race which she
was thus arrogantly boasting—a race which in a
few years, perhaps a few months, might be no
more remembered—was a ridiculous instance of
human folly and human vanity, at which Lennard
had sense enough to smile internally, while she
affected to listen with interest to stories which she
had heard repeated for near forty years. It was in
the midst of her attention to an anecdote which
generally closed the relation of a speech made by
Queen Anne to the last Lady Rayland on her hav-
ing no son, that a sudden and violent bounce to-
wards the middle of the gallery occasioned an inter-
ruption of the story, and equal amazement in the
i. and her confidante; who both turning round,
not very nimbly indeed, demanded of Monimia,
who had been sitting in one of the old-fashioned
bow-windows of which the casement was open,
what was the matter?
Monimia, covered with blushes, and in a sort of
scuffle to conceal something with her feet, replied,
hesitating and trembling, that she did not know.
Mrs. Lennard, who probably guessed the truth,
declared loudly that she would immediately find
out. But it was not the work of a moment to set


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 19
her lady safely on one of the leathern settees,
while she herself hastened to the window to disco-
ver, if possible, who had from the court below
thrown in the something that had thus alarmed
them. Before she reached the window, therefore,
the court was clear; and Monimia had recovered
from her confusion, and went on with her work.
Mrs. Lennard now thought proper to give ano-
ther turn to the incident. She said, it must have
been some accidental noise, from the wainscot's
cracking in dry weather—though I could have sworn
at the moment, cried she, that something very
hard, like a stone or a stick, had been thrown into
the room. However to be sure, I must have been
mistaken, for certainly there is nobody in the
court; and really one does recollect hearing in this
gallery very odd noises, which, if one was super-
stitious, might sometimes make one uneasy.—Many
of the neighbours some years ago used to say tome,
that they wondered I was not afraid of crossing it
of a night by myself, when you, Ma'am, used to
sleep in the worked bed-chamber, and I lay over
the house-keeper's room. But I used to say, that
you had such an understanding, that Ishould offend
you by shewing any foolish fears; and that all the
noble family that owned this house time out of
mind, were such honourable persons, that none of
them could be supposed likely to walk after their
decease, as the spirits of wicked persons are said to
do. But, however, they used to answer in reply to
that, that some of your ancestors, Ma'am, had hid
great sums of money and valuable jewels in this
house, to save it from the wicked rebelsin the time of
the blessed Martyr; and that it was to reveal these
treasures that the appearances of spirits had been
seen and strange noises heard about the house.
This speech was so exactly calculated to please


20 The OLD MANOR House.
the lady to whom it was addressed, that it almost
obliterated the recollection of the little alarm she
had felt, and blunted the spirit of inquiry, which
the twinges of the gout also contributed to dimi-
nish; and fortunately the arrival of the apothecary,
who was that moment announced, and whose visits
were always a matter of importance, left her no
longer any time to interrogate Monimia. But Mrs.
Lennard, having led her down to her great chair,
and seen her safely in conference with her physical
friend, returned hastily to the gallery, where Mo-
mimia still remained demurely at work; and pe-
remptorily insisted on knowing what it was that had
bounced into the room, and struck against the
picture of Sir Hildebrand himself; who in armour,
and on a white horse whose flanks were oversha-
dowed by his stupendous wig, pranced over the
great gilt chimney-piece, just as he appeared at the
head of a county association in 1707.
Monimia was a poor dissembler, and had never in
her life been guilty of a falsehood. She was as
little capable of disguising as of denying the truth;
and the menaces of her aunt frightened her into an
immediate confession, that it was Mr. Orlando,
who passing through the court to go to cricket in
the park, had seen her sitting at the window, and,
not thinking any harm, had thrown up his ball only
in play to make her jump; but that it had unluck-
ily gone through the window, and hit against the
icture. -
And what became of it afterwards? angrily de-
manded Mrs. Lennard.
It bounded, answered the innocent culprit—it
bounded across the floor, and Irolled it away with
my feet, under the chairs.
And how dared you, exclaimed the aunt, how
dared you, artful little hussey, conceal the truth


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 21
from me? how dared you encourage any such abo-
ninable doings?—A pretty thing indeed to have
happen!—Suppose the good-for-nothing boy had
hit my lady or me upon the head or breast, as it
was a mercy he did not—there would have been a
fine story!-Or suppose he had broke the win-
dows, shattered the panes, and cut us with the
glass!—or what if he had beat the stained glass of
my lady's coat of arms, up at top there, all to
smash—what d'ye think would have become of you,
you worthless little puss what punishment would
have been bad enough for you?
My dear aunt, said the weeping Monimia, how
could I help it? I am sure I did not know what Mr.
Orlando was going to do; I saw him but a moment
before ; and you know that, if I had known he in-
tended to throw the ball up, I dared not have spo-
ken to him to have prevented it.
Have spoken to him, indeed?—No, I think not :
and remember this, girl, that you have come off
well this time, and I shan't say any thing of the
matter to my lady; but if I ever catch you speak-
ing to that wicked boy, or even daring to look at
him, I will turn you out of doors that moment—and
let this teach you that I am in earnest. Having thus
said, she gave the terrified trembling girl a violent
blow, or what was in her language a good box on
the ear, which forcing her head against the stone
window-frame almost stunned her: she then re-
peated it on the lovely neck of her victim, where
the marks of her fingers were to be traced many
days afterwards; and flounced out of the room,
and, composing herself, went down to give her
share of information, as to her lady's complaint, to
the apothecary.
The unhappy Monimia, who had felt ever since
her earliest recollection the misery of her situation,


22 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
º
was never so sensible of it as at this moment. The
work fell from her hands—she laid her head on a
marble slab, that was on one side of the bow win-
dow, and gave way to an agony of grief–Her cap
had fallen from her head, and her fine hair conceal-
ed her face, which resting on her arms was bathed
in tears. Sobs, that seemed to rend her heart, were
the only expression of sorrow she was able to utter;
she heard, she saw nothing—but was suddenly
startled by something touching her hand as it hung
lifelessly over the table. She looked up—and
beheld, with mingled emotions of surprise and fear,
Orlando Somerive: who, with tears in his eyes,
and in a faultering whisper, conjured her to tell
him what was the matter. The threat so recently
uttered yet vibrated in her ears—and her terror,
lest her aunt should return and find Orlando there,
was so great, that, without knowing what she did,
she started up and ran towards the door; from
whence she would have fled, disordered as she was,
down stairs, and through the very room where
Mrs. Rayland, her aunt, and the apothecary were
in conference, if Orlando, with superior strength
and agility, had not thrown himself before her, and,
setting his back against the door, insisted upon
knowing the cause of her tears before he suffered
her to stir.
Gasping for breath, trembling and inarticulately
she tried to relate the effects of his indiscretion, and
that therefore her aunt had threatened and struck
her. Orlando, whose temper was naturally warm,
and whose generous spirit revolted from every kind
of injustice, felt at once his indignation excited by
this act of oppression, and his anger that Mrs. Len-
nard should arraign him for a childish frolic, and
thence take occasion so unworthily to treat an in-
nocent girl; and being too rash to reflect on con-


The old MANOft house, 23
sequences, he declared that he would go instantly
into the parlour, confess to Mrs. Rayland what he
had done, and appeal against the tyranny and cru-
elty of her woman.
It was now the turn of poor Monimia to entreat
and implore; and she threw herself half frantic
on her knees before him, and besought him rather
to kill her, than to expose her to #. terrors and
distress such a step would inevitably plunge her
into. Indeed, dear Orlando, cried she, you would
not be heard against my aunt. Mrs. Rayland, if she
forgave you, would never forgive me; but I should
beinmediately turned out ofthehousewith disgrace;
and I have no friend, no relation in the world
but my aunt, and must beg my bread. But it is
not so much that, added she, while sobs broke her
utterance, it is not so much that I care for—I am
so unfortunate that it does not signify what be-
comes of me: I can work in the fields, or can go
through any hardship; but Mrs. Rayland will be
very angry with you, and will not suffer you to
come to the Hall again, and I shall—never—never
see you any more.
This speech, unguarded and simple as it was,
had more effect on Orlando than the most studied
eloquence. He took the weeping trembling Moni-
mia up in his arms, seated her in a chair; and dry-
ing her eyes, he besought her to be comforted, and
to assure herself, that whatever he might feel, he
would do nothing that should give her pain.—Oh!
go then, for Heaven's sake go from hence instantly!
replied Monimia.-If my aunt should come to look
for me, as it is very likely she will, we should be
both undone !
Good God exclaimed Orlando, why should it
be so?—why are we never to meet? and what
harm to any one is done by my friendship for you,
Monimia? 7


24 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
Alas! answered she, every moment more and
more apprehensive of the arrival of her aunt, alas !
Orlando, I know not ; I am sure it was once, be-
fore my aunt was so enraged at it, all the comfort
I had in the world; but now it is my greatest mi-
sery, because I dare not even look at you when I
happen to meet you.-Yet I am sure I meant no
hurt to any body; nor can it do my cruel aunt any
harm, that you pity a poor orphan who has no
friend upon earth.
I will, however, replied he warmly, pity and
love you too—love you as well as I do any of my
sisters—even the sister I love best—and I should
hate myself if I did not. But, dear Monimia, tell
me, if I cannot see you in the day time, is it pos-
sible for you to walk out of an evening, when these
old women are in bed 2–When I am not at the
Hall they would suspect nothing; and I should not
mind walking from home after our people are in
bed, to meet you for half an hour any where about
these grounds.
Ignorant of the decorum required by the world,
and innocent, even to infantine simplicity, as Mo-
nimia was, at the age of something more than four-
teen, she had that natural rectitude of understand-
ing, that at once told her these clandestine meet-
ings would be wrong. Ah no, Mr. Orlando I said
she sighing, that must not be; for if it should be
known— w
It cannot, it shall not be known, cried he, eager-
ly interrupting her.
But it is impossible, my good friend, if it were
not wrong; for you remember that to-day is Satur-
day, and your school begins on Monday.
Curse on the school! I had indeed forgot it.—
Well, but promise me then, Monimia, promise me
that you will make yourself easy now; and that
when I come from school entirely, which I shall do


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 25
at Christmas, we shall contrive to meet sometimes,
and to read together, as we used to do, the Fairy
Tales, and the Arabian Nights, last year, and the
year before.—Will you promise me, Monimia?
Monimia, whose apprehensions every moment
increased, and who even fancied she heard the
rustle of Mrs. Lennard's gown upon the private
staircase that led down from the gallery, was ready
to promise any thing.—Oh! yes, yes, Orlando!—I
promise—do but go now, and we shall not perhaps
be so unhappy: my aunt may not be so very ill-
humoured when you come home again.
And say you will not cry any more now !
I will not, indeed I will not—but for God's sake
go!—I’m sure I hear somebody.
There is nobody indeed; but I will go, to make
#. easy.—He then, trembling as much as she did,
astily kissed the hand he held; and gliding on tip-
toe to the other end of the gallery, went through
the apartments that led down the great staircase,
and taking a circuit round another part of the
house, entered the room where Mrs. Rayland was
sitting, as if he had been just come from cricket in
the park.
He had not left the gallery a moment before
Mrs. Lennard eame to look for Monimia, whom
she found in greater agitation than she had left her,
and still drowned in tears. She again began in
the severest terms to reprove her; and as the sobs
and sighs of the suffering girl deprived her of the
power of answering her invectives, she violently
seized her arm; and, dragging rather than leading
her to her own room, she bade her instantly un-
dress and go to bed—that you may not, said she,
expose your odious blubbered face.
Poor Monimia was extremely willing to obey.—
She sat down and began to undress, listening as
VOL., XXXVI. D
t


26 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
patiently as she could to the violent scolding which
her indefatigable aunt still kept up against her;
who having at length exhausted her breath, bounc-
ed out and locked the door.
Monimia, then left alone, again began to indulge
her tears; but her room was in a turret over a sort
of lumber-room, where the game-keeper kept his
nets and his rods, and where Orlando used to de-
posit his bow, his cricket-bats, and other instru-
ments of sport, with which he was indulged with
playing in the park. She now heard him come in,
with one of the servants; for such an effect had his
voice, that she could distinguish it amid a thousand
others, and when it did not seem to be audible to
any one else.—Though she could not now distin-
guish the words, she heard him discoursing as if he
seemed to be bidding the place farewell for that
time. She got upon a chair (for the long narrow
window was so far from the ground that she could
not see through it as she stood;) and she perceived
Orlando cross the park on foot, and slowly and re-
luctantly walk towards that part of it that was next
to his father's house. She continued to look at him
till a wood, through which he had to pass, con-
cealed him from her view. She then retired to her
bed, and shed tears. Orlando left his home the
next day, for his last half-year at the school (having
that evening taken leave of Mrs. Rayland;) and it
was six months before Monimia saw him again.
CHAPTER III.
However trifling the incident was that is related in
the foregoing chapter, it so much alarmed the pru-
dent sagacity of Mrs. Lennard, that when, on the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 27
following Christmas, Mr. Orlando returned to his
occasional visits at the Hall, she took more care
than before to prevent any possibility of his ever
having an opportunity of meeting Monimia alone;
and as much as she could without being remarked
by her lady, from seeing her at all. But while she
took these precautions, she began to think them
useless. Orlando was no longer the giddy boy,
eager at his childish sports, and watching with im-
patience for a game of blindman's buff in the ser-
vant's hall, or a romp with any one who would play
with him. Orlando was a young man as uncom-
monly grave, as he was tall and handsome. There
was something more than gravity, there was dejec-
tion in his manner; but it served only to make him
more interesting. He now slept oftener than before
at the Hall, but he was seen there less; and passed
whole days in his own room, or rather in the libra-
ry; where, as this quiet and studious temper recom-
mended him more than ever to Mrs. Rayland, she
allowed him to have a fire, to the great comfort and
benefit of the books, which had been without that
advantage for many years.
Mrs. Lennard, who now beheld him with peculiar
favour, though she had formerly done him ill offices,
seemed willing to oblige him in every thing but in
allowing him ever to converse with her niece, who
was seldom suffered to appear in the parlour, but
was kept to work in her own room. Mrs. Rayland's
increasing infirmities, though not such as threatened
her life, threw the management of every thing
about her more immediately into the hands of Mrs.
Lennard; and, occupied by the care of her own
health, Mrs. Rayland's attention to what was pass-
ing around her was less every day, and the imbe-
cility of age hourly more perceptible. She there-
fore made no remark on this change of system; but
D 2


28 "THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
if she happened to want Monimia, or, as she chose
to call her, Mary, she sent for her, and dismissed
her when her service was performed, without any
farther inquiry as to how she afterwards passed
her time.
Orlando, however, though he had, since his
last return, never spoken a word to Monimia, and
though, in their few and short meetings, the pre-
sence of Mrs. Lennard prevented their exchanging
even a look, was no longer at a loss to discriminate
those sentiments which he felt for the beautiful
orphan, whose charms, which had made almost in
infancy an impression on his heart, were now
opening to a perfection even beyond their early
promise. Her imprisonment, the harshness of her
aunt towards her, and her desolate situation, con-
tributed to raise in his heart all that the most tender
pity could add to the ardency of a first passion.
Naturally of a warm and sanguine temper, the sort
of reading he had lately pursued, his situation, his
very name, all added something to the romantic
enthusiasm of his character; but in the midst of
the fairy dreams which he indulged, reason too
often stepped in to poison his enjoyments, and
represented to him, that he was without fortune,
and without possession—that far from seeing at
present any probability of ever being able to offer
an establishment to the unfortunate Monimia, he
had to procure one for himself. It was now he first
felt an earnest wish, that the hopes his relations had
sometimes encouraged might be realized, and that
some part of the great wealth of the Rayland fa-
mily might be his; but with this he had no new
reason to flatter himself; for Mrs. Rayland, though
she seemed to become every day more fond of
his company, never took any notice of the neces-
sity there was, that now in his nineteenth year he


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 29
should fix upon some plan for his future establish-
ment in the world.
This necessity however lay heavy on the heart
of his father, who had long felt with anguish, that
the misconduct of his eldest son had rendered it
impossible for him to do justice to his younger.
With a small income and a large family, he had
never, though he lived as economically as possible,
been able to lay by much money; and what he had
saved, in the hope of accumulating small fortunes
for his daughters, had been paid away for his eldest
son in the first two years of his residence at Oxford;
the third had nearly devoured the five hundred
pounds legacy given to the family by the elder
Mrs. Rayland; and the first half-year after he left
the university, and which he passed between Lon-
don and his father's house, entirely exhausted that
resource; while Mr. Somerive in vain represented
to him, that, in continuing such a career, he must
see the estate mortgaged, which was the sole de-
pendence of his family now, and his sole depend-
ence hereafter.
So deep, and often so fatal, are early impressions
in minds where reason slowly and feebly combats
the influence of passion, that though nothing was
more certain than that Mrs. Rayland's fortune was
entirely at her own disposal, and nothing more
evident than her dislike to him, he never could be
persuaded that, as he was the heir at law, he should
not possess the greater part of the estate; and he
was accustomed, in his orgies, among his com-
panions, to drink “to their propitious meeting at
the Hall, when the old girl should be in Abraham's
bosom,” and not unfrequently “to her speedy
departure.” He settled with himself the alterations
he should make, and the stud he should collect;
Proposed to refit in an excellent style the old ken-
D 3


30 . The old MANor house.
nel, and to restore to Rayland Hall the praise it had
formerly boasted, of having the best pack of fox
hounds within three counties. When it was repre-
sented that the possibility of executing these plans
was very uncertain, since the old lady certainly
preferred Orlando, he answered—Oh! damn it,
that's not what I'm afraid of—No, no, the old hag
has been, thanks to my fortunate stars, brought up
in good old-fashioned notions, and knows that the
first-born son is in all Christian countries the head
of the house, and that the rest must scramble
through the world as well as they can—As for my
solemn brother, you see nature and fortune have
designed him for a parson. The tabby may like
him for a chaplain, and means to qualify him by
one of her livings for the petticoats; but take my
word for it, that however she may set her weazen
face against it, just to impose upon the world, she
likes at the bottom of her heart a young fellow of
spirit—and you'll see me master of the Hall.
Egad, how I'll make her old hoards spin again!
Down go those woods that are now every year the
worse for standing. Whenever I hear she's fairly
off, the squirrels will have notice to quit.
It was in vain that the mild and paternal argu-
ments of Mr. Somerive himself, or the tears and
tender remonstrances of his wife, were employed,
whenever their son would give them an opportunity,
to counteract this unfortunate prepossession. He
by degrees began to absent himself more and more
from home ; and when he was there, his hours
were such as put any conversation on serious topics
out of their power. He was never indeed sullen,
for that was not his disposition; but he was so
thoughtless, so volatile, and so prepossessed that he
had a right to do as other young men did with
whom he had been accustomed to associate, that


THE old MANOR House. 31
his father gave up as hopeless every attempt to
bring him to his senses.
The greater the uneasiness to which Mr. Some-
rive was thus subject by the conduct of his eldest
son, the more solicitous he became for the future
establishment of the younger. But he knew not
how to proceed to obtain it. He had now no longer
the means of sending him to the university, of
which he had sometimes thought, in the hope that
Mrs. Rayland might, if he were qualified for orders,
give him one of the livings of which she was patron-
ness; nor could he, exhausted as his savings were
by the indiscretion of his eldest son, command
money enough to purchase him acommission, which
he once intended. Sometimes he fancied that, if
he were to apply to Mrs. Rayland, she would assist
in securing an establishment in future for one about
whom she appeared so much interested at present;
but he oftener apprehended, from the oddity and
caprice of her temper, that any attempt to pro-
cure more certain and permanent favours for Or-
lando, might occasion her to deprive him of what
he now possessed.
Mrs. Somerive, though a woman of an excellent
understanding, had contracted such an awe of the
old lady, that she was positively against speaking
to her about her son; while maternal partiality,
which was indeed well justified by the good qua-
lities and handsome person of Orlando, continu-
ally suggested to her that Mrs. Rayland's prepos-
session in his favour, if left to take its course, would
finally make him the heir of at least great part of
her property.
Thus his father, from uncertainty how to act for
the best, suffered weeks and months to pass away,
in which he could not determine to act at all; and
as more than half those weeks and months were


32 THE OLD MANOR House.
passed at the Hall, his mother fondly flattered her-
self, that he was making rapid advances in securing
to his family the possessions they had so good a
claim to.
Neither of them saw the danger to which they
exposed him, of losing himself in an imprudent
and even fatal attachment to a young woman,
while they supposed him wholly given up to ac-
quire the favour of an old one; for in fact Mrs.
Lennard had so artfully kept her niece out of sight,
that neither of them knew her—they barely knew
that there was a young person in the house who
was considered in the light of a servant; but
whether she was well or ill-looking, it had never oc-
curred to them to inquire, because they never sup-
posed her more acquainted with their son than any
other of the female domestics.
Poor Orlando, however, was cherishing a passion,
which had taken entire possession of his heart be-
fore he was conscious that he had one, and which
the restraints that every way surrounded him served
only to inflame. ... Monimia now appeared in his
eyes, what she really was, infinitely more lovely than
ever. She was on his account a prisoner, for he
learned that when he was not in the country she
was allowed more liberty. She was friendless, and
harshly treated; and, with a form and face that he
thought would do honour to the highest rank of
society, she seemed to be condemned to perpetual
servitude, and he feared to perpetual ignorance;
for he knew that Mrs. Rayland had, with the ab-
surd prejudice of narrow minds, declared against her
being taught any thing but the plainest domestic
duties, and the plainest work. She had, however,
taught herself, with very little aid from her aunt,
to read; and lately, since she had been so much
alone, she had tried to write; but she had not


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 33
always materials, and was frequently compelled
to hide those she contrived to obtain: so that her
progress in this was slow, and made only by
snatches, as the ill-humour of her aunt allowed or
forbade her to make these laudable attempts at
improvement.
Her apartment was still in the turret that ter-
minated one wing of the house, and Orlando had
been at the Hall the greater part of a fortnight,
without their having exchanged a single word.
They had indeed met only twice by mere accident,
in the presence of the lady of the mansion and of
Mrs. Lennard; once when she crossed the hall
when he was leading the lady to her chair out of the
gallery; and a second time when she was sent for
on an accession of gout, to assist in adjusting the
flannels and cushions, which Mrs. Rayland declared
she managed better than any body.
As she knelt to perform this operation, Orlando,
who was reading a practical discourse on faith in
opposition to good works, was ºp. by her
beautiful figure in her simple stuff gown, which
had such an effect on his imagination that he no
longer knew what he was reading: but, after half
a dozen blunders in less than half a dozen lines, he
became so conscious of his confusion that he could
not proceed at all, but, affecting to be seized with
a violent cough, got up and went out. Again,
however, this symptom escaped Mrs. Rayland, who,
though she read good books as a matter of form,
and to impress people with an idea of her piety
and understanding, cared very little about their
purport, and was just then more occupied with the
care of her foot than with abstract reasonings on
the efficacy of faith.
In the meantime Monimia, who blushed if she
beheld the shadow of Orlando at a distance, and


34. thE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
whose heart beat at the sound of his voice, as if
it would escape from her bosom, had never an
opportunity of hearing it, unless he accidentally
spoke to some person in the room under hers,
where she knew he often went, and particularly
at this season, which was near the end of February,
when the ponds were drawn, and the nets and
poles in frequent use; but the door by which this
tooin opened to the court was on the other side,
Monimia had only one high long window in a
very thick wall that looked into the park: when-
ever, therefore, as she sat alone in her turret, she
heard any person in the room beneath her, she
listened with an anxious and palpitating heart, and
at length fancied that she could distinguish the
step of Orlando from that of the game-keeper or
any of the other servants.
If she was thus attentive to him, without any
other motive than to enjoy the pleasure of fancying
he was near her, Orlando was on his side studying
how to obtain an opportunity of seeing her; not
in the intention of communicating to her those
sentiments which he now too well understood, but
in the hope of finding means to make her amends
for the injustice of fortune. If there was any de-
pendence to be placed on expression of coun-
tenance, the animation and intelligence that were
visible in the soft features of Monimia promised
an excellent understanding. What pity that it
should not be cultivated . What delight to be her
preceptor, and, in despite of the malignity of
fortune, to render her mind as lovely as her form
This project got so entirely the possession of Or-
lando's imagination, that he thought, he dreamed
of nothing else; and, however difficult, or even
impracticable it seemed, he determined to under-
take it.


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 35
Mrs. Lennard slept at some distance; but there
was no other way of Monimia's going into any
part of the house but by a passage which led
through her room; for every other avenue was
closed up, and the last thing she did every night
was to lock the door of the room where her niece
lay, and to take away the key.
The window was equally well secured, for it was
in effect only a loop; and of this, narrow as it was,
the small square of the casement that opened was
secured by iron bars. The Raylands had been
eminent royalists in the civil wars, and Rayland
Hall had held out against a party of Fairfax's army
that had closely besieged it. Great part of the
house retained the same appearance of defensive
strength which had then been given it; and no
knight of romance ever had so many real difficul-
ties to encounter in achieving the deliverance of
his princess, as Orlando had in finding the means
merely to converse with the little imprisoned
orphan. Months passed away, in which his most
watchful diligence served only to prove that these
difficulties were almost insurmountable; nor would
he perhaps, with all the enthusiasm of love and
romance, have ever conquered them, if chance had
not befriended him.
Mrs. Rayland had given him, under restrictions
that he should use it only while he was at the Hall,
a very fine colt, which was of a breed of racers,
the property of the Raylands, and very eminent
in the days of Sir Hildebrand. Out of respect to
its ancient prowess, the breed was still kept up,
though the descendants no longer emulated the
honours of their progenitors on the turf; but the
Fº was generally sold by the coachman, who
had the management of the stable, and who was
supposed to have profited very considerably by his
dealings.


36 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. .
f
Orlando, highly gratified by this mark of Mrs.
Rayland's favour, undertook to break the young
horse himself, and to give it among other accom-
lishments that of leaping. There was no leaping-
É. about the grounds; but in the lumber-room on
the ground-floor of one of the turrets he had seen
the timber of one that had formerly stood in the
park. To this place, therefore, he repaired; and in
removing the large posts, which were very little
injured by time, some other slabs of wood, boards,
and pieces of scaffolding were moved Also, and
Orlando saw that they had concealed a door,
formerly boarded up, but of which the boards were
now broken and decayed; he forced away a piece
of the rotten wood, and saw a flight of º stone'
steps, just wide enough to admit one person, with
difficulty. His heart bounded with transport; he
knew that this staircase must lead to the top of the .
turret, and consequently wind round the room occu-
pied by Monimia, which it was probable had a com-
munication also with the stairs. But, unable to de-
termine in a moment how he should avail himself,
or acquaint her, of this fortunate discovery, and ,
trembling lest it should be known, and his hopes at .
once destroyed, he hastily replaced the spars of
wood that had concealed the door, before the return
of the gardener and the under game-keeper, who
had been assisting him in his operations about the
leaping-bar; and hastily following them to the spot t;
where they were putting it up, he affected to bein-"
terested in its completion while his mind was really,
ºccupied only by plans for seeing without fear of,
discovery his adored Monimia. . . º, º ºf


The OLD MANOIt House. 37
CHAPTER IV.
LovE rendered Orlando so politic, that he determin-
ed rather to defer the happiness he hoped for, in
gaining unmolested access to Monimia for two or
three days, than to risk by precipitancy the delight-
ful secret of the concealed door, and to watch the
motion of the dragon, whose unwearied vigilance
might at once render it useless. He therefore set
himself to observe the hours when Mrs. Lennard
was most certainly engaged about her mistress; and
he found, that as she indulged very freely in the
pleasures of a good table, of which she was herself
directress, she became frequently unwilling to en-
counter much exertion after dinner; and generally
left Monimia (who either did not dine below, or re-
tired with the table cloth) unmolested till six
o'clock, when, if he was not there, she was called
down to make tea.
These hours therefore seemed most propitious for
the experiment he must of necessity make, which
was to ascend the staircase, and seek for the door
that probably, though now blocked up, had origi-
nally led from it into the room inhabited by Moni-
mia; from whence, as it was perhaps only boarded
up, he hoped to make her hear, and to prevail upon
her to assist in forcing a passage through it.
He knew Mrs. Lennard was less upon the qui
tive? when he was not about the house; and there-
fore, the evening before that when he intended to
ut his project in execution, he took leave of Mrs.
ayland, and told her that he was going home for
a few days, when with her permission he would re-
turn. Mrs. Rayland, who now thought the house
melancholy without him, bade him come back to
WOL., XXXVI. E


88 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. "
the Hall as soon as he could, which he promised
with a beating heart, and departed.
The next day, however, having taken the precau-
tion to get a letter of compliment from his father to
Mrs. Rayland, the better to account for his quick
return, if to account for it should be necessary, he
set out on foot after dinner; and as he arrived at
Rayland Hall just as the servants of that family were
eating theirs, which was always a long and momen-
tous business, he had the good fortune not to meet
any one, but to enter the lower room of the turret;
and as he had often the key, he now locked the door,
and listening very attentively heard Monimia walk-
ing above, and convinced himself that she was alone,
As silently as he could he removed the planks
and timber that concealed the door; and having so
placed them that, without discovering the aperture,
they leaned so hollow from the wall that he could
get under them, he tore away the remaining impe-
diments that obstructed him, and entered the low
staircase, of which about fourteen broken and de-
cayed steps led, as he expected, to another door
which was also boarded up, and then wound up to
the top of the turret. He stopped a moment and
listened; he distinctly heard Monimia sigh deeply,
and open a drawer. He considered a moment what
way of accosting her would be least likely to alarm
her too suddenly, and at length he determined to
speak. -
"...r another pause, and finding all was silent
in her room, he tapped softly against the boarded
door; and lowering his voice he called, Monimia,
Monimia |
The affrighted girl exclaimed, Good God! who
is there? who speaks? Be not affrighted, replied
he, speaking louder, it is Orlando. Orlando! and
from whence, dear sir, do you speak! I know not,


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 39
for I cannot tell what part of your room this door
opens to; tell me, where do you hear the sound I
now make? Against the head of my bed. Cannot
you then remove the bed, and see if there is not a
door?' I can, replied Monimia, if my trembling does
not prevent me, for my bed goes upon casters; but
indeed I tremble so if my aunt should come! She
will not come, replied Orlando impatiently: do
not give way to groundless fears, Monimia; but, if
ever you had any friendship for me, exert yourself
now, to procure the only opportunity we shall ever
have of meeting—remove your bed, and see what
is behind it.
, ºr Monimia, trembling and amazed as she was,
found in the midst of her alarm a sensation of joy
that was undescribable. It lent her strength to re-
move the bed, which it was not difficult to do; but
the room was hung with old-fashioned glazed linen,
when many years before it had been fitted up as a
bed-chamber: this kind of arras entirely hid the
door. Ah! cried Monimia, there is no door, Mr.
Orlando. . The hangings are just the same here as
Labout the rest of the room. Cut them, cried he,
with your scissors, and you will find there is a door.
"But if my aunt should discover that they are cut?
Oh, heavens, exclaimed Orlando, if you are thus
apprehensive, Monimia, we shall never meet; but
if you have any regard for me The adjuration
was too powerful: Monimia forgot the dread of her
aunt in the superior dread of offending Orlando.
She took her scissors, and, cutting the hangings,
which through time were little more than tinder, dis-
covered the door, which was very thin, and only
ºnailed up, strengthened on the outside by a few
islight deals across it. Orlando, who like another Py-
tramus, watched with a beating heart the breach
• through which he naw saw the light, forced away
- E 2


40 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
these slight barriers with very little difficulty; and
then, setting his foot against the door, it gave way,
and the remnant of tattered hanging made no resis-
tance. He found himself in the room with Monimia,
who from mingled emotions of pleasure and fear
could hardly breathe. At length, cried he, I have
found you, Monimia! at length, I have got to you.
But we shall both be utterly ruined, interrupted she,
if my aunt should happen to come; speak low, for
Heaven's sake, speak low. I should die upon the
spot, if she should happen to find you here.
Let us consider, said Orlando, how we may meet
for the future. I do not mean to stay now ; but
you see this door gives us always an opportunity of
seeing each other. But how shall I dare? cried
the trembling Monimia: my aunt watches me so
narrowly, that I am never secure of being alone a
moment: even now, perhaps, she may be coming.
So great was the terror which this idea impressed
on the timid Monimia, that Orlando saw there was
no time to be lost in settling their more secure
meetings. Have you, said he, have you, Monimia,
courage enough to make use of this door, to come
down into the study to me when we are sure all
the house is quiet? You know there is a passage to
that end of the house, without crossing either of the
great courts or any of the apartments, by going
through the old chapel, and nobody can hear you.
I only propose this, because I suppose you are
afraid of letting me come up here.
Oh! either is very wrong, replied she, and I
shall be sadly blamed.
Well, then, Monimia, I am deceived, cruelly
deceived. I did believe that you had some regard
for me, and I protest to Heaven that I mean nothing
but the purest friendship towards you. I want you
to read, which I know you have now no opportunity


THE OLD '''MANOR ºli OU SE. 41
of doing. I would find proper books for you; for
you may one day have occasion for more knowledge
than you can acquire in the way in which you now
live. Perhaps clandestine meetings might not be
right in any other case; but, persecuted as you are,
Monimia, we must meet clandestinely or not meet
at all. Alas! my dear friend, it may not be long
that I may be here to ask this favour of you, or to
request you to oblige me for your own good. My
father is considering how to settle me in life.
To settle you! said Monimia, faintly.
Yes—I mean, to put me into some profession in
the world; and whatever it is, it will of course carry
me quite away from hence. As soon as it is deter-
mined upon, therefore, Monimia, I shall go—and
perhaps we shall never meet again: yet you now
refuse to grant me the only happiness that possibly
my destiny will ever suffer me to taste—I mean
that of being of some little service to you. What
harm can there really be, Monimia, in what I re-
uest? Have we not lived from children together,
like brother and sister? and why should we give up
the sweet and innocent pleasure of loving each
other, because your aunt is of a temper so detest-
ably severe and suspicious?
Indeed I know not, said Monimia, whose tears
now streamed down her cheeks; but I know,
Orlando, that I cannot refuse what you ask; for,
indeed, I do not believe you would desire me to
act wrong.
No, I would die first.
Tell me then, what would you have me do? I
tremble so that I am really ready to sink, lest my
aunt should come: tell me, dear Orlando, what
would you have me do?
Replace your bed as soon as I am gone, and I
will take care that no signs. shall remain below of
E 3


42 THE OLD MANOR HOU8F.
the discovery I have made. As soon as the family,
are all in bed, and you are sure your aunt is gone
for the night, I will come up and fetch you into the
study; where, whenever I am here, we can read
for an hour or two every night: tell me, Monimia,
do you agree to this? • ‘. . .
I do, replied she, and now, dear Orlando, go; .
it will soon be tea-time, my aunt will come to call
Ine.
You will be ready then to-night, Monimia. ,
To-night? -
Yes; for why should we lose an hour, when
perhaps so few are left me? When I am gone to
some distant part of the world, you may be sorry
for me, Monimia, and repent that when we could
see each other you refused. . . - -
The idea of his going, perhaps for ever, was in-
supportable, and the timid doubts of Monimia
vanished before it. She thought at that moment,
that to pass one hour with him were well worth any
risk—even though her aunt should discover and
kill her. She hesitated therefore no longer, but
promised to be ready in the evening, and to listen
for his signal. Having thus gained his point,
Orlando no longer refused to quit her, but return-
ed by his propitious staircase; and replacing the
boards, at its entrance below, as nearly as possible
as he found them, he went out unseen by any
body; and going back to the road which led
through the park, he walked hastily across that
part of it that was immediately before the windows
of the apartment where Mrs. Rayland sat; and
then went into the house, and sent up, as was
his custom, to know if he might be admitted. She
ordered him to be shewn up, and received him with
pleasure; for she just then was in a very ill humour,
and wanted somebody in whom she could find a


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 43
patient listener, while she related the cause of it,
and declaimed against the persons who had occa-
sioned it—which was thus:
The estates in this country were very large, and
that possessed by the house of Rayland yielded in
extent to none, but was equal to that of its nearest
neighbour, a nobleman, who owned a great extent
of country which immediately adjoined to the
manors and farms of Mrs. Rayland, and on which
there was also a fine old house, situated in the
midst of the domain, at the distance of about five
miles from Rayland Hall; the estates divided by a
river, which was the joint property of both.
Lord Carloraine, the last possessor of this pro-
perty, was a man very far advanced in life. Many
years had passed since the world in which he had
lived had disappeared; and being no longer able
or desirous to take part in what was passing about
a court, to him wholly uninteresting, and being a
widower without children, he had retired above
thirty years before to his paternal seat; where he
lived in splendid uniformity, receiving only the no-
bility of the county and the baronets (whom he
considered as forming an order that made a very
proper barrier between the peerage and the squi-
rality), with all the massive dignity and magnificent
dulness that their fathers and grandfathers had been
entertained with since the beginning of the century.
Filled with high ideas of the consequence of ancient
blood, he suffered no consideration to interfere with
his respect for all who had that advantage to boast;
while, for the upstart rich men of the present day,
he felt the most ineffable contempt; and while
such were, in neighbouring counties, seen to figure
away on recently acquired fortunes, Lord Carloraine
used to pique himself upon the inviolability of that
part of the world where he lived—and say, that


44 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
very fortunately for the morals and manners of the
country, it had not been chosen by nabobs and
contractors for the display of their wealth and taste.
And that none such might gain any footing in the
neighbourhood, he purchased every farm that was
to be sold; and contrived to be so much of a despot
himself, that those who were only beginning to be
great, shunned his established greatness as inimical
to their own.
Mrs. Rayland perfectly agreed with him in these
sentiments; and had the most profound respect for
a nobleman, who º proud as he was of
his own family, that it had no other superiority over
that of Rayland, than in possessing an higher title.
He had been, though a much younger man, ac-
quainted with the late Sir Hildebrand; and when-
ever Mrs. Rayland and Lord Carloraine met, which
they did in cumbrous state twice or thrice a year,
their whole conversation consisted of eulogiums on
the days that were passed, in expressing their dis-
like of all that was now acting in a degenerate world,
and their contempt of the actors.
But the winter preceding the period of which
this history is relating the events, had carried off
this ancient and noble friend at the age of ninety-
six, to the regret of nobody so much as of Mrs.
Rayland. His estate fell to the grandson of his
only sister, a man of three-and-twenty, who was as
completely the nobleman of the present day, as his
uncle had been the representative of those who
lived in the reign of George the First. He cared
nothing for the ancient honours of his family; and
would not have passed a fortnight in the gloomy
solitude of his uncle's castle, to have been master
of six times its revenue. His paternal property and
parliamentary interest lay in a northern county;
and therefore, as ready money was a greater ob-


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 45
ject to him than land in another part of England,
he offered the estate of Lord Carloraine to sale, as
soon as it came into his possession; and in a few
months it was bought by the son of a rich merchant
—a young man lately of age, of the name of Stock-
ton; whose father having had very lucrative con-
tracts in that war which terminated in 1763, had
left his son a minor with a fortune, which at the
end of a ten years minority amounted to little short
of half a million.
The purchase of Carloraine Castle by such a man
had given Mrs. Rayland inexpressible concern and
mortification, which every circumstance that came
to her knowledge had contributed to increase. She
had already heard enough to foresee all the incon-
veniencies of this exchange of neighbours; on
which she dwelt continually, yet seemed to take
strange pains to irritate her own uneasiness by
daily inquiries into the alterations and proceedings
of Mr. Stockton; who, even before the purchase
was generally known to be completed, had begun,
under the auspices of modern taste, to new-model
every thing. He came down to Carloraine Castle
twice or thrice a week, every time with a new set
of company; almost every one of his visitors was
willing to assist him in his plan of improvements,
and he listened to them all—so that what was built
up to-day, was pulled down to-morrow. All the
workmen, such as bricklayers, &c. &c. in the neigh-
bourhood, for many miles, were engaged to work
at the Castle; and the delicacies which used to be
supplied by the neighbouring country, and in which
Mrs. Rayland had usually a preference, were now
offered first to his honour, "Squire Stockton:—and
his honour's servants, to whom the regulation of his
house was entrusted, were so willing to do credit to
their master's large fortune, that they gave London


46 THE OLD MANOR HOU8F.
rices for every thing: the vicinity of affluent
!. was thus severely felt by those to whom it
was of much more real consequence than to Mrs.
Rayland.
To her, however, this circumstance was particu-
larly grating. She complained bitterly to every
body she saw, that poultry, if she had by any ac-
cident occasion to buy it, was doubled in price;
that the prime sea fish was carried to the Castle;
and more money demanded for the refuse than she
was accustomed to give for the finest. But with
the beginning of September more aggravating of.
fences began also. An army of sportsmen came
down to the Castle, who had no respect for the
hitherto inviolate manors, nor for the preserved
grounds around Rayland Hall, which not even the
game-keepers ever alarmed with an hostile sound.
Her park—even her park, where no profane foot
had ever been suffered to enter, was now invaded;
and on the second of September, the day of which
the occurrences have been here related, five young
men and two servants with a whole kennel of
pointers, had crossed the park, and killed three
brace of partridges within its enclosure, laughing
at the threats, and threatening in their turns the
keepers, who had attempted to oppose them.
No injury or affront that could be devised could
have made so deep an impression on Mrs. Rayland's
mind, as such a trespass. She was yet in the first
paroxysm of her displeasure, though the occasion
of it happened early in the morning, when Orlando
was admitted; whose mind, attuned to the harmo-
nizing hope of being indulged with the frequent
sight of Monimia, was but little in unison with the
petulant and querulous complaints of Mrs; Rayland;
while she for above an hôur held forth with uns
wearied invective against the new inhabitant of


The old MANon house. 47
Carloraine. These, cried she, these are modern
gentlemen!—Gentlemen! a disgrace to the name!
—City apprentices, that used to live soberly at their
shops, are turned sportsmen, forsooth, and have
the impudence to call themselves gentlemen. I
hear, and I suppose 'tis true enough, that Mr. Phi-
lip Somerive thinks proper to be acquainted with
this mushroom fellow—and to be one of his party!
—Pray, child, can you tell me—is it true 2
I believe, madam, my brother has some acquaint-
ance, but I fancy only a slight acquaintance, with
Mr. Stockton.
Oh! I have very little ... dare say he
is one of the set, and it is very fit he should. Birds
of a feather, you know, flock together. But this I
assure you, Mr. Orlando—take this from me—that
if you should ever think proper to know that per-
son, that Stockton, your visits here will from that
Atime be dispensed with.
Orlando, conscious that he had never exchanged
a word with any inhabitant or visitant of Carloraine,
and conscious too that all his wishes were centred
in what the Hall contained, assured Mrs. Rayland
with equal warmth and sincerity, that he never had,
nor ever would have, any connexion with the peo-
ple who assembled there. So far from my wishin
to hold with such people any friendly ..";
shall hardly be able to refrain from remonstrating
with them on their very improper and unhandsome
manner of acting towards you, madam; and if I
meet them on your grounds, I shall, unless you
forbid me, very freely tell them my opinion of their
conduct.
Mrs. Rayland had never in her life been so
pleased with Orlando as she was at that moment.
The readiness with which he entered into her in-
Åuries, and the spirit with which he undertook to


48 THE OLD MANOR Hous E.
check the aggressors, placed him higher in her fa-
vour than he had ever yet been; but her way of
testifying this her satisfaction, consisted in what of
all others was at this moment the most mortifying;
for she invited him to stay to supper in her apart-
ment, which was a favour she hardly did him twice
a year. Orlando, wretched as it made him, could
not make any excuse to escape; and it was near an
hour later than usual, before Mrs. Rayland, retir-
ing, dismissed Orlando to watch for the silence of
the house, which was a signal for his going to the
beloved turret.
CHAPTER V.
THE clock in the servants' hall struck twelve, and
was answered by that in the north gallery. With
yet deeper tone the hour was re-echoed from the
great clock in the cupola over the stables; when
Orlando, listening a moment to hear if all was ".
proceeded through an arched passage which led
from the library to the chapel, and then through
the chapel itself, whose principal entrance was from
a porch which opened to a sort of triangular court
on the back of the house next the park. He had
previously unbarred the chapel door, which was
slightly secured by an iron rod; the lock had long
since been rusted by time, and the key lost; for,
since the death of Sir Hildebrand, who was buried
with his ancestors in the chancel, the ladies his
daughters had found themselves too much affected
to enter the chapel (which was also the church of
the small parish of Rayland), and had removed the
parochial service to that of the next parish, within
a mile; and as both belonged to them, the livings


The ol D MANOR House, 49
were united, and the people of either were content
to say their prayers wherever their ladies chose to
appoint.
Orlando, till he found it opened his way to Mo-
nimia, without going through or near any inhabited
part of the house, had never explored the chapel;
but the night before that on which the experiment
was to be made, he had taken care to see that in
his passage through it he had no impediment to
fear; for of those superstition might have raised to
deter a weaker mind, or one engaged in a less ani-
mating cause, he was insensible.
He now, having convinced himself that all the
family were retired, walked softly through the aisle;
and having without any difficulty opened the door
of the porch, that adjoined the pavement round the
east or back front, he stepped with light feet along
it, entered the lower room of the turret which was
nearly opposite, and ascended, still as silently as
he could, the narrow staircase.
Monimia! Monimia! cried he in a half whisper,
Monimia, are you ready? I am, replied a low and
tremulous voice. Remove the hangings, then, said
Orlando. Slowly the faltering hands of the trem-
bling girl removed them. Orlando eagerly received
her as she came through the door-way. Are you
here at last? cried he vehemently. Shall I be at
liberty at last to see you? But how cold you are:
how you tremble! Ah Mr. Orlando, answered
Monimia, half shrinking from him, ah! I am so
certain that all this is wrong, I so dread a disco-
very, that it is impossible to conquer my terrors:
besides, I have recollected that one of the windows
of my aunt's closet up stairs looks this way. If she
should bein it, if she should see us!— “ ".
g|How can she be in it without alight? She hardly
sits thereinthe dark for her amusement. You'
WOL, XXXVI. F


30 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
know it is impossible she can have any suspicion;
yet you torment yourself, and destroy all my hap-
piness by your º Ah, Monimial you are
cruel to me.—I would not be cruel to you for a
thousand worlds, Orlando, you know I would not.
But, if I were to die, I cannot conquer my terrors.
I tremble too with cold as well as with fright; for I
have waited so long past my hour of going to bed,
that I am half frozen.
And yet you are not glad to see me, Monimia,
when at last I am come.
Indeed I am glad, Orlando; but hush! hark,
surely I heard a noise. Listen a moment for Hea-
ven's sake, before we go down.
It is nothing, said Orlando, after a pause, it is
nothing, upon my soul, but the wind that rushes
up the narrow staircase to the top of the tower.
Speak low, however, replied Monimia, as she
gave him her cold tremulous hand to lead her slowly
down the ruined steps; speak very low; or rather
let us be quite silent, for you remember what an
echo there is in the court.
They then proceeded silently along the flag-
stones that surrounded the court opening on one side
to the park, and entered the porch of the chapel;
where when Monimia arrived, she seemed so near
fainting, that, as they were now sheltered from all
observation, Orlando entreated her to sit down on
one of the thick old worm-eaten wooden benches
that were fixed on either side. º
Unable to support herself, Orlando made her
lean against him, as endeavouring to re-assure her,
he besought her to conquer an alarm, for which,
said he, Monimia, I cannot account. What do you
fear, my sweet friend? Do you already repent
having entrusted yourself with me?
• * * * *
-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 51
Oh! no indeed, sighed Monimia, but the cha-
pel !—What of the chapel?' cried Orlando impa-
tiently.—It is haunted, you know, every night, by
the spirit of one of the Lady Raylands, who I
know not how long ago died for love, and whose
ghost now sits every night in the chancel, and
sometimes walks round the house, and particularly
along the galleries, at midnight, groaning and la-
menting her fate.
Orlando, laughing at her simplicity, cried, And
who, my dear Monimia, who has violated thy na-
tural good sense by teaching thee these ridiculous
stories? Believe me, none of the Lady, Raylands,
as you called them, ever died for love; indeed I
never heard that any of them ever were in love but
my grandmother, who saved herself the absurdity
of dying, by marrying the man she liked, in despite
of the opposing pride of her family; and as she
was very happy, and never repented her disobe-
dience, I do not believe her spirit walks; or if it
should, Monimia, if it were possible that it should,
could you not face a ghost with me for your pro-
tector?
Any living creature I should not fear, Orlando,
if you were with me; but there is something so
dreadful in the idea of a spirit
This is not a place, said Orlando with quickness,
this is not a place to argue with your prejudices,
Monimia, for you seem half dead with cold; but
come, I beseech you, into the library, where there
is a fire, and trust to my arm to defend you from
all supernatural beings at least, on the way.
He then drew her arm within his, and pushed
open the door of the chapel. When Monimia felt
the cold damp that environed her as he shut it
after them, and found herself in such a place,
without any other light than what was afforded by
F 2


52 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
two gothic windows half blocked with stone work, .
and almost all the rest by stained glass, at mid-
night, in a night of September, she again, shud-
dered and shrunk back: but Orlando again encou-
raging her, and ridiculing her fears, she moved on,
and passing the stone passage, he at length seated
her safely by the study fire, which he now reple-
mished with wood. As she was still pale and trem-
bling, he brought her a glass of wine (of which Mrs.
Rayland allowed him whatever he chose), which
he insisted on her drinking, and then, seating him-
self by her, inquired with a gay smile, how she
i. after her encounter with the lady who died for
ove?
You think me ridiculous, Orlando, and perhaps
I am so; but my aunt has often told me, that
ghosts always appeared to people who were doing
wrong, to reproach them; and, alas! Orlando, I
am too sensible that I am not doing right.
Curse on her prudish falsehood! cried the im-
petuous Orlando. If ghosts, as you call them,
were always on the watch to persecute evil doers,
I believe from my soul that she would have been
beset by those of all the Raylands that are packed
together in the chancel.
Such was the awe of her aunt in which Monimia
had been brought up, that the little respect and
vehement manner in which Orlando spoke of her,
had in it additional terror. She did not speak;
she was not able; but the tears which had till then
trembled in her eyes now stole down her cheeks.
Orlando was tempted to kiss them away before they
reached her bosom; but he remembered that she
was wholly in his power, and that he owed her
more respect than it would have been necessary to
have shewn even in public.
Let us talk no more of your old aunt, re-assumed


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 53
Orlando; but tell me, Monimia, all that has hap-
pened in these long, long months of absence.
Happened, Mr. Orlando repeated Monimia.
Nay, interrupted he, let me not be Mr. Orlando,
my lovely friend, but call me Orlando, and try to
fancy me your brother. Tell me, Monimia, how
have you passed your time since I was allowed to
see you last? What an age it is ago! Have you
practised your writing, Monimia, and has Lennard
allowed you the use of any books?
A few I got at by the assistance of Betty Richards,
who has the key of this room to clean it when you
are absent, Orlando; but if my aunt had found it
out, she would never have forgiven either of us.
I was forced therefore to hide the books she took
out for me with the greatest care, and to read only
by snatches. And as to writing, I have done a
little of it because you desired me; but it has been
very difficult; for my aunt Lennard never would
allow me to have pens and ink; and Betty Richards
has given me these too by stealth, when she was
able to procure them, as if they were for herself,
of Mr. Pattenson the butler, who was always very
kind to her about such things, till a week or two
ago; when he was so cross at her asking for more
paper, that we thought it better to let alone apply-
ing to him again for some time.
• The old thief was jealous, I suppose, answered
Orlando. - I believe he was, said Monimia, for he
has a liking, I fancy, to Betty, though to be sure
he is old enough to be her father.
X-Orlando was now struck with an apprehension
which had never before occurred to him: he feared
that, in the gratitude of her unadulterated heart
for the kindness she received from this Betty Rich-
ards, she might betray to her the secret of their
nocturnal visits: and he knew that the love, of
F 3


S4 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
gossiping, the love of finery, the love of nice mor-
sels which the butler had it in his power to give,
or even the love of shewing she was entrusted with
a secret, were any of them sufficient to overset all
the fidelity which this girl (the under house-maid)
might either feel or profess to feel for Monimia.
Against this therefore it was necessary to put
her on her guard; which Orlando endeavoured to
do in the most impressive manner possible, and
even urged her with warmth to give him her solemn
promise that she never would entrust this servant
with any secret, or mention to her his name on any
account whatever.
Indeed, Orlando, replied Monimia, when he had
finished this warm exhortation, indeed you need
not be uneasy or anxious about it; for there is one
reason that, if I had no other, would never permit
me to tell this poor girl that I meet you unknown
to my aunt.
And what is that?
It is, that Betty is, like myself, a very friendless
orphan, a poor girl that my aunt has taken from
the parish; and as I know very well that all our
meetings will one day or other be discovered, it
would entirely ruin her, and occasion the loss of
her place and her character, if Betty were supposed
to know any thing about it; therefore you may be
assured, Orlando, that she never shall: for what-
ever misery it may be my fate to suffer myself, I
shall not so much mind, as I should being the cause
of ruining and injuring another person, especially
a friendless, girl, who has always been as kind to
me as her situation allowed her to be.
Enchanted with her native rectitude of heart and
generosity of spirit, Orlando rapturously exclaimed,
Charming girl! how every sentence you utter,
every sentiment of your pure and innocent mind


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 55
delight me! No, Monimia, I am very sure that
such a security as you have given me is of equal
force; perhaps superior as it ought to be, even to
your faith to me—superior, Monimia, to the wish
(which I am sure you have, to spare me any sort
of unhappiness. The fine eyes of Monimia were
* swimming in tears, as, tenderly pressing her hand
between his, Orlando said this. You do me jus-
tice, said she in a faltering voice, and I thank you.
* I do not know, Orlando, why I should be ashamed
to say that I love you better than any body else in
the world; for indeed who is there in it that I have
to love? If you were gone, it would be all a desert
to me; for though I hope I am grateful, and not
undutiful to my aunt Lennard, I find I do not love
her as I love you. But indeed I do believe she
would not have me feel affection for any body; for
she is always telling me, that it is the most dis-
graceful and odious thing imaginable, for a young
woman, dependant as I am, to think about any per-
son, man, woman, or child; and that, if I would not
be an undone and disgraced creature, I must mind
nothing but praying to God, which I hope I never
neglected, and learning to earn my bread by my
hands. And then she tells me continually how
much I owe her for taking me into her lady's fa-
mily, and what a wicked wretch I should be if I
were ungrateful.
Don't tell me any more about your aunt, do not,
I entreat you, cried Orlando impatiently. I should
be sorry to say any thing that should stain, even
with the most remote suspicion of ingratitude, that
unadulterated mind. But I cannot—no,
it is impossible to resist saying, that, like all other
usurped authority, the power of your aunt is main-
tained by unjust means, and supported by preju-
dices, which if once looked at by the eye of reason
6


56 Tih E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
would fall, so slender is the hold of tyranny, my
Monimial
Dear Orlando, said Monimia smiling through her
tears, you talk what is by me very little understood.
No! replied he, she has taken care to fetter you in
as much ignorance as possible; but your mind rises
above the obscurity with which she would surround
it. She has however brought in supernatural aid;
and, fearful of not being able to keep you in suffi-
cient awe by her terrific self, she has called forth
all the deceased ladies of the Rayland family, and
gentlemen too for aught I know, and beset you
with spirits and hobgoblins if you dare to walk
about the house.
Ah! Orlando, answered Monimia timidly, and
throwing round the room a half fearful glance, I do
believe you injure my aunt Lennard in that notion;
for I am almost sure she believes what she tells me.
Pooh! replied he, she has too much sense. A
good bottle of Barbadoes water, or ratafia, would
call your pious aunt in the darkest might, and just
as the clock strikes twelve, into the very chancel of
the chapel itself, or even into the vaults under it.
Do not laugh at such things, Orlando; do not,
pray; unless you are very sure they are all foolish
and superstitious fancies. I assure you, Orlando,
that having been used to walk about this great old
rambling house by myself, at all times of the day,
and sometimes, when you have not been here, late
of a night, I cannot have been much used to in-
dulge fear; for, frightened or not frightened, I
must have gone if my lady or my aunt had ordered
me. But though I am not the least afraid, or used
not to be afraid, when I was assured in my own
heart that I had never done or intended any harm,
yet I have seen and heard— -
1. Nay then, Monimia, tell me what you have seen


The OLD MANOR Hous E. 57
and heard, cried he, fixing his eyes eagerly on her
face, and pulling his chair nearer to hers, and let
us draw round the fire and have a discourse upon
apparitions. -
You will laugh at me, Orlando, said she, looking
smilingly and yet grave; but what I have to tell
you is true nevertheless.
Tell it then, Monimia—If any proofs have power
to make me a convert, they must be yours.
Well then, Orlando, I assure you it is no fancy,
but absolutely true, that some time last February,
at which time my aunt was very ill by the fall she
had down stairs, she used to intrust me with the
keys, and to send me all about the house for things
she wanted. You know that when Mr. Pattenson
is out, she always insists upon having the keys of
the great cellars, as well as all the rest, left with
her; and that, after quarrelling some years about
it, she has got the better; and, though he will not
give her his keys, has my lady's leave to have keys
of her own, which she always takes particular plea-
sure in using when he is out (which he happened to
be that night at the christening of Mr. Butter-
worth's child), whether she really wants the things
she sends for or no. It was a terrible stormy night,
and very dark, when my aunt, who was but just got
well enough to sit in my lady's room, took it into
her head, after every body was gone to bed, but
Betty Richards and I, that she wanted some hot
shrub and water. She sent me to look for shrub in
her closet, where I believe she knew there was
none; and when I came back to say there was none,
she bade me go into the east wing-cellar, which
goes, you know, under the house, towards this end
of it, and fetch half a dozen bottles; and she gave
me the key and a basket. I stood trembling with
fear; for had I been sure of being killed even at


58. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
that moment, I am very certain I could not have
determined to venture alone.
What is the foolish girl afraid of? said my aunt.
Of going alone so far, Ma'am, said I, at this time
of night.
And is not this time of night, said my aunt an-
grily, or is not any time of night, or any time of
day, the same thing to you? Idiot!—and do you
dare to affect any choice, how and when you shall
obey my commands?
Oh! no indeed, my dear, dear aunt, answered I
trembling, no indeed; but remember—remember,
before you are so angry with me, that an hundred
and an hundred times you have told me, that all the
galleries and passages about this house are haunted;
and that you have yourself seen strange sights and
heard frightful noises, though you never would tell
me what they were: how shall I, my dear aunt, en-
counter that which has terrified you?—Pray, for-
give me! or, if you will not, inflict upon me any
punishment you please: only be assured, my dear,
dear aunt, that, terrible as your anger is to your
poor girl, she had rathér endure it than go into
those passages and vaults alone.
Why thou art a driveller, a perfect idiot, an-
swered Mrs. Lennard, and art fit only for a cap and
bells, clean straw, and a whirligig.—Apparitions,
you stupid fool! But tell me, will you go for what
I want, if this other moppet, who looks as white as
a cheese-curd, will go with you?
The offer of going with Betsy Richards had some-
how quite a charm with it, compared with the ter-
rors of going alone; and therefore I readily agreed
to the proposal, flattering myself that Betsy would
refuse, and that I should so be excused. so , ºr "
* But poor Betsy had, like myself, a most terrible
awe of my aunt, whom ever since she could remiem-


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 59
ber she had been taught to fear. To be sure I will
go, said poor Betsy; to be certain, I will go, if, ma-
dam, she desires it; though for certain—
None of your ifs, you silly baggage but here,
take the candle; and do you, you nonsensical nin-
nyhammer, take the basket, and fetch instantly
what I want. The old shrub stands in a bin, quite
at the lower end of the farthest arched vault, next
the chapel wing: put your hands elbow deep in the
saw-dust, and you will feel it; bring half a dozen
bottles, and mind you take care of your candle—
for the whole family of Rayland are piled up in
their velvet coffins within two or three feet of you;
and it would be a very unhandsome thing to set
their old dry bones in a blaze on their own pre-
mises.
Neither Betsy nor I dared answer; for, as my
aunt spoke these last words, she waved her hands
for us to go. After we were out of hearing, I, who
held Betsy fast by the arm, expressed my appre-
hension at what had passed. I did this more par-
ticularly, because I had never heard my aunt talk
so freely before. Betsy, frightened as she was at
the thought of the expedition we were undertaking,
could not help tittering at the surprise I expressed,
and said, Lord! why, the old woman has been sit-
ting so long after supper with madam, that she has
been taking care to keep the cold out of her sto-
mach:-meaning that Mrs. Lennard had been
drinking too much, which till then I had never any
notion of. I am sure, replied I to my trembling
companion, as we went down the cellar stairs, and
were frightened by the echo of our feet, I am sure,
Betsy, we want something to keep the cold of fear
out of ours.--Do I tremble as much as you do, and
do I look as pale? Oh! hush, said she, hush I
shall drop if I hear a voice—it sounds so among


60 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
these hollow doors. Her teeth chattered in her
head, and she held the candle in her hand so un-
steadily that I was afraid it would have gone out.
In this manner we proceeded to the bottom of the
stairs, which you know are very long, and had got
half a dozen paces along the passage, which is, you
may remember, very high and narrow and long,
when we heard a loud rushing noise at the other
end of it. Something came sweep along; but Betsy
let fall the candle, and fell herself against the wall,
where I endeavoured in vain to support her. She
sunk quite down; and, as I stooped to assist her,
somebody certainly brushed by me. I know not
what I heard afterwards, for fear deprived me of my
senses. This, however, lasted but a moment; for,
my recollection returning, I was sensible that what-
ever there was to hurt us, we should do more wisely
to endeavour to return back to my aunt's room than
to remain in that dismal place. With great diffi-
culty, by rubbing her hands within mine, and rea-
soning with her as soon as she seemed able to hear
it, I prevailed upon Betsy Richards to try to walk.
The apprehension that this frightful apparition
might return (which she whispered me had the
figure of a tall man in a white or light-coloured
gown), had more effect upon her than anything I
could say; and she consented to try to return up
the stairs. It was so dark, however, that we were
obliged to feel our way with our hands; and I own
I every moment expected to put them against the
frightful figure which my companion had seen,
But you were wrong there, said the incredulous
Orlando; for if it were a f. Monimia, you.
know a ghost is only air, and of course you could
not have touched it.—But tell me how your aunt
received you. , - tº sº.
It was, I am sure, almost half an hour before we


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 61
got back, more dead than alive, to the oak parlour.
She asked us very impatiently, what we had been
so long about? but neither of us was presently able
to answer. She saw how it was by our faces, but
very sharply bade us tell her that moment what
was the matter. Betsy had then more courage
than I had ; for I was more afraid of my aunt, if
possible, than of the ghost, and so she related as
well as she could all she saw or fancied she saw.
Mrs. Lennard was extremely angry with us both,
and scolded us for a quarter of an hour; which I
thought a little unreasonable towards me, since she
was angry with me now for being afraid of the very
things she had been teaching me to fear. How-
ever, as there was no chance of persuading us to
make another attempt that night, and she was dis-
abled by lameness from going herself, she was
forced to be content with some other of the cordials
she had in her closet; and afterwards she rather
wished to have the story hushed up and forgotten,
for somehow or other that key of the cellar was
never found after that night. The basket and the
candle remained where they were dropped; yet
the key, which was a very great heavy key, and
which I had in my hand, was gone; and Mr. Pat-
tenson would have made such a racket about it,
that my aunt, as she had another, let the story drop,
and contrived an excuse a week or two afterwards,
when she was able to get about herself, to have
the lock changed.
And this is all the reason you have, my Moni-
mia, from your own observation, to believe in spi-
rits? said Orlando.
All! replied she, and is it not then enough 2
Not quite, I fear, to convince the scepticism of
the present day. I do not, however, wish to pre-
judice your mind on the other side, by bringing
WOL., XXXVI. G


62 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
arguments against the possibility of their existence;
but I will give your reason an opportunity of de-
ciding for itself. Against to-morrow night, when
we shall meet again, I will look out and mark for
you all those stories of supernatural appearances
that are related by the most reasonable people, and
are the best authenticated. You shall fairly inquire
whether any of those visits of the dead were ever
found to be of any use to the living. We are told
that they have been seen (as is reported of that
vision which Clarendon tells of), to warn the per-
sons to whom they appeared, or some others to
whom they were to repeat their mission, of impend-
ing danger. But the danger, however foretold,
has never been avoided ; and shall we therefore be-
lieve, that an all-wise and all-powerful Being shall
suffer a general law of nature to be so uselessly
violated, and shall make the dead restless, only to
terrify the living?
Oh! but in cases of murder you know what
spectres have appeared
Yes, Monimia, to the conscience of the guilty;
but even that is not always ready to raise hideous
shadows to persecute the sanguimary monsters who
are stained with crimes; for if it were, Monimia,
I am afraid not one of our kings or heroes could
have slept in their beds.
And yet, said Monimia shuddering, and yet, Or-
lando, you sometimes talk of being a soldierſ
Ah! my sweet friend, replied Orlando, I have no
choice, but must be what they would have me.
Yet believe me, Monimia, if I had a choice, it would
be to pass all my life in some quiet retirement with
you. We should not want either of us to be very
rich, for we should certainly be very happy.
To this poor Monimia felt herself quite unable
to answer; but sighing deeply, from the fear that


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 63
it could never be, she tried to turn the discourse :
Is it not very late, Orlando, said she, and had I
not better go?
If you insist upon going yet, I shall be half
tempted to let you travel through the chapel alone,
replied he smiling, and, to revenge myself for
your desertion, expose you to meet the tall man in
the white dress. He then led the conversation to
other subjects, gave her some books he had selected
for her reading, and some materials for writing;
and, after insisting upon her promise to meet him
the next night, he consented that she should return
to her turret. As, with his arm round her waist,
he conducted her through the chapel, and still
found her tremble, he gently reproached her with it.
Ah! said she, Orlando, you are surely unreasonable,
if you expect me to be as courageous as you are
Not at all, answered he; for you may derive your
confidence from the same source, and say, as I do,
I fear no evil angel, and have offended no good one.
Monimia promised to do all she could towards
conquering her apprehensions. They were by this
time arrived at the door of her chamber, where
tenderly kissing her hand, he again bade her good
might, or rather good morning, for it was near
three o'clock; and waiting till he heard the door
safely concealed by her bed, and hearing that all
was secure, he turned to his own room, and went to
rest in spirits disposed to indulge delicious dreams
of happiness to come.
• . . . t
* * * * * * * * * = º
* . . . . . . .
! -- " " " " CHAPTER VI. ºn a
•º , º, . It . . . . . , tº: a) ºf 2 ºr "
*Another and another evening Orlando attended
at the turret, and the apprehensions of Monimia
G 2


64 THE OLD MANOR -HOUSE.
decreased in proportion as her reason, aided by
her confidence in him, taught her that there was
in reality little to fear from the interposition of
supernatural agency. The dread of being disco-
vered by people in the house, however, still inter-
rupted the hours which passed with imperceptible
rapidity while they were together. This might
happen a thousand ways, which Monimia was in-
genious in finding out; while Orlando was some-
times successful, and sometimes failed, in ridicul-
ing those apprehensions, which he could not always
help sharing.
The mind of the innocent Monimia had been till
now like that of Miranda in her desert island. To
her, the world that was past, and that which was
now passing, was alike unknown; and all the im-
pressions that her infant understanding had receiv-
ed, tended only to confirm the artificial influence
which her aunt endeavoured to establish over her
imagination. Her poverty, her dependence, the
necessity of her earning a subsistence by daily
labour, had been the only lessons she had been
taught; and the only hope held out to her, that
of passing through life in an obscure service.
But she had learned now that abject and poor as
she was, she was an object of affection to Orlando,
who seemed in her eyes the representation of divi-
nity. The reading he had directed her to pursue,
had assisted in teaching her some degree of self-
value. She found that to be poor was not disgrace-
ful in the eye of Heaven, or in the eyes of the good
upon earth; and that the great Teacher of that re-
ligion which she had been bid to profess, though
very little instructed in it, was himself poor, and the
advocate and friend of poverty. In addition to all
this knowledge, so suddenly acquired, she had lately
made another discovery. Her aunt had always told


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 65
- -
her that she was a very plain girl, had a bad person,
and was barely fit to be seen ; but since the mar-
riage of the servant who had lived at the Hall during
the infancy of Monimia, Betty Richards, the under
house-maid, had been ordered to do the little that
Monimia was allowed to have done in her room.
Mrs. Lennard had taken her from the parish officers
as an apprentice; and having long seen her only
in her coarse gown and mailed shoes, and observed
in her manner only a great deal of rustic simplicity,
had not the least idea that under that semblance she
concealed the cunning and the vanity of a country
coquette; and that the first week she passed in
Mrs. Rayland's family had called forth these latent
qualities. She was a ruddy, shewy girl, with a
large but rather a good figure; and her face was no
sooner washed, and her hair combed over a roll,
than she became an object which attracted the atten-
tion of the great Mr. Pattenson himself; who, pro-
ceeding in the usual way by which he had won
the favour of so many of the subaltern nymphs in
Mrs. Rayland's kitchen, began to make her many
presents, and to talk of her beauty; and as she
could not forbear repeating all these extravagant
expressions of his admiration, Monimia could as
little help reflecting, though she was somehow hun-
bled as she made the comparison, that if Betty was
so handsome, she could not herself be so ugly as
her aunt had always represented her. The fineries
which her new friend received, Monimia beheld
without any wish to enjoy such herself; though on
Betty, a poor girl bred in a work-house, they had a
most intoxicating effect. They were given under
the strictest injunctions of secrecy, which was to-
lerably well observed towards the rest of the house;
... and the finery, which at first consisted only of beads
and ribbons, was reserved for Sunday afternoons,
G 3


66 Tri-Erol, Dºm A Nort. House.
and put on at a friend's cottage near a distant
church. But it was not in female nature to conceal
these acquisitions from Monimia; and it was inher
drawers that they were often deposited, when there
was reason, to apprehend that the little deal box,
which had till lately been amply sufficient for the
check, apron, and linsey-woolsey gownſ of Betty,
might not safely conceal the ribbands “colour of
emperors' eyes,” the flowered shawls, the bugle
necklaces, and caps with new edging to them,
which she now possessed. : h is rº- + .
v. Sometimes, when Betty obtained leave to go out,
and thought that, Mrs. Lennard, being engaged
with her lady, and the other servants gone different
ways, she should escape unnoticed across the park,
she persuaded Monimia, who knew not how to re-
fuse her any thing, to let her dress at her little
glass; and there the progress of rural coquetry
had full power to display itself. She tried on her
various topknots, disposed her hair in a thousand
fanciful ways, and called to Monimia for her opi-
nion, which of them was most becoming ; appeal-
ing for the authority of these variations to a certain
pocket-book, presented her also from the same
quarter, which represented in one of its leaves
“six young ladies in the most fashionable head-
dresses for 1776.”
Monimia, with all her ingenuous simplicity, had
sense enough to, smile at the ridiculous vanity of
the girl; and to know, that her accepting, all this
finery from the old butler was quite wrong.” But
she felt also that to reprove her for it would look
like envy, and that to remonstrate would probably
be vain. She contented herself therefore with keep-
ing as much out of her confidence as she could:
and had reasons enough of her own, which were
continually strengthened by the exhortations of Or-


THE OLD, MANOR HOUSE. 67
lando, for keeping her from being a too frequent
wisitorin her room. - -
* But the remarks she made upon all this, and upon
numberless circumstances in the house which Betty
related to her, no longer left her in her original
ignorance. In a great house there are among the
servants as many cabals, and as many schemes, as
among the leaders of a great nation; and few exhi-
bited a greater variety of interests than did the fa-
mily of Mrs. Rayland. Mrs. Lennard at once hated,
feared, and courted Pattenson, who having been
taken a boy from the plough, had been gradually
promoted till he became the favourite footman of
the elder Mrs. Rayland, who, on the death of an
old man who had long occupied that post, made him
butler; where he was supposed to have accumulated
in the course of five-and-twenty years a great deal
of money, was known to have several sums out at
interest, and had bought two or three small farms
in the county, with the approbation of his lady,
whose favour had never once failed him, though
various attempts had been made to injure him in
her opinion by complaints of his amours. Though
he was a perfect Turk in morals, and though in his
advanced life he rather indulged than corrected this
propensity to libertinism, he had hitherto contrived
to escape his lady's wrath; and indeed knew that
nobody but Mrs. Lennard or the old coachman had,
among the domestics, interest enough to shake her
good opinion of him; and of both the one and the
other, though aware that neither of them bore him
any good will, he was tolerably secure.
How the prudent and guarded Mrs. Lennard
came to be in his power was never fully under-
stood; but in his power she certainly felt herself:
for though they were in habits of frequent squabb-
ling about trifles, which indeed with the lady seem-


68 THE OLD MANOR HO USE,
º
ed necessary to break the tedious uniformity of her
life, yet whenever she found Mr. Pattenson really
angry, she, albeit unused to the condescending
mood, began to palliate and apologize—and peace
was generally made over some mice thing, and some
fine old wine, by way of a petit souper in Mr. Patten-
son's parlour, after Mrs. Rayland was gone to bed.
- The old coachman, who was the other favourite
servant, was always a third in these peace-making
meetings. He was a man grown unwieldy from
excess of good living, and more than seventy years
old; but he possessed an infinite deal of cunning,
and knew how to get and how to keep money, with
which it was his ambition to portion his two
daughters, and to marry them to gentlemen, and
his dealings in contraband goods, as Rayland Hall
was only eight miles from the coast, his having the
management of the great farms in hand, and his
concern in buying and selling horses, were toge-
ther supposed to have rendered this object of am-
bition an easy attainment. Of deeper sagacity than
the other two, he foresaw that the time could not
be far distant when Rayland Hall, and all the
wealth that belonged to it, must change its posses-
sor. It was a plan of Mrs. Lennard and Pattenson
to enjoy and to secure all they could now, and to
be well assured of a very considerable legacy here-
after. But old Snelcraft had further hopes; and for
that reason, though he had at first opposed as much
as he could the reception of Orlando, and since ex-
pressed displeasure towards him, he of late had
in his head floating visions of the probability there
was that, if Orlando came to the estate, he might
marry his favourite daughter, Miss Patty Snelcraft,
who would have such a fine, fortune, and was, as
her father believed, the very extract of all beauty.
ltidiculous and chimerical as such a project was,


THE OLD. MANOR House, 69
the old man, in the dotage of his purse-proud
vanity, believed it not only possible but probable:
for, though he knew that Mrs. Rayland would have
disinherited her own son for entertaining such an
idea for a moment, yet he saw that Mr. Orlando
had no pride at all; and he was pretty sure, from
the arrangements that he believed were made as to
money, that, great as the sum of ready money
would perhaps be that Mrs. Rayland might leave
behind her, none of it would be suffered to go to
Mr. Orlando. Miss Patty Snelcraft was, as this
precious plan got more entirely the possession of her
father's imagination, taken from a boarding-school
at a neighbouring town, and one luckless day
brought to church in all the finery which she had
there been accustomed to wear. But the effect was
very far from that her parents intended, who ex-
pected that Madam would have sent for her to the
Hall, as she used to do at breaking up, and have
commended her beauty and elegance; instead of
which, Mrs. Rayland no sooner arrived at home
than she sent for Robin, as she still called her old
servant, who now was seldom able to mount the
box himself, and asked if it was possible that the
tawdry thing she had seen with his wife was his
daughter? He answered in all humility that it was
his eldest daughter, who, as she had now finished
her learning, he had taken home from boarding-
school. 99
* Finished her learning exclaimed the old lady;
and is that what she has learned, to dress herself
out like a stage-player, like a mountebank’s doxy?
Upon my word, Robin, I am sorry for you. I
thought you and your wife had more sense. What!
is that a dress for a sober girl, who ought to be a
help to her mother, and to take care of her father
in his old age? ºr z º.º. nº ºn tº


fo Tri E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
*'She does, Ma'am, do both, I'll assure you, an-
swered Robin, terribly stung by this reproof, and
is a very good and dutiful child. And as to her
fineries, Ma'am, and such like, you are sensible
that I'm not myself, no judge of them there things;
and my wife I believe thought, that seeing how
by your goodness and my long and faithful service
we are well to pass, for our condition and circum-
stances and such like, there would not be no offence
whatsumdever in dressing our poor girls, being we
have but two, a little dessent and meat, just to shew
that one is no beggar after having served in such
a good family so many years. ºf '' . . . . . . .
The lady, a little softened by this speech, which
was made in almost a crying tone of voice, replied,
Well, well, good Robin, I know how to make al-
lowances; but do you and your wife learn for the
future to make a more modest use of the means you
are blessed with, and never encourage your girls to
vanity and extravagance. Here's Mary here,
Lennard's niece, whom I gave leave to be in the
house (Monimia stood waiting all this time with
the chocolate, which the old lady always swallowed
as soon as she came in from her devotions), she, I
assure you, comes of parents that many people
would call genteel; and yet you see, as it has
pleased Providence to make her a dependant and
a servant, I never suffer her to stick herself out in
feathers and flowers like a May-day girl. 2 tº
The lecture ended, and the old coachman with-
drew, extremely discontent that his Patty had been
compared to the house-keeper's niece, who was,
as he muttered to himself, a mere pauper; and
Moninia was not at all flattered by being brought
forward as a comparison for Miss Snelcraft, whom
the servants, and particularly Betty, had been
turning into ridicule for her awkward finery and


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 71
airs of consequence—nor did the expression, that .
she was born of parents whom some people would
call genteel, at all sweeten the bitterness of this
comparison, Monimia, who had before in the
course of the day received a severe mortification
from her aunt, in being refused leave to go to
church, now, as soon as her service in waiting on
Mrs. Rayland with the chocolate was performed,
withdrew to her own room, and indulged her tears.
At length she recollected that, though all the rest
of the world might despise and contemn her, the
heart of Orlando was hers; she was secure of his
affection; he would repeat it to her at night, when
he had promised to fetch her to his room ; and
these reflections dried her eyes, and dissipated her
sorrows : they even lent her force to bear, with-
out betraying her impatience, the intrusion of Betty
Richards, who soon after asked leave to come in.
Oh, laud my dear miss, cried she, as soon as she
entered the room, how we be shut up in this here
old place like two little singing-birds in a cageſ
—I've been trying to persuade old Jenny to let me
take her turn this alternoon to go to church, and
have promised to give her two turns for one; but
the cross old witch says indeed she chooses to go.
herself—Oh lud lud! I'd give a little finger to go.
And why are you so eager to go to-day, Betty,
more than any other afternoon? . . . . . - tº
Oh gad I replied the girl, for five hundred rea-
sons:—first, because it's so early that I could get
away to West Wolverton church, with all the ease
in the world, and 'tis such a sweet afternoon, and
winter will be here now soon; besides that—but you
must not tell for an hundred pounds—my good old
fat sweetheart brought me home last night the most
beautifullest bonnet, such as the milleuer told him
"1", ſº liº - -


72 The OLD MANOR HOUSE,
was worm by the tip-top quality in Lonnon—and I
die to wear it, and to go to West Wolverton church
in it this very afternoon; for at ours, you know, I
dares as well jump into the fire as put it on.
But why do your bonnet and your piety conspire
to carry you so far just this very evening, Betty,
said Monimia smiling, when both East Wolverton,
and Bartonwick have an evening church, and are
not much more than half as far?
Oh! thereby hangs a tale—What! you han't
heard then, I suppose, of all the great doings at
West Wolverton P
This was the name of the village in which was
situated the house of Mr. Somerive.—Great doings!
repeated Monimia, changing colour; no, I have
heard of nothing.
Why then you must know, Miss, that Mr. Or-
lando, who was not here last night—
(Monimia knew it well, for they had agreed two
nights before not to meet till the presentevening)—
Mr. Orlando, I say, came over about an hour
ago, just as my lady came from church, and after
walking backwards and forwards in his melancholy
fashion, with a book in his hand, upon the broad
pavement in the chapel court, which really oft-times
rives one's very heart to see him, he went away to
his study. For my part, I was sitting in the window
up stairs for a moment, for I had just been making
up my lady's fire before she came from church—
when all of a sudden I saw John Dickman, 'Squire
Somerive's groom, come riding up; so down I went
to speak to him. He gived me a letter, which I
carried in to Orlando, who seemed monstrous sur-
prised at it, as he was but that minute as 'twere
come from home; and when I went back to the
kitchen, John told me, he was ordered to wait for his


THE old M.A.Nort Hotsp. 73
young master—for that Madam Somerive's brother,
the London merchant, was come down, with some
of his family, sons and daughters, and the gentle-
man from some part beyond sea, who was to marry
the eldest Miss Somerive, for he had got his father's
consent; and the wedding was to take place out of
hand. And so, added Betty, who had almost talked
herself out of breath, and so, as Mr. Phil. is out,
gone as he always is upon a visit to they new-
comers up at Castle, the 'Squire he ordered John
to fetch our Orlando out of hand home to entertain
all this grand company. * * * *
And he went said Monimia in a faint voice,
who had changed colour a dozen times during this
narration. - -
Oh, Lord! yes, to be sure he went, replied
Betty; yet somehow he looked to me as if he had
rather of stay’d; and hung about for some time, as
thof unwilling to go. Lord! sir, said I, as I went
to shut up his windows before he lock'd the study
door—Lord, how strange it is that you are not like
other young men, and never cares nothing for com-
pany and such like He only sighed, a sweet crea-
ture!—when I'm sure, if all the grand lords and
dukes, and even the King, and the Prince of Wales,
and the Archbishop of Osnabig, and all his ma-
jesty's court, were to be collected together, there's
not one of them to be compared to young "Squire'
Orlando—Lord! what would I give to see all these
gentlefolks together at West Wolverton church,
and that dear sweet Orlando out-shining them all.”
*And that was the reason, said Monimia in a still
fainter voice, that you are satisfied with no church
but West Wolverton? But after all, Betty, pray
are you sure these ladies and gentlemen will be
there? " ! is . * *** **** *- : - 'Yº sº, º Aº a , , , ---
As sure as five pence—for John Dickman told
VOL., XXXVI. H
º


74 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
me so. Oh! that I could but go —for Orlando,
you know, Miss, who is the sweetest temper'd good-
naturedst cretur in all England, would never tell if
he saw one ever so smartly drest:-No, egollys:
he's more like to give one some trifle or other to
help one out, than to blab to get one anger.
Has he ever given you any thing, Betty 2 said
Monimia, in a voice, the tremor of which she could
not disguise; for, mingled with numberless other
sensations, something like a half-formed jealousy
and suspicious apprehension now entered her heart
—tell me, Betty, what has he ever given you?
Why, I assure you, replied the girl pertly, not
above a month ago neither, after he had been here
for almost a fortnight, he called me to him as I was
a dusting of them there guns and arrows and what
d'yecallums, as hangs over the chimney in that
parlour as you goes through to get to his study—
And so, says he, Betty, you've a good deal of trou-
ble in cleaning of my room and making my fire,
and perhaps your lady may not recollect it; and
so may not make you a consideration for it; and
therefore, Betty, I beg you'll accept this, and I wish
I had it in my power to do better.—And if you'll
believe me, Miss, it was a brand new crown, quite
new, a crown piece they told me it was. I would
have given anything not to have changed it, but to
have ſaid it up as a keepsake—but there !—I had
not money enough without it to buy my new cotton
gown, when Alexander Macgill the Scotchman
called here; and so away went my poor dear crown,
though I had leverer have parted with one of my
fingers. * * * ~ *
You did right, however, said Monimia coldly;
the gown you wanted, and the crown, I dare say,
Mr. Orlando meant you should use. - -
I suppose he did, a dear sweet creature!—Lord a
- -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 75
mercy!—what would I give to have a peep at his
sweet face this afternoon I'll tell you what, Miss,
though you cannot go to church, nor I neither, we
might ten to one see these gentlefolks ride by, if
we could but steal up to the upper park, and so
through the little common. 'Tis not much better
than three miles, and we might not be miss'd.
No, said Monimia drily, I shall run no such risk
indeed of making my aunt angry; and besides,
what would Mr. Somerive, or Mr. Orlando, or any
other of them think if they saw us there?
Hang their thoughts replied Betty; what would
it signify to us what anybody thought, if we pleas-
ed ourselves? I'll go and see how the land lays, and
if the two old girls have done their dinner, and are
set down together to take their afternoon's dose.
Do not comeback then, Betty, said Monimia; for
I certainly will not go out without leave, and you
know it's nonsense to ask it—therefore, if you like
it, go; but I assure you I shall not.
Having thus released herself from her importu-
nate visitor, Monimia sat down to consider all she
had told her. That Orlando should quit the house
without telling her, gave her at first extreme pain;
et a moment's reflection convinced her that, un-
ess he had made a confidante of Betty, of which
she now saw all the danger, there was no possible
way of his conveying to her intelligence of the
sudden summons he had received from his father;
for Mrs. Lennard was at home, and had shut her-
self up in her own room to do twenty little services
which she frequently chose to have performed on
Sunday mornings. A thousand doubts now arose
in the mind of Monimia, whether he would be able
to call for her at night; a thousand apprehensions
lest the people he was with, particularly his uncle's
daughters, whom he had said were very pretty
H 2


76 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
w
women, should estrange his thoughts from her, and
rob her of his affections. These fears were so acute,
that she was trying to drive them from her, when
Betty returned, and, finding the door of her room
fastened, tapped softly at it, and cried Miss, Miss!
who will refuse to go into the park now? . . . .
You have not surely got leave - - -
No, nor I have not asked it; but the old ladies
are hard set in to their good things. Madam has
had a gouty feel in her stomach all day, she says,
and that's always a symptom for a double dose; and
as to your aunt, she has been ailing too, and will
not flinch her share, you know very well.
Monimia, alarmed at the loud, whisper, had
opened the door before the end of this speech, and
let in her unwelcome companion, who now repeat
ed, that every body was safely bestowed who could
interrupt them; and that as it was still very early,
they might have a good chance of seeing some of
these comers, and above all Orlando, in their even-
ing ride. But Monimia, who was displeased with
the familiar way in which the girl named Orlando,
and knew that he would object to her walking with
her, assumed a virtue when she had it not; and
though she believed they might safely go the way
she proposed, and return before the hour when it
was likely her aunt would want her I though she
would have given half the world only for the chance
of seeing Orlando at a distance, she positively re-
fused—and had the resolution to see Betty set out
by herself, with her new most beautifullest bonnet
pinned under her petticoat, which she proposed
putting, on when she got clear of the house; and
then Monimia, forcing her attention from what had
the last few hours engaged it, sat down to the sort
of lesson which Orlando had last marked for her,
and which she had promised to make herself mis-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 77
tress of before she saw him again;–though, alas !
while she read, the idea of the superior advantages
enjoyed by the Miss Woodfords, his cousins, their
beauty, and the probability there was that one of
them might be intended for him, too frequently
distracted her thoughts, and impeded her good in-
tentions.
CHAPTER VII.
The day had been unusually warm ; but towards
evening a thunder-storm came on, and, as it grew
later, a tempest of wind, with heavy and continual
rain.
Betty, sulky that Monimia refused, and still more
sulky that she had got nothing by her long walk,
but nearly spoiling all her finery, had not come to
Monimia's room any more; but she received, at the
usual hour, the usual summons for tea. She thought
both Mrs. Lennard and her aunt uncommonly
peevish and tedious, and that the sermon one was
reading, while the other fell asleep, was most un-
reasonably long. At length she was dismissed, and,
retiring to her turret, began to listen to the wind
that howled in tremendous gusts among the trees,
and to the rain falling in torrents, the rushing of
which was redoubled by the leaden pipes that from
the roof of her turret threw the water in columns on
the pavement below. Would Orlando come 2
Through such a tempest it were hardly to be wish-
ed he should. Having been absent all day, there
would be no fire in his room, he would be drenched
with rain, and half-dead with cold. Monimia then
could not desire he should come ; yet she felt, in
despite of her reason, that she should be very un-
H 3


78 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
happy if he did not; for though so many causes
might combine to detain him, her humble ideas of
herself, and the pictures she had made of the
beauty and attractions of the Miss Woodfords,
added another which rendered her wretched. Alas!
cried she, Orlando among them will be too happy
to think of me; and it is quite ridiculous to suppose
that he will quit these ladies, to come through the
storm almost five miles to poor Monimia. No, no!
Orlando will not come.
Still however she could not determine to go to
bed, at least till the hour was past for which he had
made the appointment. At the usual time her aunt,
who now frequently omitted to come herself, sent
Betty for her candle, and her door was locked as
usual, for that was a . which either in
person or proxy was always performed. But Mo-
mimia now no longer passed the long interval be-
tween half after nine o'clock and the hour when
Orlando usually called her, in darkness; for he had
furnished her with the means of procuring a light,
and with small wax candles. One of these she now
lit, and endeavoured to sit down to read—but the
violence of the wind, which she fancied every mo-
ment increased, and the flashes of lightning which
she saw through her narrow casement, to which
there was no shutter, distracted her attention ; and
she could only sit in miserable anxiety, listening to
the various noises which in such a tempestuous night
are heard around an old building, and especially
such a part of it as she inhabited ; where, around
the octagon tower or turret, the wind roared with
violence from every point; while, in the long pas-
sages which led from thence to her aunt's apart-
ments, it seemed yet more enraged, from being con-
fined. She now traversed her small room with
fearful steps; now sat down on her bed, near the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 79
door, that she might the more readily hear Orlando
if he should come ; and now got on a chair, and
opened her casement to observe if there seemed any
probability of the storm's abating: but still, though
the thunder had ceased, the clouds, driven against
each other by violent and varying gusts of wind,
roduced vivid flashes of lightning, which suddenly
illuminated the whole park. But Orlando came
not, and it was now near an hour past his usual time,
Again the poor anxious Monimia, now half despair-
ing of his coming, and trying to persuade herself
that she did not wish he should come, traversed her
room—again went to her window. Another and
another hour passed: amidst the heavy gusts and
mournful howlings of the wind, she had counted the
clock, that, with a more than usually hollow sound,
told twelve, one, two—Orlando certainly did not
mean to come—no it was unreasonable to suppose
he would ; unreasonable to flatter herself that he
would quit a cheerful circle of his relations, to tra-
verse the extensive commons and lanes, and all the
park, that lay between West Wolverton and the
Hall in such a night, when no person would think
of going out but on life and death. Yet, while she
thus argued with herself, a few tears involuntarily
stole from her eyes; and as she gave up all hopes
of his coming, and lay down in her clothes on her
bed (for she had not the resolution to undress her-
self), she sighed deeply, and said to herself: And
yet, if it had been me who was expected, I do not
believe any storm could have hindered me from try-
ing to see Orlando and I am sure no company
would.—Yet he is quite in the right, I know, and I
do not blame him. -
She could not, however, fatigued and weary,
close her eyes for some time. The clock at length


80 The old MANOR House.
struck three; and soon after, wearied with watch-
ing and anxiety, she fell into unquiet repose.
Suddenly without being conscious how long she
had indulged it, she started from her sleep, and fan-
cied she heard the well-known signal : she listened
a moment: it was repeated. Trembling with joy,
yet equally agitated by fear, she arose and answer-
edit: and removing the impediments that were be-
tween them, and again lighting her candle, Orlando
stepped into the room.
His clothes and his hair were streaming with
water, and he said hastily, as he came through the
hangings, You had given me over, my Monimia,
had you not?–Long ago, replied she, with an ap:
prehensive countenance, which yet was lightened
up with pleasure. And now I am come, Monimia,
reassumed he, you must suffer me to remain here,
for I cannot get into my own room: the chapel
doors, you know, are fastened within side, and by
the usual way at this hour of the night it is impos-
sible. I can stay but a moment; but I could not
bear to be so many hours without seeing you; and
besides, I had no means of letting you know why
I went so suddenly from hence, and I fear you have
been unhappy.
I should have been unhappy indeed, if Betty,
who heard it from the servant who came for you,
had not told me as a piece of news, that company
had arrived unexpectedly at West Wolverton.—
And in such a night, Orlando, was it possible to ex-
pect you could leave them to come so far? How
good it is of you !—And yet you will suffer, I fear,
from your wet clothes. Good God what can I do
to prevent your suffering 2 -
Be not uneasy about that, my angel friend, re-
plied Orlando; such trifles I never attend to, and


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 81
never suffer from ; if you will let me sit down here
with you, I will take off my great coat, and my
other clothes are not so very wet. At this hour
there will surely be nothing to apprehend from my
staying here.
I hope not, said Monimia, I hope not, if we
speak low. The wind is so high, that any trifling
noise could hardly be heard by my aunt if she were
upon the watch, which I hope she is not. You are
generous to indulge me, answered Orlando; and I
must be a monster to dream of injuring such inno-
cence and candour. But, Monimia, there are a
thousand uneasy thoughts continually crowding
. me about you. This Betty Richards—I am
afraid she is a bad girl; I am sure she is an artful
one; and there is an alliance of some sort or other
between her and the old butler: you will never
trust her, Monimia?
Never indeed, replied Monimia; for though she
is of late much thrown in my way since my aunt
has become more indolent from her accident, Ine-
ver willingly am with her; nor do I indeed like her
so well as I used to do.
Continue to keep yourself then from much inti-
macy, Monimia; for the conversation of such a
girl, to a mind pure and unsullied like yours, is to
be dreaded. It is coarse, at least, if not vicious;
and if it be not dangerous, is at all events improper.
Discourage therefore her talking to you as much as
you can, even about the tittle tattle of the house.
Monimia most readily promised to obey him:-and
then observing that he looked at her with a peculiar
expression of uneasiness in his countenance, she
said, But is that all, Orlando 2 Is there not some-
thing else that gives you concern? Yes, replied he:
I will not conceal from you that there are many
things. This wedding of my sister's, though Imost


S2 THE OLD MAN or Hous E.
sincerely rejoice that she is likely to be happily
settled, seems to teem with troubles for me. -
Monimia turned pale, but only clasped her hands
together as she sat by him, and did not interrupt
him. He went on. -
My uncle Woodford piques himself extremely
upon having brought about this marriage; for the
father of the young man (a merchant at Cork in
very great business) for some time positively re-
fused his consent, because of Philippa's want of for-
tune. My uncle, you know, or rather you do not
know, is just the reverse of my mother, and is as
bustling and spirited as she is mild and tranquil.
Having got his money himself, he has no notion
that any thing but money is worth thinking about,
and that the money is best that is made in trade;
and therefore, as he has only one son, who does not
choose to take up his business, but is studying at
the Temple, he has adopted a motion, that it would
be much better for me to go with him to London,
and learn his business of a wine merchant, to which
I may succeed. -
And marry one of your cousins, said Monimia in
a faint voice, who are, you have told me, such
pretty women? If that is part of his plan, answered
Orlando, my Monimia, he has kept it to himself—
But I do not believe it is, as one of them is en-
gaged, and the other would not think me either
smart enough or rich enough. Whatever may be
Mr. Woodford's plan, however, that part of it will
certainly never take effect; nor indeed will any of
it, for I feel a total disinclination to it. * *
Why then are you so distrest, Orlando, at the
proposal? . . . .
Because I see it makes my father restless—not,
exactly the proposal, so much as the conversation
my uncle has held with him.—He has been declaim-


The old MA Noh Hous E. 83
ing against the folly of my dreaming away my time
in waiting for a legacy from Mrs. Rayland; which
. all, said he, the whimsical old woman may
not give him—and what if she does? If she acts as
she ought, the estate, you know, brother Somerive,
ought to be your eldest son Phil's ; and if she gives
the rest of your family three or four thousand
pounds each, what will that do for your youngest
son 2 Why, not give him salt to his porridge.
Dear papa, said Maria, what an expressionſ—
Well, well, child, answered my uncle, I can't stand
to pick my words, when I am as anxious about a
thing as I am about this—I say, and every man
who knows the world will agree with me—I say,
that a fine young fellow like my nephew here
ought not to waste his life nailed to the gouty chair
of a peevish old woman, who ten to one dies and
bilks him at last. Let him be put into some way of
doing for himself—every man who knows the world
will agree with me—let him be put into some way
of doing for himself; and then, if Mrs. Rayland has,
a mind to be a friend to him, take my word for it
she'll do it so much the sooner. I’m sure of it, for
I've remarked it in my dealings among mankind,
and every man who knows the world will agree with,
me, that people are always more ready to help
those who are in a way of doing well, than those
that hang about helpless. If Orlando here was in
a way of getting forward in the world, why you'd,
see that the old girl would be twice as kind to him.
—or, if she was not, why he need not so much
Care. º - - - ! . º
I found, continued Orlando, that this discourse,
though my father did not perfectly assent to the,
justice of all its arguments, made a deep impression
on his mind, which had long been disturbed by the
difficulty of finding for mesome proper i.


84 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
duct for my future establishment: and the deter-
mination is, that Mrs. Rayland is to be applied to
for her opinion as to my sister's marriage, by way
of compliment; and in regard to me, by way of
sounding her intentions. It appears to me to be all
very bad policy; and I foresee nothing but vex-
ation, perhaps my removal from hence.
Orlando paused a moment; and Monimia, with
a deep and tremulous sigh, repeated, From hence
—Alas! Orlando, I have foreseen that the happi-
ness I have so little a while enjoyed of seeing you
would not last long !
. I know not, replied he, I may be too easily
alarmed; but, with the bustle and fuss my uncle
makes about every thing he pursues, he seldom
fails of carrying his point; and he is now elated
with his success over the prudent and worldly-
minded Mr. Fitz-Owen, and believes his interposi-
tion would every where prove as infallible as it
. done in hurrying up this marriage for Phi-
idioa,
PF. you think it then too much hurried ? said
Monimia.
I hardly know, replied he, how to think it
otherwise. Mr. Fitz-Owen is a very young man :
he only saw Philippa half a dozen times when she
was in town last spring with my uncle; and he has
insisted upon this match with as much vehemence
as he could have done had he known all her good
qualities.
That, said Monimia, is a very grave reflection.
If Philippa has the good qualities of which the
gentleman is ignorant, the discovery that beauty is
her least perfection will increase his happiness.
But what does she know' of him, Monimia P
What opportunity can she have had to judge of a
man with whom she is engaged to pass her life P


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 85
Surely the acquaintance of a fortnight is very in-
sufficient to form her judgment of a character on
which the happiness of her whole life is to depend.
Mr. Fitz-Owen may be a very good-tempered and
worthy man; but, as he is the native of another
country, it is impossible we should know whether
he is or no. However, I keep all these reflections
to myself; for the affair is settled, and my father
seems pleased with it. Philippa too seems to be-
come attached to Mr. Fitz-Owen. There is some-
thing very flattering to a young woman in the at-
tention and perseverance he has shewn. He has a
good person, and she really, I believe, likes him.
But you do not, Orlando?
I do not dislike him—I only wish I knew more
of his temper; and I wish too that my bustling
busy uncle had not contrived to connect my affairs
with those of this wedding, and to hurry every
thing with a precipitation that hardly gives one
time to breathe. It was only on Thursday even-
ing that Fitz-Owen arrived #. Dublin with his
father's consent: on Friday he delivered his creden-
tials; and on Saturday the impetuous Mr. Wood-
ford whirled him, with his own daughters and his
officious self, down to us, where he pursues his plan
with the same vehemence; for he has already set-
tled with my father, that the letter to Mrs. Ray-
land is to be written to-morrow, and on Wednesday
Philippa and Isabella, and, if Mrs. Rayland con-
sents, I also, return with them to London, (Moni-
mia shuddered, and checked an involuntary emo-
tion she felt to implore Heaven aloud that Mrs.Ray-
land might be inexorably averse to this scheme),
where, continued Orlando, the marriage is to take
place as soon as the usual forms can be gone
through—Philippa is to set off to Ireland with her
husband, and Isabella is to remain the winter with
VOL, XXXVI, I


86 THE OLD, MANOR, Hous E.
the Woodfords; my uncle being sure, he says, of
getting her married as well as he has done Philly.
Alas! Orlando, you will go then; for Mrs. Ray-
land, however she may dislike such a proposal, will
not, I am afraid, oppose it; there is something so
odd in her temper, that, though she is offended if
her advice is not asked, she will seldom, give it
when it is, especially if she believes any other per-
son has been consulted first. * :
I understand her perfectly, my Monimia, and I
see nothing but vexation gathering for me in every
quarter. Alas! it is not one of the least, that,
while these people remain, my father expects me to
stay at home; though, as my brother is so good as
to promise to come hither to-morrow, I think I
might be spared. " ºr tº
And has your brother, said Monimia, been con-
sulted on this plan of your going into business
with your uncle? yº
Oh, yes! It was opened to him after dinner,
while I had left the room a moment to consider by
what means I could get to you; and I found him
eagerly promoting it for reasons which I heartily
forgive, while I thank God I feel myself incapable
of harbouring such sentiments towards him, could
we change situations, I must follow my destiny,
Monimia, whatever it may be; for I must not
make my poor father, and still less my mother, un-
happy. They have too many uneasy hours about
Philip ; and while the marriage of Philippa gives
them some satisfaction, it shall not be embittered
by any opposition of mine to what they may
think right for me—and yet I own, Monimia, I
own, that to go with Mr. Woodford, to be confined
to that sort of business, would make me most com-
pletely wretched. He said this in a tone of voice
so expressive of despondence, that Monimia, op-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 87
pressed as she was before, could conceal the an-
guish she felt no longer. Still, however, she tried
to check the excess of her sorrow, while he tenderly
soothed her, assuring her that, whatever might be
his fate, he should love her to the end of his life;
and if he thought that the drudgery of a few years
at any business, however irksome to him, would
enable him to pass the rest of his life in moderate
competence with her, he would submit to it, not
only as a duty, but as a blessing. And now, my
Monimia, let us consider how we can meet to-mor-
row night—by that time something may more
decidedly be known. I will come then early in
the morning, before this letter, of which I dread
the event, is sent; and, under pretence of enquir-
ing how Mrs. Rayland does, and then of going into
the study for some of my clothes, which I often
leave there, I can open the chapel door, and pre-
pare every thing for our going to the study the next
evening; for to live without seeing you, Monimia,
is impossible, and I fear to meet here often might
be too hazardous. . -
It would indeed, replied Monimia, and even now
I have been in misery the whole time—Yet it was
so late, Orlando, before you came !
It was two o'clock before I could leave the com-
pany; for my uncle is a man who loves to sit long
over his wine, to tell what he thinks good stories,
and call for toasts and songs, suffering nobody to
quit the room as long as they can distinguish the
glass from the candle. My father, very little
used to this sort of conviviality, was tired, and left
us to manage him as we could.—My brother would
have remained with him till now, I dare say, most
willingly; but he had promised to be at Stockton's,
with whom he now almost entirely lives, to a great
hunting party this morning; and he dashed through
I 2


88 Th E OLD , MANOR HOUSE.
the rain about one o'clock. Fitz-Owen got ex-
tremely drunk, and was extremely noisy; and I
found there was no way for me to escape but by
feigning to be in the same situation; by which
stratagem I was at length released; and flew, Mo-
mimia, with impatience to thee, dear source of
all the happiness I have, or ever hope to have, on
'earth !
It was now so near the dawn of day, that Moni-
mia besought him to consider the danger there was,
if he staid longer, of being observed in his departure
by the labourers coming to their work..., Orlando
owned there was something to fear, yet felt un-
usually reluctant to go, and lingered till the break
of day was very visible through the casement. He
then tore himself away, and escaped from the tur-
ret without observation; but in crossing the park
he was seen at a distance by the footman, who was
up, on some scheme of his own. As great rewards
were offered for the detection of poachers, and the
fellow concluded Orlando to be one, he hastily
called one of the grooms; and they went round
together to another part of the park, by which they
thought this intruder must pass; and, as Orlando
was mounting the stile, he was amazed to find
himself suddenly collared by one man, and rudely
seized by the arm by another. His uncommon
strength and activity enabled him to disengage
himself instantly, from both. They as instantly
discovered their mistake, and with a thousand apo-
logies returned to the house ; but this unlucky
rencounter was afterwards talked of in the family;
and though the conjectures to which it gave rise
were remote from the truth, they yet failed not to
disturb the tranquillity of the young lowers, ...
- --- ºr : -n - -
• * : -
* - it -- - - - - - - tº--- * -- 't *


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 89
º
CHAPTER VIII.
Mr. Somerive, after many debates with himself,
and many consultations with his wife, at length,
determined to write to Mrs. Rayland: it was in-
deed necessary to pay her the compliment of con-
sulting her on the marriage of his daughter; and .
he thought it not an improper opportunity to try
what were her intentions in regard to Orlando, by
hinting that an occasion now offered to establish him
advantageously in trade.
The arguments of Mr. Woodford had not on this
point so much influence as to prevent his fearing
the experiment he was about to make; but the
conduct of his eldest son, which nothing could
restrain, made him look forward with fear to the
future." He found his own health very much in-
jured, by the uneasiness he had lately undergone;
and he knew that should he die, the only depen-
dance of his wife and his unmarried daughters must
be on Orlando, and on the friendship of Woodford.
To put his son therefore into business with his
wife's brother was certainly a very desirable plan,
if Mrs. Rayland did not intend better to provide
for him; and it was certainly time to know whether
she had or had not any such intentions in his fa-
Wour.
The letter then which Orlando so dreaded, was
written, after great precautions in choosing the
words. It requested her approbation of his eldest
daughter's marriage with Mr. Fitz-Owen the only!
son of an eminent merchant at Cork ; and said,
that as Orlando was now of an age in which it
became necessary to think of his future establish-
ment, thoughts were entertained of putting him :
into business with his uncle; but that nothing
I 3


90 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
would be concluded upon without the entire ap-
probation of Mrs. Rayland, to whose notice and
protection he was so much obliged.
A servant was sent with this letter about noon.
It was received and read in due form, and a ver-
bal message returned, that Mrs. Rayland would at
her leisure write an answer, and send one of her
own servants with it.
On this occasion Mrs. Rayland talked to Lennard
—not to consult her, for it was an affair in which
she thought herself alone competent to judge—but
to give vent to her spleen, and to express her
dislike of all people in trade, and particularly of
oor Mrs. Somerive. Those vulgar mundungus
folks, said she, will not suffer the family to better
by their chance connection with a gentleman—
Let them marry their girls, if they will, to dealers
and chapmen; I shall never interfere: they are
all like the mother, and may make good trades-
men's wives; though, if Mr. Somerive had not,
like his foolish father, had a low taste, his daugh-
ters might have married men of family, who would
have been proud to be allied, though distantly, to
ours. As it is, they must carry their cherry
cheeks to a lower market—I shall never oppose it.
But for Orlando, there was something of an air of
good blood about him, that almost made me doubt
at times his birth by his mother's side. However,
if he gets these buying and selling notions in
his head, and chooses his mother's low origin
should continue to be remembered, I have done.
I suppose he's got among them—a fine flashy set
of trades-folks—and enters into their amusements:
and views; and if so, I shall never disturbº him,
let him go his own way; only I shall not choose to
have a shopkeeper an inmate at Rayland Hall. . .
Monimia, who was called down a moment before


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 91
to assist in cutting out linen, was present during
this harangue, for they considered her as a mere
cypher. She found herself terribly affected by the
opening of it; but when it proceeded to speak of
Orlando, she measured four times instead of two,
notched a piece of Irish linen in the wrong place,
and was beginning to use her scissars the wron
way, when a severe look from Mrs. Lennard, who
snatched it out of her hand, with, What are you
about, mope? restored her to her recollection. She
begged pardon; and another look from her aunt
bade her beware that she did not offend a second
time—when Mrs. Rayland thus went on:
After a taste for such company, this place must be
very dull: drinking and jollity, I suppose, are soon
learned. And so Mr. Orlando has not been here
these two days! Mighty well: he is his own master
—Lennard! he has not called this morning, has he?
Monimia, by a glance of her eye, saw him at
that moment pensively and dejectedly crossing the
park on foot. She dared not however say so; but
finding herself quite unequal to the misery of being
present at an interview, in which she foresaw that,
in consequence of this fatal letter, he would befor-
bidden the house, and seeing that her aunt deter-
mined she should stay, she hung her foot as if by ac-
cident in the long roll of linen that was on the ground,
and, in pretending to disengage it, fell with some
violence against an old heavy gilt leather skreen that
went across one side of the large room, and ran the
sharp-pointed scissars with which she was cutting
the limen into her arm a little above the wrist. -
• Her aunt, however, did not perceive it, till the
blood streamed from her arm, round which, without
i. complaint, she wrapped her handkerchief. The
paleness and faintness, which she could not disguise,
were accounted for when Mrs. Lennard saw the


92 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
handkerchief bathed in blood. Monimia, who was
actually sinking to the earth, though not from the
wound, was then dismissed, while Betty was called
to take care of the careless girl, and ordered to put
some Friar's balsam to the cut; and she just tottered
out of one door as Orlando, after sending up for per-
mission, entered at the other. This was fortunate;
for, had he beheld her in such a situation, and had
she at that moment seen him, their intelligence
could hardly have been concealed. The looks Mrs.
Lennard had cast on her, when she first appeared
confused, had impressed her with terror, and, she
fancied, menaced all that was dreadful. With diffi-
culty, and leaning on Betty's arm, she reached her
turret; where, under pretence that the accident of
having hurt her arm had turned her sick, she beg-
ged a glass of water, and lay down, being otherwise
unable to conceal from Betty the agitation of her
spirit, and the terror she was in for the reception
of Orlando.
Mrs. Rayland, instead of the kindness she was
used to shew him, now received him with the most
cold and repulsive formality. Your servant, Mr.
Orlando—please to take a chair, was all she said;
and in the manner of her saying it, Orlando saw
abundant cause to fear that his father's letter had
undone him with Mrs. Rayland. º
I find we are to lose you, Sir! you are going
to turn merchant, or shopkeeper 1
Not, madam, replied Orlando, if you think my
doing so a wrong measure.
Oh! Sir, I never pretend to dictate. Every one
knows their own affairs best; and by all means 3you
ought to follow your father's orders and your own
inclinations. -
Alas, dear Madam I replied Orlando, with a
sort of spirited humility that well became him, my
7


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 93
father's orders would, I believe, in this case be
given with reluctance; and though I should obey
them, it would be with reluctance indeed!
What, Sir! (relaxing a little of her vinegar as-
ect) is it not your own desire then that you should
tº: or journeyman to this person, this
brother of your mother's? I thought, for my part,
that finding perhaps, like your brother and other
gay young men, that the country was very dull, you
chose probably to figure in London; for it is trades-
people now that can best afford to shew away, as
witness the new comers at poor Lord Carloraine's
fine place—those what dy'e callums—they were
trades-people—yet nobody can attempt to live as
they do. . If such things can be done by trade, no
wonder young men are eager to begin. The Hall,
Mr. Orlando, must be a dull place when once you
have got these fine doings in your head.
Madam, said Orlando, trembling, for he now
found that his fate depended on the event of this
dialogue—Madam, I have always avoided the mean-
ness of adulation, nor will I use it now; you ought
to despise me if I did; and I know you have gene-
rosity enough to have bestowed all the favours I
have received from you, without expecting me to
sacrifice my integrity or my freedom. sº
Mrs. Rayland did not very clearly comprehend
this sentence. It was partly complimentary, and .
therefore to her taste; but the words sacrifice and
jreedom, at the end, on which a strong emphasis was
laid, sounded a little like rebellion. She therefore
screwed up her visage to its former asperity, and
answered: No indeed, Sir, I expect no sacrifices
from any body; and as to freedom—everybody
is free to do as they like best in their own affairs,
as I told you before. a * *
. You will not then, Madam, suspect me of mean-


94' THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ness unworthy equally of my respect for you and
what I owe myself, if I declare to you; that I
have no wish to enter into trade, for which I am
very certain I have no talents; and that, though I
must obey my father if he insists upon it, yet I shall
be very unhappy, and had rather, infinitely rather,
if you will have the goodness to permit it, remain
at home, with the advantage of being allowed some-
times, in paying my respects to you, to have, as “I
have had for some months, the use of your library;
where I hope I am qualifying myself for one of the
liberal professions against the time when my father
can find an opportunity to place me in one: and in
the mean time, I call God to witness, that, to associa.
ate with such people as Mr. Stockton, or to emulate
his splendour, is so far from being my wish, that to
be compelled to do it would be the greatest punish-
ment that could be inflicted upon me. * ºf
I believe, cousin Orlando, I believe—and I am
pleased to see it—you have some understanding:
and indeed, young man, I think too well of you to
wish to see you a tradesman. Cousin Orlando,
were, he well knew, words that always portended
good-humour, and were never used but on days of
high favour. They now sounded most soothingly
in the ears of Orlando. Will you then, Madam, be
so very good, when you take the trouble to answer
my father's letter, to express your sentinents on
this matter? and I am sure he will then press it
mo farther. º
I shall tell him, child, replied she, that I think
you may do better; and for the present, as you are
not idle, that you may go on with your studies at
the Hall. , -, * * * ~ * ºn
; Orlando, in raptures at having carried his point,
thanked his venerable cousin a thousand times. He
never thought her so reasonable before: she never


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 95
fancied him so much like her grandfather Sir Or-
lando; and so many civilities passed between them,
that, before they parted, she gave him abank-note
often pounds, and he was admitted to the honour
of kissing her hands. In this excellent humour,
which Mrs. Lennard did not discourage, he left her,
went into the study to secure his admittance in the
evening, and to recover himself of the extreme per-
turbation he was in, before he returned to the party
with whom he was to dine at home.
... Mrs. Rayland then having called for her writing
materials, which seldom saw the sun, and being
placed in form at her rose-wood writing-box, lined
with green velvet and mounted in silver, produced,
at the end of four hours, the following letter, piqu-
ing herself on spelling as her father spelt, and dis-
daining those idle novelties by which a few super-
fluous letters are saved.
. . . Raylande Hall, 12th day of
September, A. D. 1776.
Sir, my kinsman,
I have received youre letter, and am oblidged by
your taking the troubbel to informe me of youre
famely affairs, to the wich I am a sinceer goode
wisher. In respecte to youre daughter Philippa
must begge to be excused from giving my opinion,
not haveing the pleasure to knowe the gentleman,
and being from my retired life no judge of the
personnes charactere, who are remote and in bis-
ness, as I understande this personne is; wherefore I
can onleye thereupon saie, that doubtlesse you, be-
ing as you are a goode and carefulle father, will take
due care and precaution that youre daughtere shall
not, by her marriage, be exposed to the mischances
of becoming, reduced by bankruptcies and other
accidents, whereby peopel in trade are oft times
grate sufferers—But your care herein for your


$6 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
daughter's securitye is not to be questionned. Fur-
thermore, respecting youre youngest sonne, Mr.
Orlando, he is very certainelye at youre disposal
also, and you are, it may be, the most competent
judge of that which is fitting to bee done for his fu-
ture goode and advantage. I wish him very well;
he seeming to me to be a sober, promising, and well
conditioned youthe; and such a one as, were I his
neerer relation, I shoulde thinke a pitye to put to a
trade. I am at present alwaies glad of his companie
at the Hall, and willinge to give anye littel encou-
ragement to his desier of learninge in the liberal
sciences fitting for a gentleman, the wich his entring
on a shoppe or warehouse would destroye and put
an ende to. However that may bee, I saie again,
that you, being his father, are to be sure the prop-
perest personne to determine for him, and he is
dutiefullie inclined, and willinge to obey you. Yet
by the discourse I have had with him thereuponne,
it doth not appeare that the youthe himself is in-
clined to become a dealer, as you purpose.
Heartilie recommending you in my prayers to
the Disposer of all goode giftes, and hoping he will
directe you in all thinges for the well-doing of
your famely, I remaine,
Sir, my kinsman,
youre well-wisher
and humbel servant,
GRACE RAYLANDE.
This letter was received at Wolverton while Mr.
Somerive, his two sons, Mr. Woodford and Mr.
Fitz-Owen were yet over their wine. The anxious
father opened it with a palpitating heart, nor were
the younger part of the audience less solicitous to
know its contents. As there were none of them.
towards whom secrecy was absolutely necessary,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 97
though it might have been more prudent, Mr.
Somerive, at the request of his eldest son, put it
across the table to him—who, with that thoughtless
indiscretion which marked his character, read it
aloud, with comments serving to turn into ridicule
the writer, and the sentiments it contained. The
description of Orlando—under that of a sober, pro-
mising, and well-conditioned youth—was read with
a burst of laughter; while the slighting way in
which trade was mentioned, and the contempt
thrown on shopkeepers, under which Mrs. Rayland
seemed to describe wine-merchantsand every person
in business, raised the indignation of Mr. Woodford
and Mr. Fitz-Owen, who both agreed in declaring
that the opinion of such an old crone was not worth,
consulting; that she was in a perfect dotage, as well
from pride as old age; and that it was a condescen-
sion in Mr. Somerive to have consulted her at all.
Orlando, however, saw all this with concern min-
gled with joy. He was pretty sure, from the coun-
tenance of his father, which he solicitously watched
as he perused the letter, that the part of it which
related to himself was kinder than he expected;
that it had turned the fluctuating and undecided
.." of his father in his favour; and that he
should not now, by being sent with his uncle
Woodford, be condemned to the double misery of
quitting Monimia, and associating with persons
whose manners and ideas were so different from his
own, that it was a perpetual punishment to him to be
in their company. The displeasure of his brother at
the partiality. Mrs. Rayland expressed for him was
easily accounted for; and Orlando had long accus-
tomed himself to bear his rough jokes, and even his
sarcastic reproaches, which he vented whenever
they met, without much uneasiness.
As soon as Mr. Somerive could disengage himself
VOL. XXXVI, K -


98 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
from his company, he withdrew to consult with his
wife on the purport of Mrs. Rayland's letter, and
made a sign to Orlando to follow him in a few mo-
ments.-He did so, and found his father and mother
in consultation in the garden. The mother, whose
heart was half broken at the idea of parting with
her daughter so suddenly, was weeping with joy to
find that Orlando would not yet leave her; flatter-
ing herself, from the purport of the letter, that the
affluent fortune of Mrs. Rayland would at last cen:
tre with Orlando, and putting the most favourable
construction on every expression that related to
him, she agreed with Mr. Somerive, that .#
would be so imprudent as to think of removing him;
and it was even determined, that Mr. Somerive
should that evening write to her again, thanking
her for her advice about his daughter, and leaving
the future fate of Orlando wholly to her disposal;
that Orlando should himself carry the letter, and
ask leave to take his former apartments for some
time—only returning once again to Wolverton to
take leave of his eldest sister, whom he was to see
no more before she went to Ireland—and of his se-
cond sister Isabella, who was to accompany her to
London, and to pass some time with her uncle and
aunt Woodford. - * : *
Never did Orlando obey his father with more
alacrity than on this occasion; and on his return
Mrs. Rayland never received him more kindly.
He was now again invited to partake of her supper:
without putting much force on himself, he shewed
her exactly that sort of attention which was the most
agreeable to her, and appeared grateful without
being servile. At length he was dismissed; and,
when the house was perfectly quiet, he flew to Mo:
nimia, who accompanied him to the study; and
when he related how much more happily the events


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 99
of the day had passed than he had at its beginning
expected, she shed tears of delight; and the sweet
sensations of hope, which they now dared to in-
dulge more than there ever yet appeared reason to
indulge them, made this one of the happiest even-
ings º had ever passed together.
o, The following day Orlando returned to the house
of his father, and found that, in regard to some
parts of his family, a new arrangement had taken
place. Mrs. Somerive, as the hour approached for
her two eldest daughters to leave her—one to be
separated from her perhaps for years, and to enter
into another family—foundherself so much affected,
that her husband, who was very indulgent to her,
agreed she should accompany the party to London,
be present at the wedding of her daughter, and
return in a fornight, bringing Isabella back with
her, if the idea of leaving her was at the end of that
time uneasy to her. This being settled, Orlando
took leave of his mother and sisters that evening:
the former rejoicing that he would remain in the
country; and the latter, but particularly the el-
dest, lamenting their separation with many tears:
for Orlando, who was tenderly attentive to his
sisters, was fondly beloved by them all; though to
Selina, the third, who was a year younger than
himself, he was more attached than to the rest.
a Pensively he returned back to the hall after this
melancholy parting : it was the first time theºfa-
mily had been thus separated; for, except the un-
happy eccentricities of his eldest son, the union of
Mr. Somerive's children, and the promise they all
gave of excellence, had hitherto made him amends
for much of the difficulty he found in supporting
them... But Orlando saw that the hour was now
come when his father felt equal pain for the fate
of those who were about to be what is called esta-
K 2


H00 THE OLD MANOR tº HOUSE.
blished in the world, and for those whom he knew
not how to establish, or, in case of his death, to
provide for. All that filial tenderness and good
sense could suggest to his ingenuous and generous
mind, he said to console his father; but with infi-
nite concern he observed, that the wounds inflicted
by the profligacy of his brother festered more
deeply every day, and that all he could do had too
little power to assuage the constant paintarising
from this source; from which, though his father
did not complain, Orlando thought it but too evi-
dent that his health was gradually impaired, ºve"
Against the uneasiness these observations gave
him he found the only respite in his books, to which
he assiduously applied himself—and in his evening
conferences with Monimia, who every hour became
more dear to him, and whose personal charms
seemed every hour heightened by the progress of
her understanding. As the nights became longer,
and more obscure, they met earlier, and with less
apprehension of detection; and as Mrs. Lennard
seemed to become more and more remiss in her
office of duenna, the opportunities they had of
seeing each other in the course of the day (though
they rarely ventured to hold any conversation)
sweetened the tedious hours between their meetings.
Thus almost a fortnight passed after the depar-
ture of Mrs. Somerive and her daughters for Lon-
don; Orlando remaining constantly at the Hall,
except dining occasionally with his father, or riding
over in a morning to enquire after him, Mrs. Ray-
land seeming every day more fond of his company;
and every body about the house, even the old ser-
vants, who had hitherto had such an ascendancy; ap-
pearing to consider him as the future master of the
domain, where he was now invested with powers he
had never before enjoyed. The gamekeeper was


the “OLD MANOR HOUSE. 101
ordered to suffer no other person to have the liberty
of shooting on the extensive manors, and Mrs. Ray-
land was pleased when the game that was brought
to her table was killed by Orlando; while, what-
ever diminution of consequence the confidential ser-
vants might suffer by this growing fondness of their
mistress for him, their was something in his man-
ner so fascinating, that their jealousy and anger
were insensibly converted into attachment; and
all, even the austere Mrs. Lennard herself, seemed
to wish him well; except Mr. Pattenson, who, in
proportion as he became in favour with others, ap-
peared to dislike him.—Orlando had some time be-
fore remarked his rudeness, and often fancied that
he watched him, and had some suspicion of his
evening conversations with Monimia—yet if he
had, it was more likely he would speak of what he
knew, than secretly resent what he had in fact no-
thing to do with: but some resentment he appeared
to harbour; and, whenever he met Orlando, sur-
veyed him with looks which expressed anger, scorn,
and apprehension. Orlando, conscious of never
having injured him, and fearful only in one point,
endeavoured to guard against any mischief he could
do by discovering his evening visits to the turret, or
those of Monimia to the library; and, for the rest,
despised his wrath too much to attempt appeasing
or resenting it.
Mrs. Lennard, to whom the constant residence of
Orlando at the Hall might be supposed to be dis-
agreeable, was much more civil to him, now that
he was a fine young man, than ever she had been
during his childhood; to her he was always ex-
tremely obliging; and though he disdained to stoop.
to the meanness of flattering Mrs. Rayland, where
money might be supposed to be his sole object, he
did not think it equally unworthy to use a little art
K 3


102 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
to promote the interest of his love." Mrs. Lennard
was remarkably open to two sorts of adulation—
She loved to be thought a woman of sense, and to
hear how fine her person must have bean in her
younger days. She was even now accustomed to
say, that though not so well to meet, she was still
well to follow ; for she fancied her tall perpendi-
cular figure exhibited still a great deal of dignity
and grace. These foibles were so evident, and, when-
ever she was not with Mrs. Rayland, she took so
little pains to conceal them, that Orlando, who
thought it too probable that on her the future hap-
piness of his life depended, believed it not wrong
to take advantage of them to acquire her favour;
and he succeeded so well by adroitly administering
now and then a little well-timed flattery, that Mrs.
Lennard not only held him in high esteem, but en-
deavoured to secure his, by cultivating the graces
he had remarked. She entered on a new course of
reading, and a little modernised her appearance.
To have made too many and too rapid improve-
ments in the latter respect, would have been at-
tended with the hazard of displeasing Mrs. Ray-
land; her’s therefore were cº. to that sort of
emendations which she was not likely to perceive.
It happened that, in the progress of these refine-
ments, Mrs. Lennard had occasion for some articles
which Betty Richards (who was a very greatºfa-
vourite, from the assiduity which she affected in
her service particularly) was commissioned to buy.
The place she was to go to was rather a large vil-
lage than a town, and was about three miles and a
half from the Hall; the way to it leading partly
through the park, and partly through some hanging
woods and coppices .#. belonged to Mrs. Ray-
land. Monimia happened to be in the room when
Mrs. Lennard was giving Betty this commission for
7


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 103
the next morning; and as her aunt had promised
her a few articles for herself, for which she had
immediate occasion, she ventured to solicit leave to
go with Betty to make these purchases. Dear Ma-
dam, said she, do indulge me this once. I have
hardly been out of the park twice in my life; and
though I have no desire to go any where when you
disapprove of it, surely there can be no harm in my
walking to such a place with Betty, just to buy
what you are so good as to allow me. We shall not
be gone above two hours and a half, for I will go
as early as you please in the morning.
Mrs. Lennard, who happened to be in a better
humour than usual when this request was made,
agreed to it, under some restrictions. She said,
that if Monimia did go, she must be back by nine
o'clock at the very latest, and not go into any
house but that of the universal dealer with whom
her business was ; that she must make no acquaint-
ance, and enter into conversation with nobody. To
all this Monimia most willingly agreed; and she
believed that Orlando, whom she determined to
consult in the evening, would not object to her
going, on such an occasion, so little a way, what-
ever dislike he had to her associating much with
Betty.
*To Grlando, therefore, she communicated her de-
sign as soon as they met, who did not seem much
pleased with it; but, to a matter apparently so
trifling, he was ashamed of making any serious op-
position, when she said that she really wanted the
articles her aunt had given her leave to buy, which
no other opportunity might afford her. He there-
fore, after expressing his hopes that she would con-
tinue upon her guard against Betty, whom he told
her he saw more and more causeſ to mistrust and
dislike, consented to the little expedition she me-


104 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ditated, and directed her the nearest way through
the woods and the preserved pheasant-grounds of
Mrs. Rayland. I shall be out with my gun to-mor-
row, said he: but I suppose I must not venture to
meet you as if it were by chance?... o. 4 º' ºriº
I think, answered Monimia, you had better not,
Were we to meet, it would perhaps look like de-
sign; and as we could not venture to enter into
conversation, it is hardly worth the risk of Betty's
talking about it, since we should only just pass eac
other in the woods. on ºf h
I believe, replied Orlando, it will be better not;
especially as I told Mrs. Rayland at dinner yester-
day, and while your aunt was present, that I should
walk with my gun to my father's, and try round his
lands for some game to send up to my mother and
sister. - ''''',
Mrs. Lennard had probably recollected this cir-
cumstance when she so º gave Monimial the
permission she asked, her walk lying quite on the
opposite side of the country. It was agreed, there-
fore, that Orlando should not incur any suspicion of
a correspondence between them, by changing his
plan for the next day; and after that was settled,
Orlando read to her a letter he had that day re-
ceived from his mother. It related to the marriage
of Phillipa, and her immediate departure for Ire-
land—described the state of her own mind on bid-.
ding adieu to her daughter—and said, that Mr.
Woodford had insisted on her staying another week.
in town to recover her spirits; which however she
should rather do to indulge Isabella, who had never
been in town, before, with the sight of the play-
houses and other public places; for that her own
spirits would be infinitely more relieved by collect-.
ing around her the rest of her children. But, added
she, while a tear had blistered the paper where the


The old MAN or Hous E. 105
'sentence was written, why do I thus fondly flatter
myself, and forget that your brother, my Orlando,
is almost a stranger to us, and is, I much fear, by
his thoughtless conduct, slowly destroying the in-
valuable life of your dear father? Alas! while I
remember this, I know not how I should support
myself if I did not find comfort in thinking of you.
Orlando's tears, while he read this letter, fell
where the paper was marked by those of this be-
loved parent. The delightful visions he had been in-
dulging but the moment before, disappeared; and
he hardly dare think of Monimia, if it must be at
the expense of wounding the peace and destroying
the hopes of his parents. One look, however, from
her, the sound of her voice as she soothingly spoke
of his mother, dissipated these mournful thoughts;
and, as he led her to her turret, he fancied that, if
his mother could see her, she would love her as
much as he did, and be happy to add to the family
she wished to collect around her, so amiable and
interesting a creature.
...tº -
4".
… . . .
- p ºr " CHAPTER IX.
as
EARLY on the following morning, Monimia, awak-
ing from her short repose, prepared herself for her
little journey, which, unused as she was to go far-
ther than about the park, or in the walled gardens,
was to her an event of some importance. The best
dress she had was a white gown, which she put on
to make her appearance in the village, with a little
straw hat tied under her chin with blue ribband.
Her fine hair, which she had never attempted to,
distort with irons, or change by powder, was ar-
ranged only by the hands of nature; and a black


106 THE OLD-MANOR HOUSE.
auze handkerchief, which her aunt had given her
rom her ownwardrobe, was tied over her º d-
ers. Nothing could be more simplethan her whole
appearance; but nothing could conceal the beauti:
ful symmetry of her figure, or lessen the grace º:
accompanied her motions. Her companion. Betty,
as eager as she was for the walk, entered her room
before she was quite ready, dressed in all the finery
she dared shew at home, while she reserved her
most splendid ornaments to put on at the park-
stile, and to be restored to her pocket at the same
place on their return. a lº -
It was a clear morning in the middle of Qctober
when they set out. They happily ...iº.
commissions; but Betty had so much to say, so
manythings to look at, and so many wishes for the
pretty things she saw—and the man and his wi
who º the shop, were so glad to see the ladies
as they called them both, and so willing ºnewali
the newest things from the next provincial town, as
very fashionable, and pressed them so earnestly to
go into their parlour, and eat some cake and drink
some of their currant wine, that Betty had quite
forgot Mrs. Lennard's injunction to return at nine
o'clock: nor could the repeated remonstrances of
Monimia prevail, upon her to leave the house till
the clock struck eleven. Monimia, very mu
alarmed, and fearing that her aunt, would, in con-
sequence of this disobedience, never allow her to
go out again, then prevailed upon her companion
to set out; and to save as much time as they coul;
they walked as fast as possible up the pat
led from the village, through #: -
the steep, aclivity of a hill, whi
about three quarters of a mile, I
land's woods. Theypassed #3. is: thrº
the first of these woods, º P ascenº


The old MANOR Hous E. 107.
but when they came to the second, Monimia, from
unusual exertion, from the heat (for the sun had yet
great power and force), and the apprehensions of
er aunt's anger, was quite exhausted, and begged
tty to ſet her rest a moment on the steps of the
stile; to which she, who feared Mrs. Lennard's dis-
pleasure ºchless than Monimia, readily assented.
'ſ ord, Miss, cried she, as they sat down, how
frighted you be at nothing! Why, what can your
aunt do, child?. She can't kill you; and as for a
few angry words, I've no notion of minding 'em,
not I: 'tis hard indeed if one's to be always a slave,
and never dares to stir ever so little;—one might
as well be a negur.
* I would not for the world, answered Monimia,
offend my aunt when she is kind to me; and it was
very good in her to give me money to buy these
things, and to let me go for them.
... I see no mighty matter of goodness in it, cried
the other: who is to provide for you, if she does
not, who is your own natural relation? Egollys
Miss, if I was you, I should be very apt to shew her
the difference. Why, very often she uses you like
a dog, and I'm sure she makes you work like a ser-
vant. There's Mr. Pattenson always a-telling me
that handsome girls have no occasion to be drudges
as I be, or as I have been; for that in London they
may make their fortunes, and live like the finest
ladies of the land.—Thus she ran on, while Moni-
mia, hardly hearing, and not at all attending to her
conversation, sat silent, considering how extraordi-
nary Orlando would think it, if by any accident he
should know she was out so long—and trying to
recover her breath that they º: proceed—when
suddenly several spaniels ran out of the wood, a
pheasant flew u near them, and the report of two,
guns was heardsonear that Monimia started in some


108 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
-
degree of terror, while Betty, whose nerves were
much stronger, clapped her hands, and, laughing
aloud, cried : Oh jingo! if here ben't some gentle-
men shooting—let's stay and see who they be
No, no! said Monimia, let us go.
She then arose to walk on ; but the voices of the
persons who were shooting were now heard imme-
diately before them, and she turned pale when she
thought she distinguished that of Orlando. Instan-
taneously, however, the sportsmen broke out of the
thick underwood into the path before them, and
Monimia beheld a young man, whom, from his dis-
tant resemblance to Orlando, she immediately
knew to be his elder brother. With him were two
other gentlemen, and a servant who carried their
nets. Oh ho! cried the elder Somerive; what
have we here ! two cursed pretty wenches—hey,
Stockton? Here's a brace of birds that it may be
worth while to mark, damme! He then approached
Monimia, who shrunk back terrified . her
companion; while Betty, far from feeling any ap-
prehension, advanced with a curtsey and a giggle,
and Pray, Sir, let us pass.
Not so quickly, my littledear, said Mr. Stockton;
I am a newcomer into this country, and have a great
inclination to be acquainted with all my pretty
neighbours—By Heaven, you are as handsome as
an angel—Pray, my dear, where do you live?
With Mrs. Rayland, Sir, said Betty, dropping
another curtsey; and I beg your honour will not
stop us, for my lady will be very angry.
Damn her anger, cried Stockton; does she think
to shut up all the beauty in the country in her old
fortification? If she's angry, you pretty little rogue,
leave her to vent it on her jolly favourite butler,
that fellow who looks like the confessor to the con-
vent, and do you come to me—I keep open house


The old MANOR House. 109
for the reception of all pretty damsels in distress—
and bring your companion here with you.
He then looked forward towards Monimia, and
saw her in an agony of tears; for the conversation
of Philip Somerive and his companion, to whom he
gave the title of Sir John, had terrified her so much
that she could no longer command herself—Why,
what the devil's the matter? cried Stockton. Why,
Sir John—why, Somerive, what have you said to
that sweet girl?
We've been asking her who she is, replied Sir
John; and it seems she does not know.
You are the housekeeper's niece, are you not?
said Somerive.
Tell me, my dear, addressing himself to Betty, is
not this little simpleton, that falls a-crying so pret-
tily, the reputed niece of that old formal piece of
hypocrisy, Lennard? Come, tell us—you have more
sense than to cry because one asks a civil question.
Lord, Sir, replied Betty, to be sure you are such
another wild gentleman that I don't at all wonder
you've frighted our miss, who, poor thing ! has
scarcely ever been out of our house all her life.—
Yes, Sir, 'tis Miss Monimee, Sir, Madam Lennard's
kinswoman; and I hope, Sir, you'll please to give
us leave to pass, for we shall have a deal of anger
for being out so much longer than Madam Lennard
she gived us leave to stay. -
Tell us then, said Sir John, taking both Moni-
mia's hands, which she in vain endeavoured to dis-
engage from his grasp-tell us where and when we
can see you again, and then you shall go.—Yes,
cried Stockton, addressing himself to Betty, tell us,
my dear girl, when can we see you again? We shall
not easily relinquish the acquaintance, interrupted
Somerive; and if you are to be met with only at
the Hall, I shall contrive to get into favour again
VOL. XXXVI. L


110 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
with that immortal old frump, and I can tell you
that's no small compliment.
Oh! dear, sir, giggled Betty, I vow and declare
}. put me all in a twitter with your wild ways.
ndeed, sir, you can't see us no where; for, as to
miss, she never goes out, not at all.—For my share,
to be sure, I now and tan be at church, and such
like; but for all that, it's morrally impossible for us
to see you nohow at all.
Well then, cried Stockton, we'll have a kiss
a-piece somehow at all, now we do see you.
Yes, yes, said Somerive, that we will.
Well, gentlemen, replied Betty, I am sure this is
very rude behaviour (Lord, miss, why dye cry so 2
I warrant they won't do no harm); and if you in-
sist upon it, I hope you'll let us go then.
Yes, answered Somerive, we'll let you go then.
Betty went through the ceremony without mak-
ing many difficulties; but when Stockton advanced
towards Monimia, to whom Sir John had all this
time been making professions of violent love, she
retreated from him ; and her alarm was so evident-
ly unaffected that Sir John stopped him.—Don’t,
Stockton, cried he ; miss is apparently very new
to the world, and we have distressed her. Well,
well, answered Stockton, we won't distress her
then. Come, Somerive, we shall meet these charm-
ing girls some other time; I see you are taking
care of that, (for he continued whispering Bet-
ty,) so let us now go on to beat the wood. Some-
rive, who seemed to have made, during his momen-
tary conversation, some arrangement with Betty,
now agreed to this ; and, as he passed Monimia,
looked earnestly under her hat, and said in a half
whisper, Upon my honour ! that sober well-con-
ditioned young man, Mr. Orlando, has a fine time
of it; these are his studies at the Hall !—Poor Mo-


T H E OLD M A NOR HO Us E. 111
nimia, sinking with terror and confusion, now en-
deavoured to disengage herself from Sir John, and
to follow Betty, who, making more half-curtseys,
and looking smilingly after the gentlemen, was
walking on; but he who had attached himself to
Monimia, was not so easily shaken off. He told
Stockton and Somerive, that he should go home
another way, and should shoot no more. Good
morrow, therefore, added he, I shall wait upon
these ladies through the woods; and as you do not
want Ned (speaking of his servant,) he may as
well go with me and take home the birds. To this
the other two assenting, departed; while Sir John,
giving his servant a hint to enter into conversation
with Betty, and discover as much as he could
relative to Monimia, again joined her, though she
had walked forward as quickly as possible, and
desired her, as he said she seemed tired, to accept
of his arm. Monimia, more terrified every step she
took, and dreading lest he should insist upon fol-
lowing her to the Hall, now acquired courage to
entreat that he would leave her; while he, re-
gardless of the distress so evident in her counte-
nance, endeavoured to prevail upon her to listen
to him; and in this manner they had proceeded
nearly to the part of the woods which open directly
into the park, when suddenly, at a sharp turn of
the path, Orlando, with his gun upon his shoulder,
stood before them.
Amazement and indignation were pictured in his
countenance when he beheld a stranger walking
close to Monimia, and seeming to have his arm
round her waist. Thrown totally off his guard by
an appearance so sudden and so extraordinary, he
cried, Pray, who is this gentleman?—Pray, what
does this mean? Betty, who had been detained
some paces behind, now approached; and Orlando,
L 2


112 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
recollecting himself, took no other notice of Moni-
mia, who would, had she dared, have flown to him
for protection; but slightly touching his hat, he
advanced to Sir John, and said, I suppose, Sir, you
have Mrs. Rayland's permission to shoot in these
preserved grounds?
I always shoot, Sir, answered Sir John, haughti-
ly, in all grounds that happen to suit me, whether
they are preserved or no, and take no trouble to
ask leave of any body.
Then, Sir, said Orlando with quickness, you
must allow me to say that you do a very unhand-
some thing.
And I, rejoined the other, say, whether you
allow it or no, that you are a very impertinent
fellow.
The blood rushed into the face of Orlando:
and even the pale and terrified countenance of
Monimia, who caught hold of Betty for support,
did not deter him from resenting this insolence.
Who are you, cried he, seizing Sir John by the col-
lar, that thus dare to insult me? -
And who are you, scoundrel, answered his anta-
gonist, endeavouring to disengage himself, who
dare to behave with such confounded impudence to
a man of my consequence 2
Curse on your consequence exclaimed the en-
raged Orlando, throwing him violently from him:
If you are a gentleman, which I doubt, give me
an opportunity of telling you properly who I am.
If I am a gentleman?' cried the other. Am I
questioned by a park-keeper ? or by some dirty
valet P
Sir John, who was quite the modern man of
fashion, did not much approve of the specimen
Qrlando had given him of athletic powers;–he
'liked him still less when he replied—My name is


rhE old MANor House. 113
Somerive—my usual residence at West Wolverton,
or Rayland Hall. Now, Sir, as you speak neither
to a park-keeper nor a valet, you must tell me
from whom I have received this brutal insult.
My servant will tell you, replied he ; and if you
are likely to forget his information, you shall hear
it properly from me to-morrow. In the mean
time, my dear girl, added he, turning familiarly to
Monimia, let us leave this fierce draw.cansir to
watch the old lady's pheasants; and as you seem
much alarmed by his ridiculous fury, let me have
the pleasure of seeing you safe home.
He would then have taken the arm of the trem-
bling Monimia within his ; but she shrunk from
him, and would have passed on. He still insisted,
however, on being permitted to attend her home;
when Orlando, quite unable to command himself,
sprung forward, and seizing the arm of Monimia,
cried, This young lady, being under the protection
of Mrs. Rayland, is under mine; and I insist on her
not being troubled with your impertinent fami-
liarity. Come, madam, if you will give me leave,
I will conduct you to your aunt. He then, with-
out waiting for any farther reply, walked hastily
away; while Sir John, filled with rage and con-
tempt, bade his servant follow him, and inform him
that the person whom he had thus grossly affronted
was Sir John Berkely Belgrave, baronet, of Bel-
grave Park in Suffolk, brother-in-law to the Earl of
Glenlyon of Scotland, and member of parliament.
Orlando heard this list of dignities with contemp-
tuous coolness; and then, as he continued to walk
on, bade the servant tell his master, Sir John Berke-
ly Belgrave, of Belgrave Park in Suffolk, brother-
in-law to the Earl of Glenlyon of Scotland, and
member of parliament, that he expected to hear
from him.
L 3


114 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
They were no sooner out of sight, than Orlando,
addressing himself to Betty (for Monimia was quite
unable to answer him), said: Where did you meet
this man P and how came you to be with him P
Lord, said Betty, pertly, how could we help it?
and pray where was the harm? For my part, I al-
ways speak to gentlefolks that speak to me; I've
no notion of sitting mum chance, when gentlemen
are so civil as to speak genteel to one. Here's a
fuss, indeed, about nothing ! And so you've gone
and made a fine piece of work, and had a mind for
to have fit that baron knight—I suppose there will
be a pretty to do.
But where did you meet him P repeated Orlan-
do impatiently.
Don't bite one's nose off, said Betty : Geminiſ
what a passion you put yourself into—Met him ;
—why we met him, and two more very obliging
civil gentlemen as I ever wish to see : your brother
was one of them, and what then P I'm sure it's wast
ridiculous to quarrel and fall out about a few nasty
pheasants with all the gentlefolks about. That's
the reason that mistress never has nobody come to
see her at the Hall; and one may as well live in a
prison. I'm quite sick of it, for my share.
As nothing but mutterings were to be obtained
from Betty, Orlando no longer questioned her; but
as his first emotion of something like anger mingled
with vexation towards Monimia had now subsided,
he said to her, in a low and mournful voice, This is
all very disagreeable: would to God you had ne-
ver gone this unlucky walk.
Would to God I never had 1 for now I see no-
thing but misery will arise from it. Butlet us part
here: (they were now in the park) it is quite
enough for me to have gone through what has pass-
ed within this hour; there is no occasion to to
*- -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 115
my terror, by letting my aunt see us together. I
thought I should suffer enough by being so late
home; but, good God what is that fear in com-
parison of what I suffer now about this quarrel ?
The quarrel, as you call it, will be of no conse-
quence, Monimia: I shall probably hear no more
of it;-or, if I do, Mrs. Rayland will not be dis-
pleased at my having spoken to these men, who have
so long impertinently trespassed on her manors.
But who, said Monimia, who shall ensure your
safety, Orlando, if you do hear more of it?
I must take my chance about that. Do not, my
Monimia, whispered he, make yourself uneasy
about it: I shall see you at night; and now, per-
haps, it will be better to part. He then said aloud,
that Betty might hear, who was a few paces behind,
Since you seem now to be delivered from the per-
secution of this impertinent stranger, I wish you a
good morning. Orlando then walked another way,
as if pursuing his diversion of shooting; and Betty
joining Monimia, they proceeded together towards
the house.
As they went, Betty, who was very much dis-
pleased with Orlando, because he seemed to have
given all that attention to Monimia which she had
herself a great inclination to monopolize, began
again to exclaim against the folly of his having
driven away and quarrelled with a baron knight, as
she emphatically termed it. Why one would have
thof, cried she, actually that the gentleman, who is
in my mind a pretty gentleman, had done some
great harm. If Mr. Orlando had been your sweet-
heart, miss, he couldn't have brustled up in a
greater passion.
- My sweetheart! said Monimia faintly; how
can he be my sweetheart, when you know, Betty,


116 Th F. OLD MANOR HOUSE.
I have hardly exchanged ten words with him in.
my whole life?
Well, Miss, you nid not colour so about it—Lord,
I suppose people have had sweethearts before now ;
and the better's their luck:-not that I say Mr.
Orlando is yours, for I knows to the contrary.
I believe, said Monimia, making an effort to com-
mand herself, I believe, Betty, it will be as well, on
many accounts, not to say any thing about all this
at home. If this unlucky quarrel should go any
farther, which I hope it will not, it will make my
aunt very angry if she knows we were present at it;
—and, upon the whole, I wish you would make a
resolution not to speak of it.
Not I, answered Betty, I shan't speak of it, not
I.. I'm none of your blabs—and scorn to say any
thing to make mischief; besides, we shall have
anger enough for staying so much later than we
were bid to stay. Yes; we shall have a fine rattle;
and there stands Madam Lennard at the window,
watching for us. They were now near the house,
and poor Monimia, looking up, saw her aunt indeed
watching their return. She trembled so much,
that she could hardly find strength to get into the
house, where as soon as Betty arrived she was
hastening to the kitchen; but Monimia finding it
impossible to meet, alone, the first rage of her
aunt, entreated her to go up stairs.
Do not leave me, dear Betty, said the timid Mo-
mimia; I am in such terror already, that if my aunt
is very violent against me, I really believe I shall
die on the spot. You have more courage than I
have—for Heaven's sake, do not leave me.
I don't know any good I can do, replied Betty;
but, however, if I must go, I must. They then as-
cended the stairs together, and entered the room


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. I17
where Mrs. Lennard waited for them in the dispo-
sition of an hungry tigress who has long been .
appointed of her prey. She scolded with such ve-
hemence for near half an hour, that she absolutel
exhausted every form of invective and .
which her very fertile genius, and the vocabulary
of Billingsgate, could furnish her with ; and then
taking Monimia rudely by the arm, she led her to
her turret, and locked her in, protesting that, so far
from ever suffering her to go junketing out again to
the village, she should not leave her room for a
week. With this threat she left her weeping niece,
and turned the key upon her : but Monimia, some-
what relieved by her departure, felt with secret de-
light that it was not in her power to confine her—
and that at night she should see Orlando. Yet
the danger he had run into recurred to her with re-
doubled force; and never did she pass such miser-
able hours as those that intervened between her
aunt's fierce remonstrance, and that when she ex-
pected the signal from Orlando.
CHAPTER X.
THE unfortunate rencontre which promised to pro-
duce so much uneasiness, was occasioned by the
impatience of Orlando at Monimia's long absence.
He had gone early in the morning to his father's,
as he had the preceding evening proposed : and
returning about ten o'clock, anxious to know if Mo-
nimia was come back from her walk, he inquired
among the servants for Betty; and was told that
she was not yet come home from the village, whi-
ther Mrs. Lennard had sent her early in the morn-
ing. What do you want with Betty, sir, said Pat-


118 rhE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
tenson, who heard the inquiry. To make the fire
up in my room, replied Orlando. Any other of
the maids can do that as well, I suppose, answered
the butler, sullenly; and then, from his manner,
Orlando was first struck with the idea, that Patten-
son, being an admirer of Betty, was apprehensive
of his acquiring too much of her favour. This ob-
servation was a great relief to him, and dissipated
the fears he had long entertained, that the old but-
ler suspected his stolen interviews with Monimia.
Uneasy, however, at her staying so much later
than the hour when he knew she was ordered to
return, he could not forbear making a circuit round
the wood-walks of the park, where he could not
be observed, and passing towards the preserved.
pheasant-grounds, through which her path lay;
where he had not waited long before the appear-
ance of Monimia, attended by Sir John Belgrave,
produced the alarming conversation which the last
chapter related.
When Orlando parted from Monimia, and began
coolly to consider what had happened, he felt no
other uneasiness than that which arose from his
apprehension that her name might be brought in
question; for he was a stranger to all personal fear,
and was totally indifferent to the resentment of Sir
John Belgrave, which he thought it probable he
might think it wise to lay aside; for he did not ap-
pear to be one of those who are eager to acquire
fame by personal danger. However that might be,
Orlando's principal concern was, how to appease
the fears of Monimia; and as early as it was safe to
go to the turret, he repaired thither; but this hap-
º almost an hour later than usual. Pattenson
ad visitors, some tradesmen from a neighbouring
town, to sup with him; and Orlando, who was
upon the watch, had the mortification to hear them


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. Iſø
singing in the butler's room at half after eleven, and
to find it near one o’clock when they betook them-
selves to their horses, and departed. It was yet
near half an hour longer before the lights about the
house were extinguished, and all was quiet.
The night, dark and tempestuous, added to the
gloomy appearance of all that surrounded Mo-
nimia; while her imagination, filled with images of
horror, represented to her, that his delay was owing
to the consequences of his morning's adventure;
and these apprehensions, added to the fatigue and
anxiety she had gone through during the day, al-
most overcame her, before the well-known, long-
wished-for signal was heard.
At length Orlando had safely placed her by the
fire, and began to speak as cheerfully as he could
of what had passed; but he saw her pale, dejected,
and ready to sink—her eyes swollen with weeping
—and her whole frame languid, depressed by the
uneasy circumstances of the day, and the uneasy
suspense of the night. For the latter he easily ac-
counted; and he endeavoured to dissipate her dread
as to the consequences of the former. This fine
gentleman, said he, who could persecute with his
insulting attentions a young and defenceless wo-
man, my Monimia, can never have much proper
and steady courage; or, if he has, he will, if he
has a shadow of understanding, be ashamed of
exerting it in such a cause. Besides, after all the
applications that have with great civility been made
to Mr. Stockton, entreating him to forbear, either
by himself, his friends, or servants, trespassing on
those woods, where Mrs. Rayland is so fond of
preserving the game, nothing can be more ungen-
tleman-like than to persistin it: it looks like taking
advantage of Mrs. Rayland's being without any
man about her who has a right to enforce her


120 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE-
wishes, which, whether capricious and absurd or
no, should surely be respected. I feel myself
perfectly justified for having spoken as I did, and
only regret that you were present. Relate to me,
Monimia, what passed before I met you. Did not
Betty say, that my brother was one of the people
who were with this Sir John Belgrave?
Monimia then related all that had passed, as well
as the alarm she had been in had allowed her to ob-
serve it; and in the behaviour of his brother, par-
ticularly in the speech he had made to Monimia
as he passed her, Orlando found more cause of
vexation than in any other circumstance of the
morning. He foresaw that the beauty of Monimia,
which had hitherto been quite unobserved, would
now become the topic of common conversation;
his father and his family would be alarmed, and
his stay at the Hall imputed to motives very dif-
ferent from his love of solitude and study. Hither-
to Monimia had seemed a beautiful and unique gem,
of which none but himself had discovered the con-
cealment, or knew the value. He had visited it
with fonder idolatry, from alone possessing the
knowledge where it was hid. But now half his hap-
piness seemed to be destroyed, since his treasure
was discovered, and particularly by his brother, who
was so loose in his principles, and so unfeeling in his
conduct. As these painful reflections passed through
his mind, he sat a while silent and dejected, till,
being awakened from his mournful reverie by a
deep sigh from Monimia, he saw her face bathed
in tears. Ah! Orlando, said she, in a tremulous
voice, I see that you feel as I do. All our little hap-
piness is destroyed; perhaps this is the last night
we shall ever meet: something tells me, that the
consequence of this luckless day will be our eternal
separation. The sobs that swelled her bosom as


THE OLD MANOf: HOUSE, 121
she said this impeded her utterance. Orlando,
with more than usual tenderness, endeavoured to
sooth and re-assure her—when suddenly, as he
hung fondly over her, speaking to her in a low
voice, she started, and said, in a whisper, Hush,
hush—for Heaven's sake—I hear a noise in the cha-
pel. Orlando listened a moment. No—it is only
the wind, which is very high to-night. But listening
again a moment, he thought, as she did, that it
was something more; and before he had time to
imagine what it might be, the old heavy lock of the
study door, that opened from the passage to the
chapel, was moved slowly; the door as slowly
opened, and at it a human face just appeared.
Starting up, Orlando, whose fears were ever alive
for Monimia, blew out the single candle which
stood at some distance from them ; and then
springing towards the door, he demanded fiercely
who was there. Monimia, whose terror almost
annihilated her faculties, would have thrown herself
into his arms, and there have waited the discovery
which appeared more dreadful than death: but he
was instantly gone, and pursued through the chapel
a man, whom however he could not overtake, and
who seemed at the door to vanish—though the night
was so dark, that it was impossible to distinguish
any object whatever. Through the chapel he had
heard the sound of feet; but when he got to the
porch, and from thence listened for the same sound
to direct his pursuit along the flag-stones, it was
heard no more. All was profoundly silent, unless
the stillness was interrupted by the howling of the
wind round the old buildings. -
Orlando, after a moment's pause, was disposed
to fasten the chapel door before he returned; buthe
recollected that perhaps he might enclose an enemy
within it, or impede the escape of his Monimia to her
VOL. XXXVI. M


122 THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
turret. Uncertain therefore what to do, but too cer-
tain of the agonizing fears to which he had left her
exposed, he hastily went back; and securing that
door which led from the chapel to the passage as well
as he could (for there was no key to it, and only a
small rusty bar), and then fastening the door of
the study, he approached, by the light of the wood-
fire which was nearly extinguished, the fainting
Monimia, who, unable to support herself, had sunk
on the ground, and rested her head on the old
tapestry chair on which she had been sitting.
Orlando found her cold, and almost insensible ;
and it was some moments before he could restore
her to her speech. Terror had deprived her of
the power of shedding tears; nor had she strength
to sit up: but when he had placed her in her chair,
he was compelled to support her, while he en-
deavoured to make light of a circumstance that
overwhelmed him with alarm for her, and with
vexation beyond what he had ever yet expe-
rienced.
They had both distinctly beheld the face, though
neither had the least idea to whom it belonged.
Orlando had as distinctly heard the foorsteps along
the hollow ground of the chapel; it was not there-
fore one of those supernatural beings, to whose
existence Monimia had been taught to give credit.
Orlando would willingly have sheltered himself
under such a prejudice, had it been possible; for
all the ghosts in the Red Sea would have terrified
him less than the discovery of Monimia by any of
the family; yet, that such a discovery was made,
he could not doubt; and the more he thought of
even its immediate consequences, and the impos-
sibility, there might be to reconvey his lovely
trembling charge to her own room, the greater his
distraction became; while all he could make Mo-


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 123
mimia say, was, Dearest Orlando, let me stay and
die here ! A few hours longer of such extreme
pain, as I at this moment suffer, will certainly kill
me; and if I die in your presence, my death will be
happier than my life has been, or than now it ever
can be.
Orlando being thus under the necessity of con-
quering his own extreme disquiet, that he might
appease hers, began to make various conjectures
as to this man, tending to encourage the hope that
it was some accidental intruder, and not one whose
business was to discover her. But even if the vil-
lain came with that design, said he, I do not believe
he could distinguish you, so instantly I blew out the
candle: or if he saw a female figure, he could not
know it to be you; it might as well be any other
woman. These suppositions had little power to
quiet the fears with which Monimia was tormented;
but when Orlando seemed so deeply affected by her
situation; when he declared to her that he was
unequal to the sight of her terror; and that not even
the discovery they dreaded could make him so
wretched as seeing her in such a situation; she
made an effort to recover herself, and at length suc-
ceeded so well as to regain the power of consulting
with him, as to what was best to be done.
It was now early morning, but still very dark,
with rain and wind. It was however time to con-
sider of Monimia's return ; for within two hours
the servants would be up, and in even less time the
labourers in the gardens would come to their work.
It was at length agreed, that Orlando should go
through the chapel first, and try if he could dis-
cover any traces of their alarming visitor; and if,
after his reconnoitring, all appeared safe, that Mo-
nimia should return as usual to her apartment. . . .
Orlando then, directing her to fasten herself the
M 2


124 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
study door within side, went through the chapel
with a candle in his hand, which he shaded with
his hat to prevent the light being seen from the
windows. He looked carefully among the broken
boards which had once formed two or three pews,
and then went into the chancel, but saw nothing.
He passed through the porch, leaving his candle
behind the door on one of the benches, but nobody
appeared: and by the very faint light of the first
dawn, on a stormy October morning, which served
only to make the darkness visible, he could just see
round the whole chapel court, and was satisfied no-
body was there. Thus convinced, he returned to
Monimia; assured her that the wretch, whoever he
was, was gone; and that there seemed to be no
danger in her returning to her apartment. He en-
deavoured again to persuade her that her alarm,
however just, would end without any of the conse-
quences they dreaded; made her swallow a large
glass of wine; and then taking one of her hands
in his, he put his other arm round her waist; and
with uncertain steps himself, while through fear
her feet almost refused to move, they proceeded
slowly and lightly through the chapel; neither of
them spoke; Monimia hardly breathed; when ar-
riving about the middle of it, they were struck
motionless by a sudden and loud crash, which
seemed to proceed from the chancel; and a deep
hollow voice pronounced the words, Now—now.
There was a heavy stone font in the middle of
the chapel, with a sort of bench under it. Or-
lando, unable at once to support and defend Mo-
mimia, placed her on this bench; and imploring
her to take courage, he darted forward into the
chancel, from whence he was sure the voice had
issued, and cried aloud, Who is there? Speak this
moment. Who are you?


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 125
The words re-echoed through the vaulted chan-
cel, but no answer was returned: again, and in a
yet louder voice, he repeated them, and again lis-
tened to hear if any reply was made. A slight and
indistinct noise, like the shutting a distant door, and
a low murmur which soon died away, left every
thing in profound silence. He remained however
yet an instant listening, while Monimia, resting
against the stone a cheek almost as cold, was petri-
fied with excess of fear; and in the dread pause
between Orlando's question and his awaiting an
answer, the old banners which hung over her head,
waving and rustling with the current of air, seemed
to repeat the whispers of some terrific and invisible
being, foretelling woe and destruction; while the
same wind by which these fragments were agitated
hummed sullenly among the helmets and gauntlets,
trophies of the prowess of former Sir Orlandos and
Sir Hildebrands, which were suspended from the
pillars of the chapel.
When Orlando returned to her, he found her
more dead than alive. He soothed, he supported
her, and earnestly besought her to exert herself
against the fear that oppressed her.
What shall we do, Monimia? said he. For my
own part, rather than see you suffer thus, I will
take you in my hand, and declare at once to these
people, whoever they are, that we cannot live apart.
And should we, by such an avowal, forfeit the
protection of our friends, what is there in that so
very dreadful ? I am young and strong, and well
able to work in any way for a subsistence for us
both. Tell me, Monimia, should you fear poverty,
if we could but live together
No, replied Monimia, acquiring courage from
this excess of tenderness in her lover—no, Orlando,
I should be too happy to be allowed to beg with you
M 3


126 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
round the world. What then have we to fear?
whispered he. Come, let us go and face these
people, if, as their expression Now seems to inti-
mate, they are waiting for us without. In the
chapel they are not, however the sound seemed to
come from thence. I fear they way-lay us at the
door. But if we are thus prepared against the
worst that can befal us, why should we shrink now,
only to be exposed a second time to alarms that
seem to threaten your life, from your extreme timi-
dity? Tell me, Monimia, have you courage to
brave the discovery at once, which sooner or later
must be made?
I have courage, answered she ; let us go while I
am able. She arose, but could hardly stand. Or-
lando however led her forward, listening still every
step they took. They heard nothing either in the
chapel or in the porch; and being now on the pave-
ment without, they stopped and looked around
them, expecting that the person or persons whose
words had alarmed them would appear; but there
was nobody to be seen, yet it was now light enough
to discern every part of the court. This is wonder-
ful, said Orlando; but since there seems to be
nothing to prevent it, let me see you, my Monimia,
safe to your room; and let me hope to have the
comfort of knowing, that, after the fatigues and
terrors of such a day and night, you obtain some
repose. How can you know it, Orlando, answered
she, since it will be madness, if we escape now, to
think of venturing a meeting to-morrow night? I
would not have you venture it; but, Monimia, I
have thought of a way, by which I can hear from
you and write to you in the course of the day,
which, under our present circumstances, must be an
infinite satisfaction. As I have at all hours access
to the turret, I can put a letter at your door behind


THE OLD MANOR HO U shº, 127
your bed; and there you can deposit an answer.
To this expedient Monimia readily assented. With-
out any alarm they passed the rest of their short
walk. Monimia promised to go immediately to
bed, and to endeavour to compose herself; and
Orlando, having seen her secured in her turret, re-
turned to the chapel, determined to discover, if
possible, what it was that had so cruelly alarmed
them. Again he went over every part, but could
discover nothing. He then determined to go round
the house; and resolute not to spare any wretch
who might be lurking about it with evil designs, he
went into a large uninhabited parlour that opened
into the study from the body of the house, where,
over the chimney, several sorts of arms were dis-
posed, which for many years had never been used.
He took down an hanger, and a pair of horse pistols;
both were somewhat injured by neglect, and of the
latter he knew he could make no use till they had
been cleaned; but drawing the hanger from its
scabbard, he sallied forth in eager expectation of
finding some means to discover, and at least to
terrify from future intrusion, the man he had seen
and heard; but after wandering round the house,
through the gardens, and even over the adjoining
offices, for above an hour, he saw nothing that
could lead him to guess who it could be. The
workmen and servants were all at their usual em-
ployments. He talked to some of them, but ob-
served no consciousness of any thing extraordinary
in any of them. He then returned, not less uneasy
than before his search. Sometimes the idea of Sir
John Belgrave presented itself; but that he should
have ventured to visit the hall at such an hour, he
soon rejected as an impossibility. Had Mrs. Ray-
land discovered his intelligence with Monimia, she
would have signified her displeasure openly and at


128 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
once. At length he supposed it might be his bro-
ther. This, as Philip Somerive knew the house,
appeared the least improbable of all his conjectures.
But still it was hardly to be supposed that he would
leave his jovial companions on such a night for the
pleasure of persecuting him, when so many other
means were now in his power, by which he might
disturb the happiness of Orlando. Dissatisfied with
every supposition, but becoming every instant more
restless and anxious, he waited with impatience for
the customary time of visiting Mrs. Rayland. It
came, and she behaved to him just as usual. Some
hours, therefore, were still passed in fruitless con-
jectures and tormenting suspense.
CHAPTER XI.
ORLANDo left Mrs. Rayland about twelve o'clock,
convinced that, whatever discovery had been
made, she was yet perfectly unacquainted with it.
He thought it best to tell her as much of what had
happened the preceding day, as he was sure she
would not disapprove: he therefore mentioned to
her, in the presence of Lennard, who seemed as
ignorant of any misadventure as she was, that he
had gone round the park with his gun, after his
return from his father's in the morning, and, hear-
ing several shot fired in the copses, he had followed
the sound. I met, madam, said he, Mrs. Lennard's
niece and your servant Betty, and almost at the
same moment a gentleman shooting, and a servant
following him with several pheasants. I thought
it necessary to speak to him; and we had rather
high words. I found he had two companions with
him, whom I did not see: Stockton himself was one


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 129
of them (Orlando always carefully avoided naming
his brother). The man to whom I spoke, was, I
found from his servant, a baronet.
A baronet, child ! said Mrs. Rayland; impos-
sible ! at least if he is, it must be one of the new-
made baronets: these, as well as new-created lords,
spring up like mushrooms, from nobody knows
where every year. A man of family could not
behave so. This person is some enriched trades-
man, who has bought his title. Belgrave!—Bel-
grave l—I don't recollect the name. No, he can-
not be a man of any family.
Orlando saw that Mrs. Rayland had not the least
idea of the circumstances likely to follow his dia-
logue with Sir John Belgrave, and only dwelt upon
the improbability that a man whose title was above
two years old, could commit so great an indecorum
as he had been guilty of . Unwilling, therefore, to
awaken in her mind those apprehensions of future
consequences, of which she seemed quite ignorant,
he soon after turned the discourse; and, leaving
her and Mrs. Lennard both in perfect good hu-
mour, he returned to his study, and sat down to
give Monimia the satisfaction of knowing, that, to
whomsoever the affright of the preceding evening
was owing, Mrs. Rayland and her aunt had cer-
tainly no share in it, and as yet no suspicion of
their intercourse.
He had been employed thus near half an hour,
and had just finished his letter, when Betty bounced
into his room.
There's one without vants to speak to you, cried
she pouting and sullenly she spoke; and then,
shutting the door as hastily as she had opened it.
was going; but Orlando following her, said, Betty
who is it? If the person has a letter for me, let
it be sent in; if not, beg to know his name. (A


130 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
letter or message from Sir John Belgrave was
what he expected.)
I shan't carry none of your messages indeed,
replied the girl: but I suppose the person without
is your father; I never see him but once or twice,
but I'm pretty sure 'tis he,
Good Godſ exclaimed Orlando; and why, then,
if you knew him, would you let my father wait
without?
'Twas no business of mine, Mr. Orlando, to shew
him in; and besides folks sometimes has company
with them in their rooms, you know; and then
an old father may be one too many, Mr. Or-
lando.
What do you mean by that ? cried Orlando,
eagerly.
Nay, never mind what I means—I knows what
I knows; but I think you mid as well take care
not to get other folks into bad bread, that are as
innocent as the child unborn.
I insist upon your telling me, said Orlando,
seizing her hand—I insist, nay I implore you,
dear Betty, to tell me
At this moment the old butler appeared at the
door of the parlour in which they were standing;
and seeing Orlando apparently interceding with
Betty, he said roughly:
Instead of pulling the wenches about, and be-
having in this rakish sort of way in my mistress's
house, it would be more becoming y you to go
speak to your father, who is waiting in the stable-
yard.
You are impertinent, Mr. Pattenson answered
Orlando; and I beg you will understand that im-
ºnce from any one I am not disposed to en-
ure.
Orlando then went hastily out—Pattenson mut-


THE OLD MANOR Hous F. 131
tering as he passed, I don't know how you'll help
ourself. -
In the stable-yard Orlando found Mr. Somerive.
He had not dismounted, having made it a rule for
many years never to enter Mrs. Rayland's house
unless he was invited. Orlando saw by his coun-
tenance that he was under great concern; and re-
spectfully approaching him, he said,
Dear sir, is all well at home? Is my mother re-
turned? Is she well?
Your mother is not returned, Orlando, replied
Mr. Somerive, in a grave and melancholy tone; but
she is well, and all is well at home.
I hope then, Sir, that I owe this visit merely to
your kindness. Will you get off your horse, and
come in? I have a fire in the library—or shall I let
Mrs. Rayland know you are here?
Neither the one nor the other, replied Mr. Some-
rive. But get your horse immediately and come
with me; I have business with you.
I have only slippers on, Sir ; will you walk in
while I put on my boots?
You will not need them—I shall not detain you
long.' Your horse is already saddled by my desire
—You have your hat, and therefore hasten to fol-
low me.
Orlando would have given half a world to have
had an opportunity of depositing his letter to Mo-
nimia, which he had put hastily into his pocket;
but there was now no possibility of escaping to do
it; and in the hope that his father would soon dis-
miss him, yet foreseeing that what he had to say
was of a very painful nature, he mounted his horse,
which one of the grooms brought out, and followed
his father across the park. Mr. Somerive was
silent till they had got at some distance from the
house. Orlando rode by his side a foot-pace. He


132 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE-
observed that his father sighed deeply two or three
times, and at length said: Orlando, I desire you
* give me a faithful detail of all that passed yes-
terdav.
†. events of the night dwelt more upon his
mind than those of the day; and believing there-
fore that his father alluded to them, he blushed
deeply, and repeated, All that passed yesterday,
Sir P -
Yes, replied the father; you certainly don't mean
to affect misunderstanding me. You have got into
a quarrel with one of the guests of Mr. Stockton:
I have heard of it from one quarter; let me now
have your account of it.
That is very easily given, my dear Sir, answered
Orlando, relieved by finding that the adventures of
the night were not meant. I met a gentleman
shooting in those woods, where you know it has
been for years the particular whim of Mrs. Ray-
land, as it was, they tell me, of her father, to pre-
serve the pheasents. You know that Mr. Stockton
has often been entreated to forbear; and you will
allow that it is unhandsome to persist in doing what
is offensive to a defenceless woman; therefore, upon
meeting this Sir John Something, with his servant
carrying a net full of birds, I spoke to him on the
impropriety of his shooting in those woods, and in-
deed almost within the park. He answered me very
insolently, and I collared him; after which some
rather high words passed between us. He sent his
servant after me with his address; and I expected
to have heard farther from him to-day.
And was that all, Orlando? said Mr. Somerive,
looking steadily, and somewhat sternly in his face.
That was all that passed, Sir, replied Orlando,
hesitating, and blushing again.
And was there no other person present when this


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 133
quarrel happened? Was there no other cause for
your displeasure against this gentleman, than what
arose from his having killed these birds? Orlando,
I used in your infancy and early youth to have the
firmest reliance on your veracity; shall I have the
infinite mortification now to find myself mistaken 2
No, Sir, answered Orlando, nor now, nor ever :
I have no reason to be ashamed of saying the truth,
when called upon—though I should
Come, come, Orlando I cried his father; you
would not tell it, if you could, without being guilty
of the meanness of a direct falsehood, conceal it.
There were two young women present; and you
thought it necessary to resent the behaviour of this
Sir John Belgrave to one of them.
Yes, I thought him very impertinent. The young
woman was terrified, and I considered myself bound
to protect her from him. I am sure, Sir, you would
yourself have done the same thing.
Perhaps I might. You are acquainted then with
this girl, for whom you exercised your chivalry 2
Certainly, said Orlando, again blushing so much
that his father could not but perceive it—certainly
I am—am acquainted with her; that is—I know
her to be sure, a little;—indeed, as I live so much
under the same roof, it would be odd, and strange,
if I did not.
Very odd and strange indeed, Orlando, replied
Mr. Somerive drily—very odd and very strange;
—especially as your brother tells me that the dam-
sel is remarkably handsome.
Well, Sir, cried Orlando with quickness, ad-
mitting it to be so: does my brother think to do me
an ill office with you, by telling you that I admire
beauty; or that I defended a woman, for whom if
she had been ugly, I should equally have interposed,
from the impudent persecutions of a coxcomb?
WOL. XXXVI, N -


Y34 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
I do not believe that your brother intended to do
you an ill office. On the contrary, he came to me
this morning, at an hour when a visit from him was
very unexpected, to tell me that he was very un-
easy at the resentment expressed by Sir John Bel-
rave; and to desire I would prevent this disagree-
able affair from going farther, by prevailing on you
to make some proper apology.
And if that was my brother's sole intention, I see
no necessity for his having named the lady; there
was otherwise ground enough for the quarrel, if a
quarrel it can be called. However, I heartily for-
give Philip ; and am only sorry that he thinks he
has cause to do me every disservice in his power.
Do you call his anxiety for your safety a dis-
service? he hopes to prevent any risk of it, by tell-
ing me what has happened, and procuring, before
it is too late, an apology. -
Orlando checked his tears: And does my father
really think, said he, that I ought to make an apo-
logy P -
5. the affair passed as Philip represented it to me,
I think you ought; for you seem by that account
to have been the aggressor.
No, Sir, cried Orlando: in every thing else your
commands should be my law; but here I hope you
will not lay them upon me, because I feel that, for
the first time in my life, I must disobey them.
And your mother, said Mr. Somerive, your mo-
ther, on her return, is to hear that you are engaged
in a duel; that you have either killed a man, who
is a stranger to you, for the sake of a few paltry
pheasants, or have yourself fallen? Oh, rash and
headstrong boy —if you did not feel deeper re-
sentment than what a trespass on Mrs. Rayland's
grounds occasioned, you would not thus have en-
gaged in a dispute so alarming. I greatly fear your
attachment to that girl.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 135
Orlando, without denying or assenting to the
truth of this accusation, related distinctly the very
words that had passed.—You see, Sir, continued
he, that it was about no girl the quarrel began; for
upon my soul! these were the very words.
I think still, said his father, that it is a very
foolish affair; and, should Sir John Belgrave insist
upon it, you ought to make an excuse.
Never, said Orlando; and do not, dear Sir, do
not, I conjure you, lay me under the cruel necessity
of disobeying you. You cannot, with all the spirit
you possess yourself, desire me to act like a coward;
you must despise me if I did; and even my dear,
my tender mother would blush for her son, if she
thought him afraid of any man when he is conscious
of a good cause.
What is to be done, then? cried Somerive in
great perplexity. You will certainly receive a
challenge, Orlando.
And then I must certainly accept it. But in-
deed, dear Sir, you are needlessly distressed: if this
warlike Sir John must vindicate his injured honour
by firing a brace of pistols at me, I have as good a
chance as he has ; and at all events if I fall, you
will be delivered from the anxiety of providing for
me, and I shall die lamented, which is better than
to live disgraced. But after all (seeing his father's
distress increase,) I am much mistaken if this most
magnanimous baronet had not rather let it alone—
A few hours will determine it; and before my mo-
ther's return, whom I should be very sorry to ter-
rify, it will be over one way or other.
You will not then, Orlando, settle it by an apo-
logy 2
Never indeed, my dear Sir.
Nor give me your word that there is no attach-
N 2


136 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ment between you and this girl, this niece of Len-
nard's 2 -
Why, my dear father, replied Orlando gaily, if
I am to be shot by Sir John Belgrave, my attach-
ments are of little consequence; it will therefore
be time enough to talk of that when I find myself
alive after our meeting. -
Young man, said Somerive, with more sternness
than he almost ever shewed towards Orlando before,
you were once accustomed to obey implicitly all
my commands.-At hardly twenty, it is rather
early to throw off all parental authority. But I see
that the expectations you have formed of possess-
ing the Rayland estate, have made you fancy your-
self independent.
Pardon me, dear Sir! if I say you greatly mis-
take me. If I were to-morrow to find myself, by
Mrs. Rayland's will, the owner of this property,
which is of all things the most unlikely, I should not
be at all more independent than I am now; for,
while my father lived, I should be conscious that
he alone had a right to the Rayland estate; nor
should I then consider myself otherwise than as a
dependent on his bounty.
There is no contending with you, Orlando, said
Mr. Somerive, bursting into tears; I cannot bear
this!—You must do, my son, as your own sense and
spirit dictate; and I must leave the event to Hea-
ven, to whose protection I commit you !—Yet re-
member your mother, Orlando: remember your
sisters, whose protector you will, I trust, live to be;
and do not, more rashly than these unlucky circum-
stances require, risk a life so precious to us all.
Orlando threw himself off his horse, and, seizing
his father’s hand, bathed it with his tears. Neither
of them spoke for some moments. At length Or-
lando, recovering himself, said: My father . I


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 137
would die rather than offend you—If I could, or if I
can without cowardice and meanness evade a meet-
ing which may give you pain, I will. In the mean-
time let us say nothing about this squabble to alarm
my mother, if she returns, as you say you expect
she will, to-morrow. If any thing happens worth
our knowing, you shall instantly hear of it: and
in the mean time let me entreat you not to make
yourself uneasy; for I am well convinced all will
end without any of those distressing events which
your imagination has painted.
Mr. Somerive shook his head and sighed. As he
found nothing could be done with Orlando, he had
determined to try to put a stop to the further pro-
gress of the affair, by his own interposition with Sir
John Belgrave; and therefore, bidding Orlando
tenderly adieu, he told him to go back to the Hall,
while he himself went to his own house to consider
how he might best ward off the impending evil from
a son whom he every day found more cause to love
and admire. He saw too evidently that Orlando
had an affection for Mrs. Lennard’s niece; for
which, though it might be productive of the loss of
Mrs. Rayland's favour, he knew not how to blame
him. But these discoveries added new bitterness to
the reflections he often made on the situation of
Orlando; with which, notwithstanding the flatter-
ing prospect held out by Mrs. Rayland's late beha-
viour to him, his father could not be satisfied while
it remained in such uncertainty. The anxiety how-
ever that he felt for the immediate circumstances,
suspended his solicitude for those which were to
come. A few hours might perhaps terminate that
life, about the future disposition of which he was
so continually meditating.
Orlando, deeply concerned at the distress of his
father, and too much confirmed in his opinion of his
N 3


138 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
brother's treachery and malice, returned to the Hall
filled with disquiet. He had now much to add to
his letter to Monimia, for he resolved to keep no-
thing a secret from her; and he went impatiently
into his own room to finish his letter, when, upon
the table, he found the following billet:
SiR
Asſ find, on inquiry, you are by birth a gentle-
man, you cannot believe I can . over the very
extraordinary language and conduct you chose to
make use of yesterday. Yet, in consideration of
your youth, and of your relationship to Mr. Some-
rive, the friend of my friend Stockton, I shall not
otherwise notice it than by desiring you will write
such an apology as it becomes you to make, and
me to receive. I am, Sir,
Your humble servant,
Carloraine Castle, Oct.18, 1776. J. B. BELGRAVE.
To this letter, which Orlando was told was deli-
vered afewmoments before by a servant who waited,
he, without hesitation, returned the following an-
SWer:
SIR,
Not conscious of any impropriety in my conduct,
I shall assuredly make no apology for it; and I beg
that neither your indulgence to my youth, or my
relationship to Mr. Philip Somerive, may prevent
your naming any other satisfaction which your
honour may require, and which I am immediately
ready to give.
I am, Sir,
, Your humble servant,
Rayland Hall, Oct. 18, 1776. ORLANDO SOMERIVE.
Having dispatched this billet, he continued very
coolly to conclude his letter to Monimia; and this


rhe old MANor house. 139
last circumstance was the only one he concealed
from her. Having done it, he went to the turret,
and softly mounted the staircase, flattering himself
that, if he heard no noise, and could be quite secure
that no person was with her, he might venture to
see Monimia for a few moments. He listened im-
patiently; but to his infinite mortification, heard
Betty talking with more than her usual volubility;
and as his name was repeated, he could not help
attending to her harangue.
Oh! to be sure, said she, in answer to something
Monimia had said; to be sure, I warrant Orlando
is a saint and an angel in your eyes—but I know
something.
Tell me, Betty, said Monimia tremulously, tell
me what you know.
Why I know—that though he looks as if butter
wouldn't melt in his mouth, cheese won't choke him.
I can tell you what, Miss, he's slyer than his bro-
ther, but not a bit gooder—What's more, he lets
women into his room at night.
Women cried Monimia, what women? How
should he do that? and who should they be 2
That's more than I can tell; but some hussy or
other he does let in, I tell you, for I know they as
have seen her. There's Pattenson has been as mad
as fury with me, saying as how it was me; and all
I can say won't persuade him to the contrary.—
Egollys! if it had been me, I should not have gone
to have denied it, in spite of Pattenson; but he's as
mad as a dog, and won't hear nothing I can say,
but swears he'll tell my lady—though I can bring
Jenny to prove that, at that very time as he says I
was sitting along with 'Squire Orlando in his own
study, I was fast asleep up stairs—And so if Pat-
tenson does make a noise about it, Jenny offers to
take her bible oath before the Justice.


} 40 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
I think, said Monimia, acquiring a little courage
from the hope she now entertained that she had
not been distinguished, I think it is much better to
say nothing about it.
So I tells him, answered Betty; but he is so
crazy angered with me that he won't hear nothing
I can say—and there to be sure I own I should like
to know who this puss is.
Why, replied Monimia, what can it signify,
Betty, to you?
It signifies to every body, I think, Miss, espe-
cially to us poor servants, who may lose our cha-
racters. You see that I'm blamed about it already,
and Pattenson is always a telling me that Mr. Or-
lando has a liking for me, and that I keeps him
company.—Not I I'm sure —but it is very hard
to be brought into such a quandary as this, when
one's quite as 'twere as innocent as can be. I'd
give my ears to see this slut.
Why, who did ever see her? inquired Monimia.
Oh! that's neither here nor there—she was seen,
and that's enough.
I think it's impertinent in any body to pry into
Mr. Orlando's room, and I dare say it is all a
mistake—— *
Please the Lord, I’ll find out the mistake, said
Betty, and, I warrant know who this dear friend
of Orlando's is before I’m two days older—and
I know somebody else that won't be sorry to
know.
Who is that ?
Why his brother—a dear sweet man—He came
up to our house last night, Miss, after 'twas dark,
on purpose to speak to me. I won't tell you half
he said; but he's a noble generous gentleman, and
has a more genteeler taste too than Orlando; and
for my share, I think he's as handsome.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 141
Monimia now seemed to let the discourse drop,
and to be considering what she ought to do. Or-
lando waited yet a little, in hopes that Betty would
go, and that he might have an opportunity of seeing
Monimia: but immediately the dinner bell rang;
and as he now generally dined with Mrs. Rayland,
he was afraid of being inquired for, and retired
silently to his room, somewhat easier, from the
strong reason he now had to believe, that, whoever
it was whose curiosity brought them the preceding
evening to his door, they were actuated by no
suspicion in regard to Monimia, and that they
had not even distinguished her countenance and
figure; and he meditated how to prevent any sus-
picion concerning her—content to be accused
himself of any other folly or error, if Monimia
could but escape.
-
CHAPTER XII.
It was probable that Sir John Belgrave's messen-
ger would immediately return, fixing the time and
place where he would meet Orlando, who debat-
ed with himself whether he should send the billet
he had received, and that he expected, to his
father. He had not yet determined how he ought
to act, and was traversing the flag stones which
went around the house considering of it, when his
father's servant appeared, and delivered to him the
following letter:
MY DEAR or LANDo,
I have just seen Sir John Belgrave at Mr. Stock-
ton's, who, on my account, as this affair really
gives me great pain, is willing to drop any farther
resentment, if you will only say to me, that you


142 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
are sorry for your rashness. I entreat you to gra-
tify me in this—I will not say I command you,
because I hope that I need not ; but this unlucky
business must be settled before the return of your
mother, from whom I have to-day heard that she
will be at home to-morrow with Isabella, since she
cannot determine to leave her in London.—I have
also a letter from my old friend General Tracy, of
whom you recollect hearing me speak as one of
my early friends. He is much acquainted with
your uncle Woodford, and has been very obliging
in promoting his interest among his connections,
which are with people of the first rank-Havin
met your mother and sisters at Mr. Woodford's,
he has renewed that friendship which time and
distance, and our different modes of life, have for
some years interrupted; and as he is fond of field
sports, and your mother has said how happy I shall
be to see him, he intends coming hither to-morrow
for ten days or a fortnight, and brings your mother
and Isabella down in his post-chaise. This intel-
ligence has put Selina, who is now my housekeep-
er, into some little hurry, as you know we are little
used to company; and it prevents my coming to
you myself, as I should otherwise have done.—
But I repeat, Orlando, that this uneasiness must
be removed from my mind. Write to me there-
fore such a letter as I may shew to this Sir John
Belgrave, and let us hear no more of it. I beg
that you will inform Mrs. Rayland that I expect
company, and that you will obtain her leave to be
here to-morrow to receive them. Robert waits
for your answer, which I am persuaded will be sa-
tisfactory to
Your affectionate father,
P. SOMERIVE.


The OLD MANOR house. 143
To this letter, which was extremely distressing
to Orlando, since it imposed upon him what he
had he thought with propriety refused, he knew
not what to answer. To suffer his father to say to
Sir John Belgrave that he was sorry for what had
passed, seemed to him even more humiliating than
to say it himself—he could not bear to owe his
safety to his father's fears; yet it gave him infinite
pain to disobey him, and was the first time in his
life that he had been tempted to act for himself,
in opposition to his father ; and the apprehensions
of what his mother would feel were still more dis-
tressing to him; yet his high spirit could not stoop
to apologize for what he knew was not wrong, nor
to say he was concerned for having acted as he
should certainly act again were the same occasion
to arise. After much and uneasy deliberation, he
at length dispatched to his father the following
lines:
MY DEAR SIR,
Again I must entreat your pardon for the dis-
obedience 1 am compelled to be guilty of Indeed
it is impossible for me, highly as I honour your
commands, and greatly as I feel the value of your
tenderness, quite impossible for me to make any
apology to Sir John Belgrave: for, were I to say
that I am sorry for what had passed, I should say
what is false, which surely my father will never insist
upon. It would grieve my very soul to alarm my mo-
ther; but surely there is no necessity for her know-
ing any thing of this silly business. As you expect
General Tracy to-morrow, of whose military charac-
ter I have often heard you speak with applause, I
entreat that you will rather entrust him with the af.
fair, and ask him whether I ought, all circumstances
fairly related, to make the submission required of


144 THE Oi, D MANOR HOUSE,
me; and as I am sure I may leave it to him to de-
cide for me, I promise that I will abide by his de-
termination, and will not till then meet Sir John Bel-
grave if he should in the mean time send me an ap-
pointment, though even this delay is, I own, incom-
patible with my ideas of that spirit which, in a pro-
per cause, should be exerted by a son of yours. Let
this promise, however, of a reference to General
Tracy make you easy at present, my dear and ho-
noured Sir and be assured in every other instance
of the obedience, and in every instance of the af-
fection of your
Rayland Hall, Oct. 20, 1776. ORLANDO.
Having dispatched this letter, Orlando dismissed
the affair of Sir John Belgrave from his mind for the
present, and gave all his thoughts to Monimia. The
circumstance of the man's appearing at his door,
though much less alarming than it seemed at first,
was yet such as threatened to put an end to all
those delicious conversations which had so long
been the charm of his existence. Not to have an
opportunity of seeing Monimia, was death to him;
yet to see her, were she exposed to such terrors as
she had undergone at their last interview, was im-
Fº In order to turn all suspicion from her,
e would very willingly have been suspected of a
penchant for Betty, and have encouraged her flippant
forwardness; but that, as it awakened the envy and
jealousy of Pattenson, was likely to put him upon
the watch, and to bring on the very evil he dreaded.
During the day, indeed, he had now frequent op-
portunities of seeing Monimia, who was now, unless
under her aunt's displeasure, less rigorously confin-
ed than formerly; but those interviews were never
but in the presence of a third person; and after
what his father had said, and what had happened
7


THE ol D MANOR House. 145
on the alarming evening, he was compelled to be
more than ever cautious. Tormented by uncer-
tainty, and perplexed by apprehensions, he passed a
wretched afternoon; impatiently waiting till he
could ascend the turret, and at least, if he could not
see Monimia, obtain a letter from her. The hour
at length came when he believed every one in the
house was occupied with their own affairs; and
having excused himself from drinking tea with
Mrs. Rayland, under the pretence of being busied
in writing for his father, he stole softly to the room
under that of Monimia, and from thence up the
Stall'S.
He listened, fearful of again hearing the indefa-
tigable clack of Betty; but every thing was pro-
foundly silent. The letter, which he had deposited
there, was gone ; but there was no answer. He
feared Monimia was ill—the terror, the fatigue of
the preceding night, had been too much for her.
It was dreadful to be within two or three paces of
her, and yet not dare to inquire.
Still listening some time in breathless anxiety,
he at length determined to tap gently at the door;
for he was pretty well convinced she was alone.
Monimia, who was really ill, had lain down; but,
starting at the well known signal, she approached
close to the door, and said, Orlando!—Gracious
Heaven are you there?
Yes, yes! replied he ; is it impossible you can
admit me for a moment? I am miserable, and shall
hardly keep my senses if 1 cannot see you.
Monimia, without replying, moved her bed and
admitted him. It was already dark, but she had a
candle on her table, and Orlando was shocked to
see how ill she looked. He spoke of it tenderly to
her: she assured him it was only owing to her hav-
ing been so much fatigued and frightened, and that
VOL. XXXVI, O


146 ºf HE ol D MANOR HOUSE.
a night's rest, if she could obtain it, would entirely
restore her. But you must not stay, Orlando! said
she—indeed you must not
Why? answered he-Is not your door fastened?
Who is likely to interrupt us?
My aunt or Betty, replied she ; for though my
aunt is at her tea, there is no being secure of her.
I have said I am ill, in which it can hardly be said
I am guilty of a falsehood; and as I am under her
displeasure on account of my unluckily staying be-
yond her orders, yet she may perhaps be seized
with some whim; and even the voice of Betty
would terrify me to death.
Orlando, promising to go, yet finding it impos-
sible to tear himself from her, began to speak of
what he had heard from Betty in the morning, while
he waited at the door of Monimia's room after de-
positing his letter. You see, my angel, said he,
you see you are not suspected; and that the imper-
tinent brute, whoever it was that dared intrude upon
us, did not distinguish you. Make yourself easy,
therefore, I conjure you, and let us think no more
of this alarm, for which, though I cannot yet dis-
cover how, I am sure I shall in a few days be able
to account.
But I shall never again have courage to venture
to your room, Orlando.
You will, replied he, surely, when I am able to
convince you that such an interruption will happen
no more, and till then I do not wish you to venture.
Hush, dearest Orlando ! whispered Monimia;
speak very low ! I heard the door at the end of the
passage open.
They both listened; and instantly Betty, by
attempting to open the door, convinced them their
fears were not groundless.
Lud, Miss, cried she, pushing against the door,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 147
what have you ſocked yourself in for? Open the
door—I want to speak to you.
Don't speak whispered Orlando: let me out as
softly as you can, and then tell her you were sleep-
Ingº.
§he has the ears of a mole, said Monimia, and
I shall be undone.
Quickly and softly, however, as her trembling
hands would let her, she assisted in Orlando's eva-
sion—Betty still thumping at 'the door—I must
come in, Miss, this minute.
I am laid down for my headach, replied Moni-
mia as soon as Orlando was gone: It is strange that
I can never have any repose ! I was just asleep,
Betty, and should be very glad not to be disturbed.
Glad or not glad, replied the other, I must come
in. 'Tis an odd thing, I think, for people to push
their chairs and tables about in their sleep! If you
can do that, I suppose you can open the door?
Monimia now opened the door, and tremulously
asked Betty, who flounced into the room, what was
the matter 2 -
Matter! said she-why there's a fine to do be-
low—There's your favourite young "Squire; he, as
never does no wrong, has got into a fine scrape—
just as I thought !
Good God! replied she, in a voice hardly arti-
culate, tell me what you mean.
Why this great gentleman, as he affronted so,
has determined to kill him out-right—He have been
writing to him about it this morning; and Orlando,
he is so stomachful, he won't ask the gentleman's
pardon, and so now they be to fight. -
And how, said Monimia, speaking with difficul-
fy—how did you hear all this?
Why, from Sir John's own man, a smart ser-
want as ever I see, who is just come with a letter to
9 2 -


148 THE OLE) MANOR HOUSE.
fix the time and place where they be to meet; and
he have been telling us how it is to be: and so my
mistress she have heard of it, and there'll be fine to
do I can tell you. They have been going for to
find young 'Squire Orlando, but he is out some-
where or another. Mistress is in a fine quandary,
but she says how Orlando was quite in the right.
Betty having thus unburthened herself of news
which she was so anxious to tell, returned to see a
little more of the smart servant, but not till Orlando,
who had heard enough at the beginning of her con-
versation, had flown down to receive a letter which
he had long expected, and now prepared to answer;
though he was convinced that, by the bustle Sir
John Belgrave chose to make, there was very little
probability that he desired to be very much in ear-
nest. The anxious night that this would occasion
to his Monimia was his chief concern. He deter-
mined to attempt seeing her again, in hopes to al-
leviate her uneasiness; but he was first compelled
to attend to Mrs. Rayland, who sent for him, and
to whom he now related what had passed before,
and read the letter which he had just received from
Sir John Belgrave, which ran thus:
SIR,
In consideration of your respectable father, I
did hope you might have spared me the disagree-
able task of chastising your improper behaviour. I
shall be, on Thursday at twelve o'clock, in the
Meadow adjoining to West Wolverton, with a brace
of pistols, of which you shall take your choiee.
- I am, Sir,
your humble servant,
Carloraine Castle, JOHN BERKELEY BELGRAVE.
Oct. 20th, 1776. - -


The old MANor house. 149
To this billet Orlando answered thus—
SIR,
I will assuredly attend you at the time and place
appointed; and have only to regret, that the per-
sons to whom this affair has most unnecessarily been
communicated, have so long an interval of uneasi-
ness thus imposed upon them. I am, Sir,
your humble servant,
Rayland Hall, ORLANDO SOMERIVE.
Oct. 20th, 1776.
Mrs. Rayland, who entered into this business
with an earnestness of which she seemed on most
occasions incapable, approved of his letter, and
admired the spirit he exerted in a cause which she
considered as her own. Her fears for his safety
seemed to be absorbed in the pleasure she felt in
having found a champion who was so ready to take
up her quarrel against those whose inroads had
long disturbed her, and whom she hoped to mortify
and humble. -
Orlando, therefore, never was so high in her fa-
vour; but his own heart was torn with anguish, in
reflecting on the situation of Monimia. As soon
as the house was quiet he returned to the turret,
made desperate by reflecting on her distress, and
thinking it better to hazard a discovery than to
leave her a whole night in solicitude so alarming.
Monimia, who little expected his return, admit-
ted him as soon as she heard his signal. He found
her in that state of mind which allows not the suf-
ferer to shed tears; pale, and almost petrified,
she sat on the side of her bed, with clasped hands
and fixed eyes, while he related to her the whole
of a transaction which he wished he could have con-
cealed from her till the event could be known.
But it was long before he could persuade her that
O 3


150 Th F. OLD MANOR IMOUSE,
the danger was iº less than it appeared. It
was evident that Sir John Belgrave, by postponing
to Thursday what he might as well have settled on
Wednesday, had no objection to the interference of
the family he had taken care to alarm; and rather
wished to have the honour of appearing a man of
nice honour and dauntless courage at little expence,
than to run the hazard of maintaining that charac-
ter by needless rashness. When Orlandotherefore
had represented his conduct in the ridiculous light
it deserved, and shewn her how probable it was
that his father and General Tracy would contrive
to prevent a meeting, the fears of Monimia were in
some degree subdued; and at day break Orlando
left her, having insisted on her promising to endea-
vour to sleep, and to make herself as easy as under
such circumstances was possible,
CHAPTER XIII.
ON the following morning Orlando received an
early summons from his father, requesting him to
be at home by two o'clock, when his mother, his
sister, and General Tracy were expected; for, as
the General travelled with his own four horses,
which were very fine ones, and of which he was
particularly fond, the ladies had agreed to remain
one night on the road, and reach home early the
second day; though the journey was otherwise
easily performed in one, West Wolverton being
only about sixty-five miles from London.
Orlando having informed Mrs. Rayland of the
reason of his absence; having seen Monimia for a
moment, again whispered to her to be less appre-
hensive for his safety, and promising to see her at


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 151
night, he proceeded to obey his father. On his ar-
rival, he found him walking with the General on
the grass plot before the door; and springing from
his horse, paid his duty to him, was introduced in
form to the General, and then eagerly asked for
his mother and his sister.
They were within; and Orlando, flying to them,
was surprised by his mother's throwing her arms
around him, and falling into an agony of tears, in
which his three sisters, who stood around her, ac-
companied her. He entreated an explanation; and
learned from Isabella, who alone was able to speak,
that the servants had been telling them, instantly
on their arrival at home, that he was about to fight
a duel, in which it was the opinion of the informers
that he must certainly be killed,
Orlando, execrating the folly of the servants, or
rather the paltry conduct of Sir John Belgrave, who
had apparently made all this bustle on purpose,
endeavoured to re-assure and console his mother;
but her alarm for his safety was too great to allow
her to listen patiently to any thing he could say,
since the fact of his having received and accepted
a challenge from Sir John Belgrave he did not at-
tempt to deny. The anxious mother, now that she
saw him before her, thought only of preventing the
meeting which might deprive her of that comfort
for ever. She seemed afraid of his stirring from her
sight, as if Sir John Belgrave had lurked in every
corner of the house; and desired he would remain
with her in her own room, while she sent Isabella
to entreat that Mr. Somerive would come to her.
When he saw her, her tears and agitation suffici-
ently explained to him, that those whom he had
expressly ordered to be silent had found it impos-
sible to obey him. To Selina and Emma, the two
youngest girls, who had remained at home, it had


152 Tii E OLD MANOR II OUSE.
been known almost as soon as to himself, but he
had enjoined them to conceal it from their mother;
and knew that, whatever it cost them to be silent on
such a subject, neither of them would disobey him.
It was, however, too late, or at least useless, to de-
claim against the folly of those who had; and he
found sufficient employment in appeasing the dis-
tress of his wife and daughters, while he sent Or-
lando to entertain the General.
General Tracy was the second brother of a noble
family; and, having entered very young into the
army, had passed through the inferior ranks with
that rapidity which interest always secures. At
five-and-thirty he had a regiment; and as some of
the fortunes of uncles and aunts had centred in him,
he was now, at near sixty, a man of very large for-
tune, and seemed to want nothing to complete his
happiness, but the power of persuading others, as
he had almost persuaded himself, that he was but
five-and-thirty still.
To effect this, and maintain that favour which he
had always been in among the ladies, was the great
object of his life. His person had been celebrated
for beauty; and he desired to preserve a pre-emi-
nence, which was in his opinion superior to any
fame he could derive from his bravery in the field,
or his ability in the senate, where he had long
been a member, certainly voting with the minister
of the day. He had a place about the court, at
which he was a constant attendant, and where the
softness and elegance of his manners, the pliability
of his political attachments, and his very consider-
able interest and property, rendered him a great
favourite.—All the time he could spare from his
duty there, he seemed to devote to the service of
those fashionable women who give the ton, and
whose favour he disputed with the rising heroes of


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 153
the fashionable world. But he felt in reality only
disgust and satiety in their company; and had no
taste but for youth and beauty, of which he was
continually in search—and with his fortune his
search could not be unsuccessful. He had no scru-
ples to deter him from decoying any young woman
whom he liked, that chance might throw into his
power; but he usually avoided with care any
scheme which was likely to be interrupted by the
unpleasant remonstrances of a father or a brother,
and generally pursued only the indigent and the
defenceless.
As he purchased his wine of Mr. Woodford, he
had occasionally been at his house. His daughters
were rather handsome, and very lively girls; and
though they did not come exactly under the de-
scription of those whose preference the General
could without much trouble secure, he found him-
self pleased with their company, because they were
greatly flattered by the admiration of such a fa-
shionable man, and never so happy as when the
General sent his superb coach for them, and gal-
lanted them to some public place, or drove them in
his phaeton through Hyde Park to Kensington Gar-
dens. Their father, who thought more of the good
customer which the General was himself, and the
great families he had recommended him to, than of
any necessity for reserve in his daughters, encou-
raged this acquaintance (which their mother was
as well pleased with as the young women) till the
neighbourhood talked loudly of their indiscretion
and till the youngest Miss Woodford, who was his
eculiar favourite, was declared by many ladies to
ave considerably injured her reputation. This
she herself º only as a testimony of their
envy, and her own superior attractions : and the
more she heard of their malignant remarks, the


154. THE OLD MANOR HOUSF.
more eagerly she endeavoured to shew, her con-
tempt of their opinion, and her power over the
General, who, on the return of the family to town
after their visit to West Wolverton, was more than
usual at the house. But thither he was no longer
attracted hy the charms of Miss Eliza Woodford.
The moment he beheld Isabella Somerive, he had
no eyes for any other person; and though he soon
learned that she was in a situation of life which
placed her above those temptations which he gene-
rally found infallible, and had a father and two
brothers to protect her, the impression she had
made was such that he could not determine to lose
sight of her; and as the discovery of the prefer-
ence he gave her had made both her cousins very
little desirous of her company in London during
the winter, where she seemed too likely to rob
them of all their conquests, he found she was to
return home with her mother—and thither he re-
solved to follow her.
An opportunity of introducing himself into the
family of Somerive was easily obtained, when he
recollected that, in the preceding war, Somerive, in
whose own county there was at that time no militia,
had, being then an active man, procured a commis-
sion in that of a neighbouring county, and served
in a camp then formed for the defence of the coast,
where he himself was a captain. They had at that
time been frequently together, and afterwards kept
up some degree of intimacy, till Somerive's mar-
riage fixing him wholly in retirement, the gay and
fashionable soldier thought of him no more. -
The General, however, no sooner knew who the
visitors at Woodford's were, than he most assidu-
ously and successfully paid his court to Mrs. So-
merive; talked to her continually of her husband,
whose merits he affected to remember with infinite


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 155
regard, and for whose interest he appeared to feel
the warmèst concern. It was a theme of which
Mrs. Somerive, who adored her husband, was never
weary; and while General Tracy so pathetically
lamented the interruption of their friendship, no-
thing was more natural than her entreaties to him
that he would renew it.
That was the point he had laboured to gain, and
he accepted the invitation she gave him, adding the
opportunity of the shooting season to his other in-
ducements, the better to colour so unexpected a
visit. He had found it convenient to pretend a
great passion for field sports—partly because it was
fashionable, and partly because it shewed that his
powers of enduring fatigue were equal to the youth-
ful appearance he assumed; and to support this, he
now and then went through, what was to him most
miserabledrudgery, that of a day's hunting or shoot-
ing; but he more usually contrived, when he was
at the houses of his friends for these purposes, to
sprain his ancle in the first excursion he made, or
to hurt himself by the recoil of his gun; and by such
methods he generally managed to be left without
suspicion at home with the ladies; with whom he
was so universal a favourite, and to whom he had so
many ways of recommending himself, by deciding
on their dress, reading to them books of entertain-
ment, and relating anecdotes collected in the higher
circles where he moved in the winter, that he found
no loss of attention from the progress of years—a
progress indeed which he ... the utmost pains to
conceal. His clothes, which were always made by
the most eminent taylor, were cut with as much
care as those of the most celebrated beauty on her
first appearance at court; and he had several con-
trivances, of his own invention, to make them fit
with advantage to his person. His hands were


156 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
more delicate than those of any lady; and though
he could not so totally baffle the inexorable hands
of time as to escape a few wrinkles, he still main-
tained a considerable share of the bloom of youth,
not without suspicion of Olympian dew, cold cream,
and Spanish wool. Certain it is that he was very
long at his toilet every day, to which no person, not
even his valet-de-chambre, was admitted. With all
this he was a man of the most undoubted bravery;
and had not only served in Germany with great
credit, but had been engaged in several affairs of
honour, in which he had always acquitted himself
with courage and propriety. Such was the man
who was now, from no very honourable motives,
become an inmate in the house of Mr. Somerive.
When Mr. Somerive had appeased the distress
into which his wife was thrown by the intelligence
she had so abruptly received about Orlando, and
had prevailed upon her to compose herself and ap-
pear at dinner, he returned back to his friend, whom
he found in conversation with Orlando; and he
determined that he would, over their wine, relate to
him what had passed between Sir John Belgrave
and his son (who had put Sir John's last letter into
his hands), and take the General’s opinion as to
what was fit to be done.
Dinner was announced, and the ladies of the
family appeared;—the mother, with swollen eyes,
which she could not a moment keep from Orlando;
and the daughters appearing to sympathize with
her, particularly Selina, who was fondly attached
to Orlando, and who, from the terror in which she
saw her mother, having caught redoubled appre-
hension, could hardly command her tears; and
though the General failed not to compliment her on
her beauty, which even exceeded that of her sister,
and to speak in the warmest terms to Mr. and Mrs.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. H57
Somerive of their lovely family, Selina heeded him
not. He observed that Isabella was less insensible
of his studied eulogiums, and from thence drew a
favourable omen. Emma, the youngest of the girls,
was only between twelve and thirteen.
As soon as the table-cloth was removed, Mrs.
Somerive, under pretence of being a good deal
fatigued with her journey, and somewhat indis-
posed, withdrew with her daughters: Mr. Somerive
soon after gave Orlando a hint to go also; and then
he opened to General Tracy the affair which lay
so heavy on his heart, and entreated his advice how
to act.
I am glad, answered the General, to learn the
cause of Mrs. Somerive's concern, which was so
evident at dinner, as well as that of her amiable
daughters, that I was afraid some very disagreeable
incident had happened in the family.
And is not, said Mr. Somerive, what I have re-
lated disagreeable enough 2
No, upon my honour! I see nothing in it but
what is rather a matter of exultation. Your son is
one of the finest and most spirited young men I
ever saw. If he was a son of my own, I should
rejoice that he had acted so properly, and be very
proud of him. .
But you would not risk his life, surely? said Mr.
Somerive. -
Why, as to that, replied the General, in these
cases there is some little risk, to be sure: but I
should never check a lad of spirit. I know Bel-
grave, added he, smiling.
And what is his reputation for courage? enquired
Mr. Somerive.
Oh! he is quite the fine man of the day, an-
swered the General, carelessly.—He will fight, if
VOL., XXXVIe P


158 THE OLD MANOR Hous E.
he must—but I believe is quite as willing to let it
alone.
It will break my wife's heart, said Mr. Somerive
dejectedly, and amazed at the different light in
which two people, from their different modes of
life, consider the same object; it will certainly
break my wife's heart, if any evil befalls Orlando.
General Tracy now saw that an opportunity of.
fered by which he might confer an obligation on
the family, which must secure their endless grati-
tude, and he resolved to embrace it.
If it makes you all so uneasy, replied he, after
a moment's pause, and especially if her fears make
Mrs. Somerive so very wretched, suppose we try
what can be done to put an end to the affair with-
out a meeting. I dare say Belgrave will easily be
induced, on the slightest apology, to drop the af.
fair entirely.
But even the slightest apology Orlando will not
be persuaded to make, said Mr. Somerive.
He is right, answered the General; and I honour
him for his resolution. It is a thousand pities, con-
tinued he, again, pausing, that such a gloriously
spirited young fellow should waste his life in seclu-
sion, waiting on the caprices of an old woman
What do you intend to do with him?
That, said Somerive, is what I have long been
in doubt about. I had thoughts once of putting
him into trade; but to that project Mrs. Rayland's
objections, and Orlando's little inclination to follow
it, put an end.
I am glad they did; for it would have been a sad
sacrifice, I think, to have set so fine a young man
down to a compting-house desk for the rest of his
life.
And at other times, re-assumed Mr. Somerive,
I have thought of the church. Mrs. Rayland has


THE OLD MANOR house, 159
very considerable patronage; but though I have
hinted very frequently to her my wishes on this
subject, she never would understand me, to give
me any assurance that she would secure him a
living; or made any offer of assistance to support
him at the university, which she knows that it is
quite impossible for me, circumstanced as I am at
present, to do.
She was in the right of it, cried the General.
The old lady has more sagacity than I suspected,
and knows that it would be absolutely a sin to make
him a parson, and bury all that sense and spirit in
a country vicarage. Why, my good friend, do
you not put your son into the army?—that seems
; be the profession for which nature has designed
1Ins
Because, answered Somerive, I have, in the first
place, no money to buy him a commission; and,
if I had, there are two great objections to it:—it
would half kill his mother, and take him out of
the way of Mrs. Rayland, which appears to be very
impolitic.
What if a commission were found for him, said
General Tracy, do you think the other objections
ought to weigh much? Consider of it, my good
friend; and if you think such a plan would be
eligible, and the young man himself likes it, per-
haps it may be in my power to be of some use to
Oul.
y Mr. Somerive warmly expressed his gratitude
for the interest his friend seemed to take in the
welfare of his Orlando; and then, after a short
silence, said: But, my dear General, we forget,
while we are planning schemes for the future life
of Orlando, it may be terminated to-morrow.
Well, replied he, since I see you cannot conquer
your alarm about this matter, and as I am still
P 2


160 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
more concerned for Mrs. Somerive, I will go over
early in the morning to Belgrave, who has wisely
appointed the meeting at twelve o'clock, and some-
how or other we will get it settled.—If I say to the
doughty baronet, that his honour will suffer nothing
by dropping it, I am pretty well assured that he
will be content to let it go no farther. Make your-
self easy, therefore, and go tell your wife that I
will take care of her little boy, while I pay my
respects to the young ladies whom I see walking
in the garden.
Somerive, whose heart was agonized by the dis-
tress of his wife, hastened to relieve her; and the
General went off at a quick march to overtake the
three Miss Somerives, to whom he related some
part of the conversation that had passed between
him and their father, and the task he had under-
taken of settling the affair with Sir John Bel-
grave.
The sensible hearts of these charming girls were
filled with the liveliest emotions towards the Ge-
neral, who, if he could save their brother from dan-
ger, which their timidity had dreadfully magnified,
they believed would be entitled to their everlasting
gratitude. The brilliant eyes of Isabella sparkled
with pleasure, while the softer blue eyes of Selina
were turned towards him filled with tears of plea-
sure: and little Emma longed to embrace him, as
she used to do her father when he had granted any
of her infantine requests. While every one alter-
nately expressed her thanks, Tracy whispered to
Isabella, by whose side he was walking: To give
the slightest pleasure to my lovely Isabella, I would
do infinitely more: and, rather than she should be
alarmed, take myself the chance of Sir John Bel-
grave's fire.
Isabella, too ignorant of the ways of the world


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 161
to be either offended or alarmed by such a speech,
and naturally pleased by flattery and admiration,
smiled on the enamoured General in a manner so
fascinating as overpaid him for all the trouble he
had taken or proposed to take: and while he medi-
tated against his old friend the greatest injury he
could commit, he reconciled himself to it, by de-
termining to do such services to the other part of
the family, as would more than compensate for the
inroads he might make on its peace by carrying off
Isabella; for to carry her off he was resolved, if his
art could effect it. His eagerness, however, to
serve Orlando, had another motive than this of re-
tribution. He foresaw that so spirited a young man
might prevent, or, not being able to do that, would
very seriously resent his designs upon a sister: the
character of the elder brother, of which he had by
this time formed a pretty clear idea, left him little
to apprehend from him; but the fiery and impe-
tuous Orlando would, he thought, be much better
out of the way.
His conversation with the Miss Somerives now
took a gayer turn; and so happy did he feel him-
self with three such nymphs around him, that he
regretted the summons which called them in to at-
tend the tea-table.
Mrs. Somerive, who had now been long in con-
ference with her husband, and afterwards with Or-
lando, appeared much more cheerful than at din-
mer, and surveyed the General with those looks of
complacency which expressed how much she was
obliged to him for the interference he had promised.
The evening passed off pleasantly. Orlando staid
to supper; but then told his father, that he had some
business to do for Mrs. Rayland early the next day
(which was true), and therefore he would return to
the Hall that evening. Mr. Somerive, who still felt
P 3


162 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
a dread which he could not conquer, entreated him
to give his word of honour, that he would not throw
himself in the way of Sir John Belgrave till the
hour of that gentleman's appointment. This Or-
lando (who was ignorant of the plans in agitation to
prevent that appointment from taking place at all)
thought himself obliged to comply with: on which
condition his father, though reluctantly, suffered
him at midnight to mount his horse and return to
Rayland Hall, where he had desired Betty to sit
up for him; fearful of entering through the chapel,
lest his doing so should lead to those suspicions he
was so desirous of avoiding. As soon as he left his
father's door, he put his horse into a gallop, im-
patient to be with Monimia; and as he crossed the
park, he saw a light in her turret, and pleased him-
self with the idea of her fondly expecting his ar-
rival.
- CHAPTER XIV.
ORLANDo, on his entering the servants' hall found
Betty waiting for him as she had promised. Lord,
Sir, cried she, as soon as he appeared, I thoft as
you'd never come ! Why, it's almost half past one
o'clock, and I be frighted out of my seven senses
sitting up so all alone. I beg your pardon, dear
Betty replied he; but I could not get away soon-
er; I'll never detain you so long again; and now
suffer me to make you what amends I can, by
desiring your acceptance of this. He presented
her with a crown, which she looked at a moment,
and then, archly learing at him, said, Humph! if
you give folks a crown for sitting up for you in the
kitchen, I suppose they as bides with you in your
study have double price.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 163
Come, come, Betty, said Orlando, impatient to
escape from her troublesome inquiries, let me hear
no more of such nonsense. I have nobody ever
in my study, as you know very well. It is very
late—I wish you a good night.
He then, without attending to her farther, as
she seemed still disposed to talk, took his candle
and went to his own apartment; where, after wait-
ing about a quarter of an hour till he thought her
retired and the whole house quiet, he took his way
to the turret.
Monimia had long expected him, and now re-
ceived him with joy chastised by the fear which
she felt on inquiring into the events of the day.
Orlando related to her all that he thought would
give her pleasure, and endeavoured that she should
understand the affair of the next day settled, for
he would not violate truth by positively asserting
it; and Monimia, apprehensive of teasing him by her
inquiries, stifled as much as she could the pain she
endured from this uncertainty. This she found it
better to do, as she observed Orlando to be rest-
less and dissatisfied: he complained of the misery
he underwent in his frequent absences, and of the
unworthy excuses he was compelled to make. He
expressed impatiently the long unhappiness he had
in prospect, if he could never see her but thus clan-
destinely, and risking every moment her fame and
her peace, Monimia, however, soothed him, by
bidding him remember how lately it was that they
both thought themselves too happy to meet upon
any terms; and would very fain have inspired him
with hopes that they might soon look forward to
fairer prospects, hopes which he had often tried
to give her. But, alas! she could not communi-
cate what she did not feel; and which ever way
they cast their eyes, all was despair as to their ever


164 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
being united with the consent of those friends on
whom they were totally dependent.
Orlando, most solicitous for the peace of Moni-
mia, had never been betrayed before into these
murmurings in her presence; forgetting the threat-
ening aspect of the future, while he enjoyed the
happiness that was present. But all that had
passed during the day, had assisted in making him
discontented. His mother's tears and distress, the
tender fears of his sisters, and the less evident,
but more heavy anxiety which he saw oppressed
his father, all contributed to convince him that,
in being of so much consequence to his family, he
lost the privilege of pleasing himself; that his
duty and his inclination must be for ever at vari-
ance; and that, if he could resign the hopes of
being settled in affluence by Mrs. Rayland, he still
could not marry Monimia without making his
family unhappy—unless indeed he had the means
of providing for her, of which at present there ap-
peared not the least probability. Mrs. Rayland
seemed likely to live for many years; or, if she
died, it was very uncertain whether she would give
him more than a trifling legacy. When he re-
flected on his situation, he became ashamed of thus
spending his life, of wasting the best of his days in
the hope of that which might never happen; while
Monimia, almost a prisoner in her little apartment,
passed the day in servitude, and divided the night
between uneasy expectation, hazardous conference,
and fruitless tears.
It was these thoughts that gave to Orlando that
air of impatience and anxiety, which even in the
presence of Monimia he could not so far conquer
but that she observed it, before he broke through
the restraint he had hitherto imposed on himself,
and indulged those fears which he had so often en-
treated her to check.


THE old MANoh House. 165
At length, however, the hope she affected to feel,
the charm of finding himself so fondly beloved,
and that his Monimia was prepared to meet any
destiny with him, restored him to that temper which
he was in when he proposed to brave the discovery
of their attachment. With difficulty she persuaded
him to leave her about three o’clock. He glided
softly down stairs; and when he came out of the
lower room of the turret, he found the night so
very dark that he could not see his hand. He
knew the way, however, so well, that he walked
slowly but fearlessly on, and had nearly reached
the chapel-door when he found his feet suddenly
entangled; and before he could either disengage
himself or discover what it was that thus impeded
his way, somebody ran against him, whom he
seized, and loudly demanded to know who it
WaS,
And who are you? replied a deep surly voice:
let me go, or it shall be the worst day's work you
ever did in your life.
Orlando, now convinced that he had taken the
fellow who had so insolently intruded upon him,
and so cruelly alarmed Monimia, felt himself pro-
voked to punish him for his past insolence, and
deter him from repeating it: he therefore firmly
grasped his prisoner, who seemed a very stout
fellow, and who struggled violently for his release
—so violently indeed that Orlando, exerting all
his strength, threw him down; but, in doing so,
the rope which he had at first trod upon being in
the way, he fell also: still however he held his an-
tagonist fast, and, kneeling upon him, said reso-
lutely, Whoever you are, I will detain you here
till day-light, unless you instantly tell me your
name and business.
Curse your strength ! replied the fallen foe: if


166 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
I was not a little boozy, I'd be d–d before jou
should have the better of me.
Who are you? again repeated Orlando.
Why, who the plague should I be, cried the
man, but Jonas Wilkins;–Ah! Master Orlando,
I knows you too now well enough—Come, Sir, let
a body go: I know you'd scorn to do a poor man
no harm.
Jonas Wilkins! exclaimed Orlando, who knew
that to be the name of an outlawed smuggler, fa-
mous for his resolution, and the fears in which he
was held by the custom-house officers—Jonas Wil-
kins ! And pray, inquired Orlando, releasing him,
i. may have brought you here, Mr. Jonas Wil-
ins?
Why, I'll tell you, replied the fellow, for I knows
you to be a kind-hearted gentleman, and won't hurt
me. The truth of the matter then is—The butler
of this here house, Master Pattenson, is engaged a
little matter in our business! and when we gets a
cargo, he stows it in Madam's cellars, which lays
along-side the house, and he have the means to
open that door there in the wall, under that there
old fig-tree, which nobody knows nothing about.
So here we brings our goods until such time as we
can carry it safely up the country, and we comes
on dark nights to take it away.
And you were here on Monday night, were you
not? and came into my room through the chapel?
Yes, that I did sure enough. Aha! Master Or-
lando! I think we've cotch'd one another.
If that be the case, replied Orlando, it would
have been well if we had kept one another's secrets.
Why did you speak of having seen one in my room?
Egod, old Pattenson was down in the cellar him-
self, for we were helping up some heavy goods that
night: I don't know what a devil ail'd me, but I


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 167
thought I’d just give a look into your room, where,
you must know, before you comed to live, we used
now and then to put a few kegs or so upon a pinch
—and, d-n it! there was you with a pretty girl.
Ah, Master Orlandoſ who'd think you was such a
sly one?
Well, but, said Orlando, what occasion was there,
Jonas, for your telling Pattenson 2
To tease the old son of a b , answered Jonas.
Why don't you know that he's after Betty Richards,
and as jealous as poison? So I made him believe
'twas she.
You made him believe
Aye, for it might be she or another—Curse me if
I saw who it was 2 for you blow'd out the candle,
whisk in a minute.
Orlando, heartily glad to hear this, pursued his
inquiry farther. Pray, resumed he, tell me why
some person a little while after cried out, Now!
now !
Why, we thought that all was quiet; and as I
and a comrade of mine was waiting for the goods,
we were going to heave them up, and that was the
signal—but you were plaguy quick-eared, and be-
gan to holla after us! so we were forced to let the
job alone till to-night, and Pattenson let us out
through the t'other part of the house. We've done
the business now, and my comrades they be all off
with the goods—I only staid to gather up our tools,
because I be going another way.
Orlando, now finding himself thus unexpectedly
relieved from the difficulty of accounting for the
circumstance of the night of alarm, was far from
resenting the resistance his new acquaintance had
made, or heeding the pain he felt from some bruises
which he had received in the struggle; but being
rather pleased at this rencontre, and wishing to
- 6


168 THE or D MANOR Hous E.
know how far the trade of the worshipful Mr.
Pattenson was likely to impede his future meet-
ings with Monimia, he invited Jonas into his room,
and told him he could give him, late as it was, a
glass of wine.
Jonas accepted his invitation, but desired he
might stay to coil up his ropes, which he deposited
in the porch, and then followed Orlando, who had
taken his hanger from the chimney where it usually
hung, and put his pistols, which were both loaded,
by him. These precautions were not meant against
his guest, whom he did not suspect of any imme-
diate intention to injure him, but to let him see
that he was prepared against intrusion, from what-
ever motive it might be made, at any other time.
When the man made his appearance, Orlando,
prepared as he was for the sight of a ruffian, felt
something like horror. His dark countenance,
shaded by two immense black eyebrows, his shag-
gy hair, and the fierce and wild expression of his
eyes, gave a complete idea of one of Shakspeare's
well painted assassins; while in contemplating his
athletic form, Orlando wondered how he had been
able a moment to detain him. He wore a dirt
round frock stained with ochre, which looked like
blood, and over it one of those thick great coats
which the vulgar call rascal-wrappers. Orlando
poured him out a tumbler of wine, and bade him
sit down. The fellow obeyed, drank off his wine;
and then, after surveying the room, said, turning
with a sly look to Orlando, What, master, she ben't
here then to-night?
Pooh, pooh! cried Orlando, let's forget that,
good Jonas!—your eyes deceived you, there was
nobody here: and I assure you it was well you dis-
appeared as you did, or you would have paid for
your peeping, shewing one of his pistols.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 169
Aye, aye, answered Jonas, you've got a pair of
bull-dogs, I see; and I, added he, pulling a
pocket-pistol from under his frock, I've a terrier or
two about me; and 'twas ten to one, Mr. Orlando,
if I had not a given a pretty good guess who it
was, that I had not taken you for an officer, and
treated you with more sugar plums than would
have sat easy upon your stomach.
We are good friends now, however, said Orlando;
so drink, Jonas, to our better acquaintance.
He then gave him another full tumbler of wine,
and began to question him on his exploits. He
found him one of those daring and desperate men,
who, knowing they are to expect no mercy, dis-
claim all hope, and resolutely prey upon the society
which has shaken them off. He had been drinking
before Orlando met him; and now the wine with
which Orlando plied him, and the voice of kindness
with which he spoke to him, contributed to open
his heart. Jonas disclosed to Orlando all their ma-
noeuvres; and it was not without astonishment that
he found both Snelcraft the coachman and Patten-
son so deeply engaged among the smugglers, and
deriving very considerable sums from the shelter
they afforded them, and the participation of their
illicit gains. Orlando found, that during the whole
winter, in weather when no other vessels kept the
sea, these adventurous men pursued their voyages,
and carried their cargoes through the country in
weather when “one's enemy's dog” would hardly
be turned from the door.
Orlando, after some consideration on the means
of escaping that interruption which this combination
among the servants in the house seemed to threaten,
told the man, as if in confidence, that under the
restraint he was in, in Mrs. Rayland's house, he
sometimes found it convenient to go out after the
VOL., XXXVIs Q


170 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
family were in bed, to meet at a neighbouring town
some friends whom Mrs. Rayland disliked he should
see: and therefore, said he, I wish, Jonas, that, as
I should not wish to interrupt you, you would give
me some signal on those nights when you are at
work in the cellar.
This the smuggler readily promised, and they
agreed upon the sign which should signify the im-
portation or exportation of the merchandise of Mr.
Pattenson from the cellars of his mistress.
Orlando, possessing this secret, flattered himself
that his very extraordinary acquaintance would
keep his word, and that the communication between
the study and the apartment of Monimia might once
more be open, without making her liable to those
terrors from which she had suffered so much.
The man, whom Orlando continued to behold
with a mixture of horror and pity, was now nearly
overcome with the wine he had drank, and began
to tell long prosing stories of his escapes and his
exploits, in which he related instances of dauntless
courage, tarnished however by brutish ferocity.
At length Orlando reminded him that day was
soon approaching, and saw him out of the chapel-
door, repeating his assurances that nothing of what
he had himself that night discovered should trans-
pire. Orlando then fastened the chapel and the
other doors, and betook himself to his repose—
thinking less about the meeting that was to take
place, as he believed, on the morrow, than on the
recent discovery he had made, which nearly quieted
his terrors in regard to Monimia's having been
seen; and he impatiently longed for an oppor-
tunity to communicate to her the satisfaction which
he hoped she would derive from this assurance.
The late hour at which he had gone to bed, and
the fatigue of mind he had experienced the preced-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 171
ing day, occasioned it to be later than usual when
Orlando awoke. He started up; and recollecting
that he had some writing to finish for Mrs. Ray-
land, and that he was to meet Sir John Belgrave at
twelve o'clock, he hastened to dress himself, and
had hardly done so before he received a summons
to attend his father, who waited for him as usual
in the stable-yard.
He found Mr. Somerive again on horseback, and
easily understood that his purpose was to keep him
from his appointment, to which however he was
positively determined to go. While his father, in
a peculiar strain of dejection and concern, was yet
talking to him as he leaned on the horse, Mrs. Len-
nard saw them from one of the windows; and hav-
ing acquainted her lady, she, contrary to her usual
reserved treatment of Mr. Somerive, sent down a
very civil message requesting his company with
Orlando to breakfast.
This invitation, so flattering because so unusual,
was of course accepted. Somerive knew that Mrs.
Rayland was acquainted with the affair which hung
over him with an aspect so threatening, and hoped
that she would unite with him in persuading Or-
lando to those concessions which might yet afford
the means of evading it, if the General's interpo-
sition should fail: instead of which, he found her
elated with the idea of punishing the audacity
of Sir John, fearless of any danger which in the
attempt might happen to Orlando, and piquing
herself on the supposition that in him had revived
a spark of that martial and dauntless spirit which
she had been taught to believe characterised the
men of her family. She seemed surprised, and
somewhat offended, at the alarm Mr. Somerive ex-
pressed; and hinted, in no very equivocal terms,
that this timidity was the effect of that mixture of
Q 2


172 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
plebeian blood, from the alloy of which only Or-
lando, of all the family, seemed exempt; while
Mr. Somerive, in his return, beheld, with a degree
of horror and disgust, a woman who, to gratify her
pride or revenge her quarrel, on so trifling a sub-
ject, was ready to promote perhaps the death of
one for whom she had appeared to feel some de-
gree of affection.
With views and opinions so different, their con-
ference was not likely to be either very long or
very satisfactory. Mr. Somerive knew, that when
Mrs. Rayland had once taken up an opinion, argu-
ment against it offended, but never convinced her;
and that in proportion as her reasoning was feeble,
her resolution was firm. Thus baffled in his hopes
of her effectual interposition, and seeing that Or-
lando was bent upon keeping his appointment, of
which the hour was now at hand, Mr. Somerive sat
awhile silent, mortified and wretched—hoping, yet
fearing, for the success of the General's interposi-
tion, and considering what he should do if it failed.
He had just determined to obtain a warrant im-
mediately, and to put both parties under arrest,
when a servant brought to him the following letter:
MY DEAR SIR,
I am now with Sir John Belgrave; and as I know
the very natural and tender solicitude which you
and your amiable family are under, I lose not a
moment in doing myself the pleasure to assure you,
that Sir John consents to give the matter up, and
that without any concessions from your son that
may be derogatory to his honour. If Sir John
allows me to say that he is sorry for what has
passed, it can surely not be too much for Mr. Or-
lando to make to him the same concession. I have
great satisfaction in communicating to you the


the old MANon house. 173
success of my sincere endeavours to be serviceable,
and have the honour to be,
My dear Sir,
Your most devoted servant,
CHARLES FERDINAND TRACY.
Mr. Somerive read this billet with a beating
heart, apprehensive that the interposition of Mrs.
Rayland would prevent Orlando from making even
the slight apology which General Tracy dictated;
and seeing him restless, and meditating how to
escape, he hastily bade Mrs. Rayland good morn-
ing; and ordering, in a more peremptory voice than
he generally assumed, Orlando to follow him, he
left the room; and, as soon as he was alone with
his son, put into his hands the letter he had re-
ceived, at the same time telling him that he must be
obeyed in the command he laid upon him, to make
immediately the concession required.
Orlando, convinced that he ought to do so, after
the appeal he had himself consented to make to the
General, assured his father of his obedience. They
found, on enquiry, that General Tracy's servant
had been sent first to West Wolverton; from
whence Mrs. Somerive had, in the most terrifying
state of suspense, hastened him to Rayland Hall,
where he now waited. Orlando therefore attended
his father into his own room; where being fur-
mished with pen and ink, Mr. Somerive wrote to
the General in those terms that appeared requisite,
and to which Orlando did not object. The letter
was then instantly dispatched by the servant: and
thus ended an affair which had so much disturbed
the peace of the Somerive family, and threatened
consequences still more painful. Somerive now or-
dered his son to return to Mrs. Rayland, shew her
the General's letter, and inform her that the bu-
Q 3


174 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
siness was ended as much to his honour, as her
highest notions of what was due to a descendant of
Sir Hildebrand (whose blood was less alloyed than
that of the rest of his family) could exact. Some-
rive said this with some degree of asperity; for,
though pleased with the partiality of Mrs. Rayland
for Orlando, he could not but feel the contempt she
expressed towards himself. He told Orlando he
expected him to dinner, and then returned home;
his mind relieved from an intolerable load, and
his heart swelling with gratitude towards his ex-
cellent friend General Tracy.
CHAPTER XV.
EveRY one of the party who met at dinner, at Mr.
Somerive's, were ready to worship the General,
except Orlando, who still felt himself dissatisfied,
and much disposed to inquire by what conversa-
tion an accommodation had been so easily brought
about. This inquiry, however, he, at his father's
request, forbore to make, and the General was per-
fectly satisfied with the gratitude expressed by the
rest of the family; and in the distant, but polite
behaviour of Orlando, saw, what confirmed him in
his original idea, that it would be much better if
he was out of the way.—The charms of Isabella
had now such an ascendency in the General's ima-
gination, that he determined nothing should im-
pede his designs; and he believed that the strait-
ened circumstances of Somerive, of which he was
no longer ignorant, would give him the means of
obtaining his daughter. -
Somerive had indeed communicated to him, as
a friend, the uneasy situation of his affairs, and de-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 175
plored the conduct of his eldest son. At their next
conference therefore alone, Tracy contrived, with-
out forcing the conversation, to bring it round to
that point; and when Somerive spoke of the dis-
tress which arose from the misconduct of his son
Philip, the General took occasion to say, It is in-
deed, my friend, a circumstance extremely to be
lamented—and, in my opinion, renders the situa-
tion of your youngest son much more critical.-I
heartily wish he was in some profession. Have
you considered what I said to you about the army?
—I believe I could be of very material service to
you in that line.
Dear General, exclaimed Somerive, how much
I feel myself indebted to you: Yes, I certainly
have thought of it; and the result of my reflections
is, that if his mother consented, if Mrs. Rayland
did not object.—
My good friend, interrupted the General, can a
man of your understanding, when the well-doing of
such a son is in question, think that these if should
have any weight? Mrs. Somerive, all tender as
she is, has too much sense to indulge her fondness
at the expense of her son's establishment; and as
to Mrs. Rayland—I have not indeed the honour to
know her—but the only question seems to be, will
she, or will she not, provide for Orlando? If she
will, why will she not say so? If she will not, are
not you doing your son an irreparable injury, in
suffering him to waste in fruitless expectation the
best of his days?
It is very difficult, replied Mr. Somerive, after
musing a moment, very difficult to know how to
act: Mrs. Rayland has a temper so peculiar, that
if she is once offended, it is for ever. Perhaps,
however, since I see she piques herself on the mili-
tary honours of her family, perhaps she may not be


176 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
displeased at Orlando's entering on the profession
of arms. She seemed much more eager to promote
than to check his ardour in this affair with Sir John
Belgrave: and as the British nation is now engaged
in a quarrel with people whom she considers as the
descendants of the Regicides, against whom her
ancestors drew their swords, it is not, I think, very
unlikely that she might approve of her young fa-
vorite's making his first essay in arms against those
whom she terms the Rebels of America.
As to that, answered the General coldly, it may
be very well in starting the idea, to give her that
motion; but in fact this campaign will end the un-
worthy contest. Of this I have the most positive
assurances from my military friends on the spot, as
well as the greatest reliance on the measures adopt-
ed by ministers; and I am convinced that those
wretched, ragged fellows, without discipline, money,
clothes, or arms, will be unable longer to struggle
for their chimerical liberty. Probably they are
by this time crushed; and therefore as no more
troops will be sent out, your son will not, if you
adopt this plan, be separated from his family, and
may still occasionally visit this capricious old gentle-
woman, who, unless she differs much from the rest
of her sex, of all ages and descriptions, will not
like a handsome young fellow the less for having a
cockade in his hat. -
Ah, General! returned Somerive, smiling, Ifancy
your own experience among the women well justi-
fies that remark. Since you really are so sure that
Orlando would not be sent abroad, which will make
a great difference certainly in his mother's feelings
on this point, and perhaps in those of Mrs. Rayland,
I will take an immediate opportunity of speaking
of it to my wife, and we will consider of the safest
method of taking Mrs. Rayland's opinion upon it.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 177
As to Orlando himself, there can be little doubt of
his concurrence; at least I hope not. And there
are other reasons, my friend, besides those that I
have named to you, why his present situation is ut-
terly improper, and why it seems to me that he
cannot too soon be removed from it.
Mr. Somerive, in speaking thus, was thinking of
Monimia, who, ever since he had first heard her
described, had occurred to him continually. The
necessity there was for attending immediately to
the affair of the threatened duel, had hitherto pre-
vented his speaking of her to Orlando, in that se-
rious manner which he thought the affair merited:
but he had repeatedly touched on it; and finding
Orlando shrink from the investigation, he laid in
wait for an occasion to probe him more deeply—an
occasion which, perceiving his father sought it, Or-
lando as solicitously endeavoured to avoid giving
him, by contriving to be always busied in attend-
ing on his sisters or his mother; but while he thus
got out of the way of his father, he was very much
in that of the General, who could hardly ever get
an opportunity of whispering to Isabella those sen-
timents which daily acquired new force. For, the
week following that when the affair with Sir John
Belgrave was settled, Orlando could find no excuse
for returning to Rayland Hall of a night: he was
therefore reduced to the necessity of going thither
after his own family were in bed; and as the way
through the chapel was not open to him, he could
only see Monimia in her own room, and their meet-
ings were therefore very short, and so hazardous,
that the impatience and discontent of Orlando
could no longer be repressed or concealed.
The greater his attachment to Monimia became
(and every hour it seemed to gather strength), the
more terrible appeared her situation, and his own.


17s THE OLD MANOR HOUSr.
They were both so young that he thought he might
easily obtain an establishment, and that the noon
of their lives might pass in felicity together, were
he, instead of remaining in a state of uncertain de-
pendence, to be allowed to go forth into the world.
Sanguine and romantic in the extreme, and feeling
within himself talents which he was denied the
power of exercising, his mind expatiated on vision-
ary prospects, which he believed might easily be
realized. When to provide for passing his life
with Monimia was in question, everything seemed
possible; and as he heard much of the rapid for-
tunes made in India, and had never considered, or
perhaps heard of the means by which they were
acquired, he fancied that an appointment there
would put him in the high road to happiness; and
various were the projects of this and of many other
kinds, on which his thoughts continually dwelt.
General Tracy, who had long read mankind,
easily penetrated into the mind of a man so new to
the world as Orlando; and though he saw that his
young friend did not greatly esteem him, he was
not by that observation deterred from conciliating
as much as possible his good opinion, till at length
Orlando communicated his discontent at being at
his time of life so inactive and useless; and the
General, having brought him to that confession,
started the scheme he had before proposed only to
his father, of procuring him a commission, and
lending him all the interest which he was known
to possess to promote his fortune in the army.
A proposal so friendly, and so much adapted
to the warm and ardent temper of Orlando, was
acknowledged with gratitude, and without farther
consideration embraced, on condition that his fa-
mily did not oppose it. The General told him, that
it was in consequence of his father's apparent incli-


THE OF, D MANO R. HOUSE. 179
nations that he had at first thought of it; that his
mother had certainly too much sense to reject such
an advantageous offer for him; especially, added
he, as from the present state of the war, there is
not the least likelihood of your being sent abroad.
—You know best, however, my dear Sir, continued
the General, with something on his countenance
between a smile and a sneer—you know best how far
your campaigns against the game on the Rayland
manors may answer better than the services of a
soldier, or whether the old lady's hands can bestow
a more fruitful prize than the barren laurels you
may gather in bearing arms for your country.
There was in this speech something that con-
veyed to Orlando an idea that he was despised; and
that there was meanness in his attending on Mrs.
Rayland like a legacy hunter—of all characters the
most despicable. The blood that rushed into his
cheeks, spoke the painful sensations this impression
brought with it. He could not, however, express
them with propriety to a man whose only purpose
seemed to be that of befriending him, by rousing
him from indolence, and even from a species of
servitude. The General saw that what he said had
the effect he wished; and Orlando left him, deter-
mined to avail himself of the opportunity that now
offered for obtaining what he believed would be a
degree of independence. He began to consider
how he might prevail on Mrs. Rayland to assist in-
stead of opposing this scheme; and how he might
thus obtain a certain portion of liberty, without of.
fending one to whom gratitude and interest con-
tributed to attach him. A deep and painful sigh,
raised by the reflection of the misery of parting
from Monimia, followed the resolution he adopted;
but he recollected that by no other means he could
remove the cruel obstacles between them, and that
resolution became confirmed. -


180 THE OL B. MANOR HOtjSE.
He had not yet, however, the courage to com-
municate to her the probability there was that
they must soon part. Their short conferences, in
every one of which they incurred the hazard of
discovery, passed, on her side, in mournful pre-
sentiments of future sorrow, which she yet endea-
voured to conceal; and on his, in trying, now to
console her, and now in acknowledging that there
was but too much cause for her fears: projects were
considered, however, for their future meetings with
less risk. She told him, that during the time he
was so much at home, her aunt confined her less
strictly through the day; that in proportion as she
found herself become more necessary to Mrs. Ray-
land, and more secure of a great provision after her
death, Mrs. Lennard became more indolent, and
more addicted to her own gratifications. Betty,
who was a very great favourite, had little else to
do than to wait upon her; an employment in which
Monimia herself was often engaged, though she
was now more usually employed about the person
of Mrs. Rayland, who found her so tender and at-
tentive that she began to look upon her with some
degree of complacency. This task, while it added
a heavy link to her fetters, she yet went through,
not only with patience, but with pleasure; for she
hoped that by making herself useful to Mrs. Ray-
land, she might not only have more frequent op-
portunities of seeing Orlando during the winter,
which she imagined he would pass at the Hall,
but perhaps obtain from her such a share of re-
collection at her death, as might remove the ne-
cessity of an entire dependence on Mrs. Lennard;
a dependence which some late observations had
made her believe as precarious as she felt it to be
painful. -
In consequence of General Tracy's visit to Sir
John Belgrave at the house of Mr. Stockton, he


THE OLD MANOR HO US E. 181.
received from the master of it an invitation, which
he accepted; Mr. Stockton first waiting upon him
at West Wolverton—Sir John, and Philip Somerive,
with several others of the late visitants at the Castle,
were gone into Scotland on a shooting party; but
Mr. Stocktonhadasuccession of visitors.-His mag-
nificent style of living, which it was known he had
a fortune to support, attracted not only all his Lon-
don friends by turns to his house, but from every
part of the country acquaintance poured in upon
him; acquaintance who desired nothing better, in
the way of entertainment, than his French cook and
his well furnished cellars afforded them.—The
Clergy were his very constant guests; and he loved
to have two or three of them always about him, at
whom he might launch those shafts of wit which
he had picked up here and there, and which con-
sisted of common-place jokes upon religion; well
knowing that with these select few (orthodox as
they were), the excellence of the entertainment he
gave them secured their silence and complaisance.
The General, who was in manners really a man
of fashion, was by no means delighted with the gross
and noisy society he found at Stockton's: but he
saw that if he would escape suspicion, he must not
make his visit at Somerive's too long; and, there-
fore, was glad to be assured that there was an
house in the immediate neighbourhood, where he
might remain a fortnight or three weeks, after pru-
dence dictated his departure from that of Mr. Some-
rive; which he now feared must happen before his
hopes with Isabella were successful, for he found
it much more difficult to obtain any degree of favour,
than his own vanity and her giddiness had at first
led him to suppose.
Isabella Somerive was not naturally a coquette:
but she had a greater flow of spirits than any of her
VOL., XXXVI. R


182 The old MANor house.
family, except her elder brother, whom she greatly
resembled in the thoughtless vivacity of his dispo-
sition; from her sex and education, what was in
him attended with dangerous errors, was in her
only wild but innocent gaiety, becoming enough to
youth, health and beauty. Of that beauty she had
early learned the value: she had heard it praised at
home, and found her father and mother were pleased
to hear of it. But during her short stay in London
she had been intoxicated with the incense that was
offered her; and, notwithstanding the good humour
inherent in her disposition, she failed not to enjoy,
with some degree of feminine triumph, the prefer-
ence that was given her over her cousins, whose
admirers seemed all disposed to desert them on the
first appearance of this rustic beauty; and she felt,
too, the pleasure of retaliation for all the airs of
consequence which the Miss Woodfords had as-
sumed in their visits to West Wolverton, from their
superior knowledge of fashions, public places, and
great people. But, above all, Isabella was delighted
by the preference given her by a judge so discern-
ing as General Tracy—whose taste in beauty was
so universally allowed, that his admiration had
given eminence to several pretty women, who
would never otherwise have been noticed. Far
however from thinking of him as a lover, Isabella,
who was, with all her vivacity, as innocent as little
Emma herself, considered him merely as her father's
friend, and would have applied to him for advice,
in as much expectation of receiving it with disin-
terested wisdom, as to her father himself. The fine
speeches he took every opportunity of making, she
believed partly arose from habit, and were partly
proofs of his admiration; which she thought per-
fectly harmless, though it sometimes struck her as
ridiculous. And in conversation with her sisters,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 183
and sometimes with her mother, she laughingly
called the General—her old beau—her venerable
admirer, and said she wished he was thirty years
younger. Mrs. Somerive sometimes checked her;
but oftener smiled at the description she gave of
the General's solemn gallantry, and of the trouble
she knew his toilet cost him; which really, cried
she, grieves one's very heart. Poor man! it must
be excessively fatiguing; and after all, I think he
would be a thousand times more agreeable, if he
could be persuaded to appear as my father and other
men do, of the same age.—Instead of putting on
toupees and curls, which it requires so much art
and time to make sit snug and look natural, how
preferable would a good comfortable wig be to his
poor old head! which I am sure must ache sadly
every day before Beaumielle has patched up the
gaps that time has made –and, besides, I know he
is always in fear of some of this borrowed cheve-
lure's coming off, and disgracing him; I have abso-
lutely seen him nervous about it.—Dear Isabella,
said Mrs. Somerive, who was present at this de-
scription, how you run on 1 The General, I dare
say, has no false hair; and if he has, how does it
materially differ from a wig
Oh mammal replied her daughter, I believe it
differs so much in the General's opinion, that he
had rather have his head cut off than his hair. A
wig | I have seen him shudder at the idea.
You have seen him said Mrs. Somerive: pray
when P
The other day when he rode out with us. There
was a terrible high wind, and I knew the ancient
beau would be ten times more discomposed by it
than we were—So, as soon as we got upon the
downs, I set off with a brisk canter directly against
R 2


184, THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
it; and the poor dear General was obliged, you
know, to follow us.-
Well ?
Well—and so he buttoned up the cape of his
great coat round his ears, and set off after us; but
as ill fortune would have it, this cape, I suppose,
loosened the strings of his curls, and the wind blew
so unmercifully that he did not hear of their defec-
tion from his ears; but as he came gallopping up
to me and Selina, who were a good way before him,
these ill behaved curls deserted, and were flying,
like two small birds tied by the leg, half a yard be-
hind him; and if he had been commander of a town
suddenly blown up by the enemy, he could not
have looked more amazed and dismayed, than he
did when I called out to him—General Generall
your curls are flying away!—He put up his hand to
his two ears alternately, and finding it too true that
these cowardly curls had left their post, and were
retained only by a bit of black twist, he gave them
a twitch, and thrust them into his pocket—while
he said most dolorously, Ever since that fever I got
last year by overheating myself walking with the
King at Windsor, I have lost my hair in some de-
gree: and till it is restored I am under the neces-
sity of wearing these awkward contrivances. Dear
General, said I, as if I pitied his distress, I am
afraid you will catch cold without them. Had you
not better wrap a handkerchief about your head?
I am sure you must feel a difference—I am in pain
for you!—It is, indeed, an awkward contrivance;
and I should think you would find more comfort-
able and certain accommodation in a wig.
A wig exclaimed he—a military man in a wig'
—like a turtle-eating cit, or a Stock-Exchange
broker —Impossible —No! lovely Isabella, you
can never suppose I ought to make myself such a


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 185
figure; and I assure you I have, when not hurt by
illness, a very tolerable head of hair.
For your time of life, Generall said I.-This
completed the poor good man's dismay ; and he
set about assuring me, that the military hardships
he had gone through in the younger part of his life,
and perhaps a little irregularity since, made him
look at least fifteen years older than he was, and so
went on making such fine speeches as he thinks
becoming in so young a man.
Upon my word, Isabella, remarked Mrs. Some-
rive, you will offend the General by all this flip-
pancy; and your father, I assure you, would not be
at all pleased if you should.
No, indeed, my dear mamma! answered she,
there is no danger of my offending him. The rat-
tling speeches I make to him, and even my turning
him into ridicule when only Selina and I are by, is
so far from offending him, that he seems to like it.
—Does not he, Selina?
It is not right, however, in my opinion, said
Selina?
Why not, if you please, my lady Graveairs?
Because I do not think a person's age, replied
Selina, a proper subject of ridicule.
No, answered Isabella—not if they do not make
it so, by attempting to appear young; but how is it
possible to help laughing at a man who fancies that,
at sixty, he can pass for six-and-twenty.
If it is the General's foible, said Mrs. Somerive
gravely, it seems to be the only one; and it makes
him happy, and hurts nobody. He is so worthy
a man, that it is immaterial whether he is sixty or
six-and-twenty; and if he has the weakness to pre-
fer being thought the latter, which, however, Isa-
bella, you know is not true, he should not be rudely
reminded that nobody else thinks so.
R 3


186 TIIE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Well, if this worthy man will flirt with and
make love to girls young enough to be his grand-
daughters, I must laugh, if it be wrong, cried
Isabella.
Make lovel exclaimed Mrs. Somerive: What do
you mean, child?
Why—only mamma, that if he were a young
man, the marvellously fine speeches he studies
would seem like love-making speeches. I told him
the other day, that since he thought me so very
charming a creature, I wished he would persuade
his nephew to be of the same opinion, for there
would be some sense in that. -
His nephew –Who is his nephew 2 inquired
her mother. -
I never saw him, replied Isabella; but Eliza
Woodford has often, and says he is the most
elegant and the handsomest young man about
toWh.
Do you mean, said Mrs. Somerive, the son of
his elder brother, Lord Taymouth?
Oh not at all—he is a miserable looking mor-
tal!—No, this nephew, as Eliza tells me, is the
only son of his sister, Lady Something Tracy, who
married a Mr. Warwick, who, though a gentleman,
her family thought was a match so much beneath
her, that they never forgave her; and as she and
her husband both died early, this young man, who
was their only child, and had a very small fortune,
was brought up by the General, who means to
make him his heir.
He is a good creature, said Mrs. Somerive;
and every thing I hear increases my esteem for
him.
You would consent them, my dear mamma,
replied Isabella, to my having Captain War-
wick 2


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 187
Alas! answered her mother mournfully, Captain
Warwick, my dear girl, heir to the fortune of
General Tracy, will never, I fear, ask my consent.
Young women without fortune, though their merit
be indisputable, are not likely now to marry at
all; very unlikely, indeed, to meet with such high
fortune. -
I don't see that at all, cried Isabella. Selina
and Emma may determine to die old maids if they
please; but, for my part, I'll try, as long as I am
young and good-looking, for a husband; and as to
this Warwick, I am bent upon setting my cap at
him without mercy, if his uncle would but give me
an opportunity. That he will not do; for though
he is so good to him, and gives him such an hand-
some allowance, he hardly ever sees him; and has
bought him a company in another regiment, rather
than have him in his own, and so he is sent off to
America—and
You have no chance then, interrupted Mrs.
Somerive, of trying your power, Isabella? .
No! cried she; but it is excellent sport to tease
his uncle about him, who always avoids talking of
him, just like a coquettish Mamma, who hates to
hear that Miss is tall and handsome.
Mrs. Somerive, again gently reproving her
daughter for speaking thus of the General, put an
end to the conversation by sending her daughters
away to dress for dinner; while she meditated
alone on what her husband had that morning said
to her on the subject of Orlando's entering the
army. He had now, for the first time, explained
to her all the reasons he had for wishing his son re-
moved from Rayland Hall; and had communicated
the principal of these, his suspicions of an attach-
ment to Monimia. Mrs. Somerive felt all the truth
of what her husband urged in favour of this plan;


188 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
and, particularly uneasy at the information he had
given her about Monimia, she now tried to reason
herself out of those fears for his personal safety,
which yet led her to wish he might remain, on
whatever terms, near her and his family.
CHAPTER xiv. XVI
THE family of Somerive was almost the only one
in the country, or at least within five and twenty
miles, who had not waited on Mr. Stockton after
his purchasing the estates of Lord Carloraine.
For this Mr. Somerive had several reasons. Though
he disdained any mean compliances with the ca-
prices of Mrs. Rayland, he thought it wrong to
connect himself with a man who, on his first appear-
ance in the country, had offended her unhand-
somely enough; and he knew it would not only be
impolitic in regard to her, but to the economy of
his own family. His servants, plain and laborious,
were at present content with their portion of work
and of wages; but were they once introduced into
such a servant's hall as that of the Castle, where
the same profusion reigned as was customary in
the parlour, he knew they would immediately be-
come discontented, and of course troublesome and
useless. The people whom he found were gene-
rally assembled at the Castle, most of them young
men, celebrated for their dissolute manners, were
not such as he wished to have introduced to his
daughters. And these causes co-operating to
make him wish to avoid every acquaintance with
Mr. Stockton, he had taken some pains to prevail
on his eldest son to avoid it also; but Philip Some-
rive, who had some slight knowledge of Stockton


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 189
in London, hastened, in spite of his father's re-
monstrances, to renew and strengthen it as soon
as he settled in the neighbourhood, and was very
soon more at Stockton's than at home. The sim-
ple economy of his father's house appeared to him
a total deprivation of all that a gentleman ought
to enjoy; and when contrasted with the voluptuous
epicurism that reigned in the splendid mansion of
his new friend, he had not the courage to return
to it oftener than want of money compelled him to
do: and he forgot that to these temporary gratifi-
cations he was sacrificing the peace of his father,
his mother, and his sisters; and laying up for him-
self all the miseries of indigence, and all the mean-
messes of dependence.
It was here he confirmed, by indulgence, that
passion for play which he had acquired at college.
The party at Carloraine Castle passed whole nights
in gaming, where young Somerive often lost, but,
alas! sometimes won; and in the triumph of his
success, the pain and inconvenience of his ill for-
tune was forgotten. He learned some of those
modes of ascertaining the matter, which he saw so
happily practised by others; and, after some time,
became, in some measure, one of the initiated,
and had, in consequence, seldom occasion to apply
to his father for money—therefore he seldom went
near him: sometimes whole months therefore pass-
ed, during which his family never saw him, though
they knew that much of his time was passed with ,
Mr. Stockton, whom this circumstance contributed
to render odious to Mr. Somerive.
After the acquaintance, however, commenced
betwen Stockton and the General, Somerive found
it very difficult to keep the same distance; and
Stockton, who had a great inclination to see Some-


190 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
rive's handsome daughters, of whom he had heard
so much, was so importunately civil, while Gene-
ral Tracy, on the other hand, promoted the ac-
quaintance so warmly, that Somerive and Orlando
engaged to dine with Stockton on one of those days
when he had invited half the county. The latter
went with extreme reluctance; not only because
what he had heard of the man himself, and of the
people who surrounded him, gave no favourable
idea of the society; but because he thought it
wrong to hazard offending Mrs. Rayland, in a
point which, to pursue, afforded no pleasure either
to his father or himself. Neither of these reasons
for denial, however, could be urged to the General,
who he thought already despised him for his assi-
duity about the old lady; and as his father had
been induced to consent, Orlando could not refuse
to accompany him.
The table was furnished with all that modern
luxury has invented, or money could purchase; the
greatest variety of expensive wines, and a superb
dessert, finished a repast, at which were collected
a group as various as their entertainment, though
not so well chosen. The beginning of the dinner
was passed in that sort of talk which relates solely
to eating: when that exercise relaxed, something
like an attempt at conversation was made. The last
news from America was discussed; but as they all
agreed in one sentiment—that the rebellious colo-
nists ought to be extirpated—there was no room
for argument, and the discourse soon languished;
and then again revived on topics nearer home—
game, poachers, and turnpikes: the wine had by
that time circulated enough to give their conversa-
tion, if conversation it might be called, another
turn. They grew noisy and offensive; and Orlando,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 191
who was never before among such a set of people,
nor had ever in his life heard such language, was
unable to conceal his disgust, though he only shewed
it by silence, and by passing from him the bottle,
which he saw had so affected the little understand-
ing that the majority of the company had possessed.
This was at length perceived by Mr. Stockton,
who, accustomed to indulge himself in what he
fancied shrewd sayings, and to expect that every
man not so rich as himself should submit to be his
butt, began to attack Orlando on the score of his
being a milksop, and living always in the lap of
the old lady at the Hall.—To this Orlando answer-
ed with good humour, perfectly indifferent what
such a man as Stockton thought of him; but the
latter seeing how well he bore this first attack,
could not resist the temptation of pursuing his
blow. Why, damn it now ! cried he, we know
very well, Sir Rowland (that was the name which
Philip Somerive gave to his brother in derision)
we know very well that you are no more of a saint
than your neighbours; and that though you are
in waiting on an old woman all day, you make
yourself amends at night with a young one—aye,
and a devilish pretty wench she is too as ever I saw.
—Egad! Belgrave was half mad about her for a
week, and had a mind to have stormed the tower
where this dulcinea lives, notwithstanding its being
guarded by the fierce Sir Rowland.—I don't know
her name.—Tell me, Sir Knight, how is your god-
dess called? and by the Lord we'll drink her health
in a bumper
Mr. Somerive, who saw in the changes of Or-
lando's expressive countenance, that his answer
would inevitably bring on another quarrel, arose
hastily, and, addressing himself to Mr. Stockton,
while he commanded Orlando to be silent, he said:


192 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
After what passed, Mr. Stockton, in regard to Sir
John Belgrave and my son, this mention of the af-
fair can only be considered as an insult to us both.
If that be your purpose, some other place than
your own house should have been found for it. We
will now quit it, in order to give you an opportu-
nity of pursuing your design, without adding the
breach of the laws of hospitality to those of decency
and good manners. -
Somerive then taking Orlando by the arm, in-
sisted on his going with him; while the General,
and some other men in the room, who were yet in
possession of their senses, got round Stockton, who
was very drunk, and represented how wrong it was
to renew the conversation on Sir John Belgrave; an
affair which had been settled with so much difficul-
ty, and had threatened such serious consequences.
The profession, birth, and riches of General Tracy,
gave him great authority in the opinion of even the
wealthy and insolent Stockton himself; and as he
loved his ease, even beyond the indulgence of his
purse-proud arrogance, he saw at once, that in gra-
tifying the one, he had, more than he intended,
risked the other. He therefore sent one of his de-
pendents to apologise to the two Somerives, who
had already left the room: General Tracy too
went to assure them of Stockton's concern for
what had passed; excused it by alleging his ine-
briety, and declared that he should think both Mr.
Somerive and his son wrong to take any further
notice of the idle words of a man who was himself
convinced of their impropriety. We will talk of all
this at our leisure, dear General, replied the elder
Somerive: at present you must allow me to take
Orlando from an house, into which I am heartily
concerned that either of us ever entered.
I will go with you, my dear friend, cried the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 193
General; but first allow me to return to poor
Stockton, who is extremely concerned for what
has happened, and to tell him
Any thing you please from yourself, Sir, said
Orlando, interrupting him; but nothing from me,
unless it be
Leave the matter to me, Orlando, cried Somerive
sternly. You know, General, added he, address-
ing himself to his friend, how little it can be my
wish to have this ridiculous matter go any farther;
but as I never yet bore a premeditated insult my-
self, so I will not ask Orlando to do it, be the con-
sequences what they may.
Good God! exclaimed the General, this was no
premeditated insult; it was merely the folly of a
man in a condition which disarms resentment, even
from those of the most quick feelings.
He must tell me so himself, then, said Orlando.
I will undertake that he shall, answered the
General; and so you leave the house satisfied I
hope 2
To this the elder Somerive answered drily :
Blessed are the peacemakers, my good Generalſ
and then, leaving him to return, if he pleased, to
his new friends, he mounted his horse, which, with
that of Orlando's, his servants had brought to the
door, and they proceeded homeward together.
This was the opportunity of speaking to Orlando,
that his father had been some days watching for,
and the scene that had just passed, awakening all
his fears about Monimia, was an additional motive
to him not to neglect it.
Orlando, whose heart was bursting with indigna-
tion at the insult offered to her name, rode silently
by his side, expecting, with a mixture of concern
and confusion, that his father would again press
him on his attachment. He was studying, without
"VOL. XXXVI. S


194 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
being able to determine, how he should answer.
He had never been guilty of a falsehood; and could
he now reconcile himself to the meanness of at-
tempting one, he believed it would be fruitless;
yet, to betray the tender, trusting, timid Monimia
—to acknowledge their clandestine meetings, which
his father might not be persuaded were innocent—
and to render himself liable to be forbidden ever
again to see her—how was it possible to determine
on risking it, by an avowal of the truth? There
was not much time for this painful debate. Mr.
Somerive put his horse into a walk, and then said,
in that grave and earnest manner which always af.
fected his son—
You see, Orlando, all the mischief to which this
boyish and indiscreet love of yours has exposed,
not only yourself, but the young woman, who is,
unluckily for her, the object of it.
Love, Sir! said Orlando, not knowing very well
what to say.
Nay, Sir, cried Somerive more sternly, don't
affect ignorance; you have been playing the fool
with that young girl that Lennard passes for her
niece. Answer me honestly—have you not ?
No, Sir—never.
Have a care, young man—I can pardon the fol-
lies of youth, but premeditated falsehood I never
will forgive.
Be so good then, my dear father, to explain pre-
cisely your meaning; and when I perfectly under-
stand the charge, I will answer it as truly as if I
were on oath.
The girl is handsome 2 said Somerive.
Certainly, answered Orlando.
And you have informed her of it no doubt.
Pardon me, Sir, I never have; and I believe
she is at this moment unconscious of it.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 195
Really! that is wonderful. She is employed, I
think, in the house as a kind of under housekeeper.
No, Sir; but she sometimes undertakes part of
her aunt's business when she is engaged or indis-
posed, and sometimes attends Mrs. Rayland.
And lives, I suppose, as Lennard does, in the
parlour with the Lady?
Very rarely, Sir; and as a matter of great favour,
she dines there: rather oftener, though still not
regularly, is allowed to drink tea in the parlour.
Humph!—and at other times, Isuppose, she takes
her seat at the table allowed Snelcraft and Pattenson:
the latter worthy man is celebrated, I think, for his
various and successful amours under the roof of my
very pious kinswoman. This poor girl, I suppose,
is in the way of adding to the trophies of that ex-
cellent and faithful servant. Upon my word, Or-
lando, you may find him a very formidable rival.
Gracious Heaven, Sir! cried Orlando, who could
not bear even the supposition, what mistaken no-
tions you have formed of Monimia
Monimia! exclaimed Somerive, who, serious
as the matter was, could not help smiling: Moni-
mia!—why thou art far gone, my poor boy, since
thou hast found such a name for thy nymph—Mo-
nimia 1 I must be allowed, since we are talking
plainly of the matter, to call her Mary.
You may call her what you please, Sir, replied
Orlando very impatiently, so as you do justice
to her innocence and goodness. Suffer me to
speak, Sir, added he, finding his father about to
interrupt him—suffer me to declare to you, that
not one of your own daughters, my sisters, whom I
so tenderly love, are more innocent, or more wor-
thy of respect and esteem, and let me add, of ad-
miration, than this young woman.
Indeed! is that your opinion? Pray, Orlando,
2


196 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
what means have you had of being so well inform-
ed of all these perfections, which you are so willing
to put in comparison with those of your own fa-
mily 2
Continual experience, amounting to perfect con-
VICt1On.
Truly that is marvellous, considering this young
person, according to your own account a servant,
so seldom drinks tea, and so much seldomer dines
with Mrs. Rayland, where, I suppose, she is not al-
lowed any great share of the conversation, even
when she is admitted;—though you are willing
to put her on a level with your sisters, I suppose
you hardly so practised this levelling principle on
yourself, as to pursue your studies of this miracle
to the table of the great Snelcraft, and greater
Pattenson.
No, Sir, retorted Orlando warmly; nor does
Monimia ever sit at that table.
May I then ask, without offending this lady,
whose nom de guerre is I find settled to be Monimia
—where you have seen enough of her to form a
judgment so much in her favour?
That may be done by seeing her once. You
yourself, my dear father! added Orlando extremely
moved, if you were once to see her, would not
blame me for what I have said. Indeed you would
not: you would own that she is all I have described.
Poor boy cried Mr. Somerive with a deep sigh;
at your age I remember thinking just the same of
a very handsome girl. I too have had my Moni-
mia my Celinda, my Leonora; and many were
the heart-aches these beauties gave me hould,
therefore, continued he, in a more solemn tone—I
should, therefore, my dear Orlando I pass over
this juvenile passion, and not even inquire about it,
if, from the peculiarity of your situation, and that


- THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 197
of the young woman, as well as from your ten-
dency to romantic quixotism, which perhaps I have
too much encouraged, I did not fear that it may end’
more seriously. She is very pretty' and you are
very young, and very much in love! If she is in-
nocent
If? Good God, Sir, what shall I say to convince
you of it?
Nothing, Orlando; speak simply the truth, and
I will attend to you: allow me to finish the sen-
tence—If she is innocent and amiable, as you believe
her to be, you would not certainly destroy that in-
nocence 2 you would not render her unamiable?
Not for a million of worlds ! cried Orlando
eagerly. -
Well, then, Orlando, in order to reconcile your
honour with that love which it seems you do not
affect to deny, it follows that you would marry her?
Most undoubtedly, Sir, I would.
To throw yourself out for ever from every hope
of favour on the part of Mrs. Rayland; and, while
you render your own family miserable, to entail
poverty for life on the woman you love, and her
children P
I know it all but too well; permit me, however,
Sir, to say, that as to my family, I do not see why
they should make themselves miserable about it,
since the morals, the manners, the person of my
wife, could be no disgrace to them: and if I chose
to work for her, surely I have a right to live with
whom I please.
To work! cried Somerive angrily. How work?
—you who are in no profession, and could not even
support yourself?
Pardon me, Sir, answered Orlando, and let it not
offend you, if Isay, that a young man of almost one
and twenty, six feet high, and in perfect health,
S 3


198 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
must be a very contemptible wretch, indeed, if he
is unable to obtain a provision for himself, and to
provide for his wife.
Wild and ridiculous! exclaimed Somerive. If
you were twelve feet high, and had as many hands
as Briareus, how could you employ them? you
who have been brought up to nothing, who know
nothing
That, Sir, is my misfortune—surely not my fault.
I allow it. It is a misfortune to which I see
other misfortunes are annexed, if a remedy be not
instantly found. I perceive, Orlando, that this
matter, on which it is plain you have thought
deeply, is likely to be even more serious than I ap-
prehended. I must find a profession for you, which
shall take you out of a situation so hazardous. I
understood General Tracy, that if a commission
could be obtained, you expressed no disinclination
to enter the army 2 -
Certainly I do not.—And let my readiness, or
rather my eagerness to embrace that offer convince
you, Sir, that whatever may be my future hopes, I
do not mean to involve Monimia in my present
difficulties, nor to aspire to happiness till I have
earned it. Put me, Sir, instantly to the proof.
Procure for me a commission, or send me out a
volunteer. You shall not find me shrink from any
task you may impose upon me. But, in return, I
expect not to be compelled to resign the hope that
will alone animate me—I love Monimia passion-
ately; I shall always love her; and I will not pro-
mise to resign her for ever.
I shall leave all that to time and absence, an-
swered Somerive; and insist on nothing but that
you will join with me in prevailing on Mrs. Ray-
land to hear of your entering into the army without
dissatisfaction. Though I wish you to have the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 199
means of being in some degree independent, it
were folly to forfeit needlessly your expectations
from her. Try, therefore, so to manage this as
to obtain her consent.
Mrs. Rayland will not, I really believe, oppose
it, said Orlando.
Try her, answered his father; on your sincerity
in doing so I shall rely: and remember, Orlando,
that if from any other artful quarter attempts are
made to persuade her against consenting to this
plan, I have only to inform her of your curious
plan of marrying her housekeeper's niece, and put
her upon inquiring into the intrigue you are carry-
ing on, and you would be banished for ever from
Rayland Hall.
There would be as little wisdom in that, Sir, said
Orlando with great warmth, as there is truth in im-
puting an intrigue or art to Monimia. However,
you are to do as you please.
And you, Sir, retorted Somerive warmly, seem to
think yourself authorized to say what you please.—
Let not my indulgence, which has ruined your bro-
ther, and now I see is likely to be your destruction;
let not my indulgence hitherto, lead you to depend
too much upon it. You shall find, Sir, that if you
are ungrateful and undutiful, I can be harsh, and
can make myself obeyed. But here, for the pre-
sent, I desire to end the discourse. We are near
home, and I will not have your mother made un-
easy, either by the report of what happened to-day
at dinner, or by any knowledge of your folly,
which has not yet reached her. I shall go imme-
diately to my study; and I recommend it to you
to go to your own room, and not appear to-night;
for your mother, you know well, is so accustomed
to penetrate into my thoughts and yours, that she


200 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
will not fail to perceive that something is wrong—
and she shall not be rendered unhappy.
Orlando, most willing to obey his father in this
respect, made no other answer than wishing him a
good night; and as soon as he dismounted at home,
he retired to his own room, and, with mingled sen-
sations of resentment and sorrow, of anger and
despondency, began to reflect on what had passed
during the day. The insolent language used by
Stockton stung him to the soul. He saw too evi-
dently, that his º meetings with Monimia
were suspected, if not known—known to the un-
principled and profligate Stockton, who had put
the most odious construction on the conduct of the
innocent Monimia. Yet he was compelled also to
allow, that whatever might be the suspicions or
opinions concerning her, he could not avenge or
defend her; without being too well assured that
consequences must ensue still more fatal to her. If
their intercourse was once suspected by Mrs. Ray-
land, he knew that Monimia would be dismissed
with disgrace; that she would probably be aban-
doned by her aunt, and thrown upon the world,
where he had not the power of protecting her from
poverty, though he might guard her from insult.
The only comfort he had was, that his father, when
his interrogatories seemed most hardly to press him
to declare how and where he met Monimia, had
been diverted to other discourse; that he had, there-
fore, not been reduced either to tell him a false-
hood, or to betray the secret of the door which ad-
mitted him to the turret; a secret of which he yet
hoped to avail himself, in the interval that must
occur between the time of his returning to the Hall
and his departure for the army, which he now saw
was certain. He felt no wish more ardent than


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 201
that of reconciling his Monimia to his going, ex-
changing with her mutual vows of eternal affection,
and setting forth in the certainty of her remaining
under the protection of Mrs. Lennard, and in the
hope that he should return in a situation that might
enable him to ask her hand, and to render her sub-
sequent life as happy as the fondest love and com-
petent fortune could make it. But Orlando saw
too plainly, that if his evening conferences were
known to his father, he would, at whatever risk of
ruining him for ever with Mrs. Rayland, put an end
to them; and, therefore, as more caution than ever
was requisite, he determined, for one night, to re-
frain from the short and dangerous indulgence he
had snatched by travelling from Wolverton to the
Hall in the middle of the night; and, though Mo-
mimia expected him, to forbear seeing her till the
next evening, when he hoped to have arranged in
his mind what it was the most necessary to say, to
make her submit with composure to their separa-
tion. Then too he hoped to know something cer-
tain of this commission, of which the General
hourly expected intelligence from London; and
that he should not, by speaking with uncertainty,
add suspense to the other uneasy sensations he must
inflict on Monimia. He flattered himself also, that
he should hear of the General's having fixed the
day of his departure. He had now been a fort-
might at West Wolverton; and though his stay
seemed, the more it was prolonged, to yield to the
rest of the family increased satisfaction, Orlando,
whom it detained from the Hall, began to think it
the most tedious and unconscionable visit that ever
one friend paid to another; and, far from suspect-
ing the real motive, thought with astonishment on
General Tracy's living so long among people so un-
like his usual associates, and so much out of his way.


202 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER XVII.
To reconcile Monimia to his departure, to hide
from her the anguish of his own heart at the
knowledge that he must go, were no light tasks to
Orlando: they were such as all his courage, all
his sense of propriety, were nearly unequal to.
What would become of her when he was gone?
From his earliest remembrance, the certainty of
seeing Monimia at the Hall had constituted his
principal happiness; yet he had many other amuse-
ments abroad: he had many relations whom he
loved, and who tenderly loved him; he had se-
veral pursuits to engage his mind, and several
amusements to occupy his time.—Monimia! alas!
what had Monimia P. Almost alone in the world,
she had no connection but her aunt, whose reluc-
tant kindness and cold friendship answered but
ill to the affectionate temper of the lovely girl, who
would have been attached to her, all repulsive as
her manners were, from gratitude, and because she
believed her the only relation, if Mrs. Lennard
had given her leave.—But, selfish, narrow-minded
and over-bearing; it was impossible for Monimia to
love her; and she once remarked, when she stole
for five minutes (while her aunt attended Mrs. Ray-
land to a morning visit) into the garden with Or-
lando, that she resembled a passion-flower, that
having once been supported by a sort of espalier,
the wood had decayed, and, nothing being put in
its place, the plant crept along the ground, wither-
ing, from the dampness to which it was exposed.
See, cried Monimia, this plant resembles me! It
seems abandoned to its fate. Orlando remembered
what he then said to drive from her mind such
gloomy ideas; but now they were about to be ve-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 203
rified. If Monimia was to him all that hitherto
sweetened his existence, he was at least as neces-
sary to hers; and a thousand painful fears assailed
his heart, as to what she must feel at parting, and
what would be her fate when he was gone.
No overture on the affair of his accepting a
commission had yet been made to Mrs. Rayland.
Mr. Somerive wished Orlando to manage it himself.
—Orlando, conscious that much depended upon it,
and unwilling to take any decisive step, however
necessary, as long as he could avoid it, had still
put it off from hour to hour; saying, what was
indeed true, that he was now so seldom at the Hall
at hours when it was proper to speak of business,
that he had found no opportunity.
The next day, however, but one after the dinner
at Stockton's, the family were much surprised by
the unexpected return of Philip Somerive, who,
arriving late in the evening, told his father and
mother that he was come, with their permission,
to pass some months at home. Tenderly anxious
about him as they all were, and ever flattering
themselves that a change of conduct would restore
him to them, his family received him with such
expressions as evinced that they were ready to
kill the fatted calf. Orlando felt even more plea-
sure than the rest at his return: and the younger,
unlike the elder brother in the parable, murmured
not that there was joy and feasting when he who
had been lost was found. Yet this did not arise
altogether from the disinterested generosity of his
nature. He would at any time have rejoiced that
his brother's appearance gave comfort to the
hearts of his father and his mother: he now doubly
rejoiced, because the presence of Philip Somerive
at home dismissed Orlando, almost as a matter of
course, to the Hall. He had at this time inha-


204. THE OLD MANOR: HOUSE,
bited the apartment set aside for his brother; his
own was occupied by the servant of the General,
who was too fine a gentleman to be sent into the
attic story. West Wolverton house was not a
large one ; and Orlando, not so well disguising
his impatience as he attempted to do, said to his
mother as soon as tea was over, that he knew his
stay that night must be attended with some incon-
veniences and removals, and therefore he would,
with her permission and his father's, go back to
the Hall. Mrs. Somerive immediately assented,
and said, And you had better, if your father
pleases, set out directly, Orlando, or you will not
have your bed aired; and I am sure that little
tapestry room where you sleep, as it is on the
ground floor, and has windows only to the north,
and those windows only long old-fashioned case-
ments, must be horribly damp.
If you will have the goodness then to say to my
father that I am gone, and why gone so early,
said Orlando, it will be better than my disturb-
ing the company with the ceremony of—Good
night!
To this Mrs. Somerive assenting, Orlando left
the room to get his horse; but as he passed through
the hall, he met his sister Selina. Good night,
sweet girl said he, kissing her hand as he passed
her.
Whither are you going, then, Orlando? in-
quired she. -
To the Hall—You know there is no convenient
room for me now; and since Philip is come back,
I am less wanted.
At this moment Mr. Somerive passed through
the hall, and catching some of these words, he
put the same question to Orlando; who answered,
that his mother had agreed to his going to the Hall,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 205
to make room for his brother: and promised, Sir,
to name it to you, added he.
Mr. Somerive paused a moment—To the Hall,
said he, Orlando | You are in great haste, I see.
Surely you might have staid to supper, as you have
not seen your brother so long.
Orlando then gave his mother's reason for his
going earlier. That, said his father gravely, is a
very good reason for your mother; and you, I
have no doubt, have some of still greater weight:
—but remember, Orlando, continued he more
sternly, remember I will not be trifted with. Go
—I wish you a good night, and as much repose
as your conscience will let you taste when you
render your father unhappy!
Mr. Somerive then passed on ; and Selina, who
had hardly ever in her life heard him speak as if
half angry to her brother Orlando, remained amazed
and trembling, clinging to his arm. Good God!
cried she, as soon as her father had shut the parlour
door, what is all this, my dear brother? what does
my father mean?
Can you, Selina, said Orlando in a low and
mournful voice—can you be very faithful, very
guarded on a point where my life depends on
secrecy? Can you, Selina, be secret as the grave,
if I trust you? -
Can you doubt it? answered the still more alarm-
ed Selina.—Well then, to-morrow, perhaps—for
to-morrow I must behere again—to-morrow, Selina,
if I obtain permission from another person yet more
interested than I am, I will perhaps tell you. In
the mean time adieu, my dear sister —If you hear
Philip mention me at supper to my father, try to
remember what he says.
Orlando then hastened away, fearful of being de-
tained; and as the weather was serene, he deter-
VOL., XXXVI. T


206 Th F. OLD MANOR HOUSE.
mined to go on foot, that, if he found all quiet round
the apartment of Monimia, he might glide up for a
moment to apprize her that they might without
interruption meet in his study that evening. There
was a late moon, and the night promised to be beau-
tifully clear; he knew therefore that there was little
or no hazard of brandy and tea-merchants being
abroad: and as to the hint dropt by Stockton, which
had at first given him so much pain, he now fancied
it was merely the random folly of a drunkard, and
that he knew nothing of Monimia but what he might
have collected from Philip Somerive after their
first unlucky meeting in the woods.
Had he now taken his horse, he must of necessity
have made his return known to the stable-servants
at the Hall, before he could have a moment's con-
versation with Monimia: he proceeded therefore
quickly on foot, meditating as he went on what had
just past with his father and his sister.
He had often thought of entrusting Selina with
the secret of his passion for Monimia. He had often
wished they were known to each other. Equally
innocent, amiable, and gentle, with a perfect re-
semblance in temper and in years, he believed that
they would fondly love each other; and that if he
could see them attached, it would be the happiest
circumstance of his life. He hoped too, that the
society and the soothing sweetness of Selina would
be a resource of comfort to his Monimia when he
was far from her. But how he could bring them
together, he had yet no idea—Selina being never
admitted but on days of ceremony at Rayland Hall;
and Monimia being so nearly a prisoner, that the un-
lucky excursion which occasioned them all so much
trouble, was almost the first, and was, in conse-
quence of her stay, which had given somuch offence,
likely to be the last her aunt would allow her to make.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 2O7
He proposed, however, to consult Monimia upon
it, and consider whether some safe means of their
meeting could be found.
Between that gate of the park that lay towards
West Wolverton, and the house, there were two
paths. The upper one was over an eminence where
the park paling enclosed part of the down, under
which it spread a verdant bosom, with coppices and
tall woods interspersed. The other path, which in
winter or in wet seasons was inconvenient, wound
down a declivity, where the furze and fern were
shaded by a few old hawthorns and self-sown firs:
out of the hill several streams were filtered, which
uniting at its foot, formed a large and clear pond
of near twenty acres, fed by several imperceptible
currents from other eminences which sheltered that
side of the park; and the bason between the hills
and the higher parts of it being thus filled, the
water found its way over a stony boundary, where
it was passable by a foot bridge unless in time of
floods; and from thence fell into a lower part of
the ground, where it formed a considerable river;
and, winding among willows and poplars for near
a mile, again spread into a still larger lake, on the
edge of which was a mill, and opposite, without
the park paling, wild heaths, where the ground
was sandy, broken, and irregular, still however
marked by plantations made on it by the Rayland
family. It was along the lower road, which went
through woods to the edge of what was called the
upper pond, that Orlando took his way. Just as
he arrived at the water, from the deep gloom of
the tall firs through which he passed, the moon
appeared behind the opposite coppices, and threw
her long line of trembling radiance on the water.
It was a cold but clear evening, and, though early
in November, the trees were not yet entirely
T 2


208 THE OLD MANOR 1 iOUSE.
stripped of their discoloured leaves: a low wind
sounded hollow through the firs and stone-pines
over his head, and then faintly sighed among the
reeds that crowded into the water: no other sound
was heard, but, at distant intervals, the cry of the
wild fowl concealed among them, or the dull mur-
mur of the current, which was now low. Orlando
had hardly ever felt himself so impressed with
those feelings which inspire poetic effusions: Na-
ture appeared to pause, and to ask the turbulent
and troubled heart of man, whether his silly pur-
suits were worth the toil he undertook for them 2
Peace and tranquillity seemed here to have retired
to a transient abode; and Orlando, as slowly he tra-
versed the narrow path over ground made hollow
by the roots of these old trees, stepped as lightly
as if he feared to disturb them. Insensibly he
began to compare this scene, the scenes he every
day saw of rural beauty and rural content, with
those into which his destiny was about to lead him.
Oh, Monimial sighed he, why cannot I remain
with thee in this my native country? How happy
should I be to be allowed to cultivate one of the
smallest of those farms which belong to the Ray-
land estate, and, comprising in thy society and that
of my family all my felicity, have no wish but to
live and die without reading that great book which
they call the World ! Alas! shall I ever under-
stand its language? shall I ever become an adept
in the principles it teaches 2 and shall I be happier
if I do? But they tell me that a young man should
not be idle ! that he must be something, a lawyer
or a soldier! and yet, to assist men in ruining each
other, and spoiling the simple dignity of justice,
seems the business of the first; and to learn the
art of destroying honourably our fellow-men, the
whole concern of the second. There are, however,
-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 209
other professions, it is true—I might be a clergy-
man, and remain here with little to do but to ride
twenty or thirty miles of a Sunday, to execute,
with the hurry of a postman, the duties I should
have sworn to fulfil: and can I conscientiously do
what I see done every day? Impossible! I might
too be a merchant: but that I have no talents for
a profession, honourable as I allow it to be, where
the mind is continually chained to the calculation
of profit and loss; and if I am to enter into active
life, let it be rather in any line than that which
shall confine my activity to a counting-house—
For then, Monimia! I must equally leave thee, and
live among those who value nothing but money,
and who would ridicule a passion like mine. He
paused, and again looked around him. How beau-
tiful a scene ! continued he ; I would that Monimia
were here to enjoy it! But never am I allowed to
point out to her these lovely prospects, never per-
mitted to cultivate that pure and elegant taste which
she has received from nature; and I am now about
to tell her that we are to part never perhaps to
meet more! Yet the die is cast: I have promised
—nay, I ought to obey my father—and I go—A
deep and mournful reverie succeeded, as, walking
onward, his rapid imagination described to him all
the sad possibilities that might arise between him
and his happiness. In this desponding temper,
but without meeting any one to interrupt him in
his intended visit to Monimia, he reached the tur-
ret, and softly and silently ascended the staircase.
He took the usual precautions to ascertain that
Monimia was alone; and then, being admitted for
a moment to speak to her, he assured her that she
might, without any danger, venture to his room
that evening. He told her he had much to say to
her—much, on which their future happiness de-
T 3


$210 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
pended, to offer to her consideration; and therefore
he besought her to divest herself of her fears, and
to oblige him. Monimia, confiding entirely in him,
promised to be ready; and Orlando, then going
through the servants' hall, as if he had that moment
arrived from West Wolverton, desired Betty to
make up his fire and prepare his bed, saying, that
he was come back to his own apartments, on the
arrival of his brother at home. He then inquired
of Pattenson, if he thought Mrs. Rayland could
be spoken to that evening? I know nothing of the
matter, answered the old butler in a very sullen
tone; you may ask the women folks, as you're al-
ways a-dangling after them. When I saw Madam
last, she was not in a way very like to be troubled
with company to-night.
Orlando, angry and disgusted by this rudeness,
now inquired of the cook, who, though she rivalled
in person and features the dame Leonarda of Gil
Blas, was a great admirer of beauty in others, and
had always beheld Orlando with partial eyes. Is
Mrs. Rayland ill, then, Martha? said he. Not
that I knows on, replied the woman—Only a few
twinges of the gout about her feet, much as ordi-
nary, that makes her, I reckon, a little peevish:
and I understood that Madam was a little out of
sorts at hearing nothing of you yesterday; and
they've been a-telling her as how you dined out
with them there gentlefolks at the Castle, as Ma-
dam hates worse than any varmint.
So, thought Orlando, I am at length become of
consequence enough to be missed if I am longer
absent than usual but the officious malice of who-
ever it was that related our dinner party yesterday,
has probably spoiled my reception. Can you tell
me, Martha, whether your lady is likely to see me
to-night, if I send up for leave?


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 211
Lord ' I'll answer for’t, answered the cook;
ifackins, I believe Madam, if she was fairly left
to herself, is always as glad to see you as can be—
I'll go up now, if you please, and let her know
you be here.
This courteous offer Orlando readily accepted;"
and in a few moments Martha returned. Well,
Martha, may I go up? inquired he. Yes, you
may, replied Martha; but Madam's not in one of
her sugar-plum humours, I can tell you.--She've
got the gout in her foot, and she've got some va-
garies in her head about your going to visit her in-
mimies: you'll have a few sour looks, I doubt—but,
Lord! Master Orlando, you've such a good-look-
ing pleasant countenance, that I'll defy the witch
of Endor to be anger'd long with you.
Then, thanking his ambassadress for the trouble
she had taken, and being somewhat encouraged
by her opinion of the powers of his countenance,
he walked up stairs.
He tapped at the door, as was his custom; and
was, by the shrill sharp voice of Mrs. Lennard, di-
rected to come in. He was struck, on entering the
room, by the sight of Monimia, who stood near the
fire watching the moment when a saucepan, in
which some medicine Mrs. Rayland was causing
to be made, should be ready to remove. Without,
however, noticing her, he approached his venera-
ble cousin, in whose countenance, which seemed
to have gained no additional sweetness, he did not
read a very favourable answer to his inquiry of—
how she found herself?
No matter how, replied she with abrupt asperity;
if it had been of any consequence to you, you
would have asked yesterday, I suppose.
I was detained all day by my father, Madam;
and I do most truly assure you (and never was any


212 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
declaration more sincere than this of Orlando,)
that I was very unhappy at being detained all day
from the Hall.
Humph cried Mrs. Rayland, your new friends
no doubt made you amends. I thought, Sir, you
had known that when people go there, I never de-
sire to see them here, not I. I wish, if you like
such acquaintance, you had taken the hint. But
perhaps you thought that you might take to your
brother's courses, and no harm done. For my
part, I shall wash my hands of any concern about
it, let what will be the end on’t.
Orlando now began with calmness, yet without
any thing like sycophant submission, to account
for his father's having been led by the entreaties of
General Tracy, to whom he thought himself much
obliged, to break through a resolution he had taken
never to visit at Carloraine Castle:—a resolution,
added Orlando, that he now heartily wishes he had
adhered to, as he found the society such as he
neither approves for me, nor can endure for himself.
I assure you, Madam, he never intends to repeat
an experiment, which nothing but his wishes to
oblige the General made him consent to now.
Well, said Mrs. Rayland, a little appeased, it is
very wonderful to me that General Tracy, a man
of family, can associate with these low-bred up-
starts—people who always will give one the notion
of having got into the coaches they were designed
to drive–But so goes this world! Money does
every thing—money destroys all distinctions!—
Your Creoles and your East-India people over-run
every body—Money, money does every thing.
There is one thing, however, Madam, answered
Orlando, that it does not seem to have done—It does
not appear to me to have given to this Mr. Stockton,
either the mind or the manners of a gentleman.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 213
Indeed, child ! cried the old lady: Well, I am
glad that you learn to distinguish—Poor wretch
I've heard that his father walked up out of York-
shire without shoes, and was taken by some rich
packer to clean his warehouse, and go on errands.
Well, so it is in trade 1–So you think him vulgar
and ill-bred?—But I suppose you had a very pro-
fuse entertainment: can you remember the dishes?
Orlando could with difficulty help smiling at the
pains Mrs. Rayland took to feed her disquiet, by
obtaining minute particulars of the man whose os-
tentatious display of wealth so continually offended
her. He assured her, however, that he was, in re-
gard to the variety of ornaments of a table, so little
of an adept, that, though he knew there was both
turtle and venison, he could not tell the name of
any other dish. But I believe, Madam, said he,
there was almost every thing that at this time of
the year comes to table, dressed every way that
could be imagined.
Kickshaws, and French frippery, spoiling whole-
some dishes. If I had my health, cried Mrs. Ray-
land, as if animated anew with a truly British spirit
—if I had my health, I would ask the favour of
General Tracy to dine at Rayland Hall. Indeed I
would request his company to the tenants' feast at
my own table, and shew him, if he is too young a
man to remember it, what an old English table
was, when we were too wise to run after foreign
gewgaws, and were content with the best of every
thing dressed in the English fashion by English
people.
Orlando had a thousand reasons to promote a
plan as unexpected as it was desirable. Besides the
hope he had that the conversation of the General
might reconcile Mrs. Rayland to a plan for his
independence, and engage her to contribute to its


2I4. The old MANon House.
being advantageously carried into execution, he
was amused with the idea of seeing together two
such originals as Mrs. Rayland and General Tracy;
and he knew, that as the latter was a man of family,
and so very polite, he should not risk their mutually
disliking each other by bringing them together;
or at least that, if such a circumstance should hap-
pen, those manners, which both piqued themselves
on possessing, would prevent their shewing it.—
For these, and for many other reasons, he eagerly
seized on the hint Mrs. Rayland had dropped.
Dear Madam, cried he, I heartily hope you will be
well enough. The General would be greatly flat-
tered by such a distinction I know that nothing
would oblige him so much. When is the tenants'
feast to be? I wish, if it is fixed, you would permit
me to be your messenger to-morrow, and to carry
him an invitation.
Truly, child, replied Mrs. Rayland, whose anger
seemed to be quite evaporated, I am so out of the
use of having company, that I don't know well
what to say to it. I find my people have fixed the
tenants' feast for Thursday next, that is, this day
week; and if I were sure of being quite well
Lennard, what do you think of the matter?
Lennard, who loved nothing better than great
dinners, in which she was of so much consequence,
answered, Why, indeed, Ma'am, I think you'll be
quite well enough—nay, I could venture to say so
positively. Your foot is getting better apace; and
in other respects, when you have been free from
pain for a while, I have not known you better these
many years. -
Well, Orlando, then, resumed the old lady, we'll
consider of it, and let you know to-morrow.—You
have taken to your bed below again, I find?
I have, Madam, with your permission.


THE OLD MANOR Hous E. 215
Well, then, you may come and breakfast with
me; and, for to-night, order what you please for
your supper in your own room.
Orlando, rejoiced to be thus reconciled, now
wished her a good-night, and retired; casting, as
he went, a melancholy glance towards Monimia,
who, quite unnoticed by either of the ladies, had
stood the whole time with her eyes fixed on the fire,
and her beautiful arms exposed to its scorching
heat, while she was employed in watching the im-
portant preparation that was boiling. But Moni-
mia herself, far from feeling her situation, would
have undergone infinitely more inconvenience, for
as many hours as she now had done minutes, to
have enjoyed the satisfaction of hearing Orlando's
voice, even when his words were not addressed to
her, and of observing the favour he was in with
Mrs. Rayland; whose anger, however she seemed
desirous of cherishing it, was put to flight on the
first apology of her young favourite.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE meeting of the evening promised to be undis-
turbed. It was long since Orlando had seen his
Monimia quietly seated by the fire in the study;
and now that he was once more to enjoy that hap-
piness, he could not determine to embitter it by
speaking of the probability there was that he was
soon to leave her, and enter on a new mode of life.
He could, when they were actually together, the
less resolve to speak of this, as Monimia appeared
in unusual spirits; and from what she had observed
of Mrs. Rayland's behaviour to him, in the inter-
view at which she had been present, she found
3


216 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
reason for forming more sanguine hopes than she
had ever yet indulged, that their delicious visions
were not chimerical; and that Orlando, if not mas-
ter of Rayland Hall, would yet be amply provided
for by the favour of its present possessor.
Instead, therefore, of destroying these flattering
visions, which lent to the lovely features of Moni-
mia the most cheerful animation, he endeavoured to
divest his own mind of the painful reflections it had
of late entertained; and instead of talking of what
was to happen, he wished to fortify the mind of
Monimia against whatever might happen, by giving
her a taste for reading, and cultivating her excel-
lent understanding. The books he had given her,
the extracts she had made from them, and her re-
marks, afforded them conversation, and gave to Or-
lando exquisite delight. He had animated the
lovely statue, and, like another Prometheus, seemed
to have drawn his fire from heaven. The ignorance
and the prejudices in which Monimia had been
brought up, now gave way to such instruction as
she derived from Addison and other celebrated mo-
ralists. She understood, and had peculiar pleasure
in reading the poets, which Orlando had selected
for her; and when she repeated, in a fascinating
voice, some of the passages she particularly ad-
mired, Orlando was inspired with the most ardent
wish to become a poet himself.
Very different was the way in which his elder
brother passed this evening. Tormented with fear
and remorse, that unfortunate young man had re-
turned to his long-deserted home, for no other rea-
son than because he had, during his northern ex-
pedition, lost to his companions every guinea that
he could by any means raise, and had besides con-
tracted with them a very considerable debt of ho-
nour. He knew not how to apply to his father,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 217
whom he had already impoverished; yet his pride
would not let him return to Mr. Stockton's, whither
some of the party were again gone, till he had the
means of satisfying their demands against him. In
this emergency he came home, in hopes of finding
some pretence to procure the money of his mother,
whom he believed he could persuade to borrow it
for him of her brother Mr. Woodford, as she had
done a less considerable sum once before; or at all
events to gain a few days, in which he might con-
sider what to do.
It was to the dejection he felt on the awkward cir-
cumstances to which he had reduced himself, that
the gravity and steadiness of manner was owing,
which his father took for contrition and reformation.
It lasted, however, no longer than till the next even-
ing, when, after tea, Mrs. Somerive as usual, in
order to amuse the General, proposed cards—Mr.
Somerive, however, having a person with him upon
business from whom he could not disengage himself,
and Orlando having returned to Rayland Hall im-
mediately after dinner, there was not enough to
make a whist table (as none of the young ladies
played,) and therefore young Somerive proposed
to the General to sit down to piquet. -
To this proposal he of course consented, and,
either from chance or design, the General lost every
party, and had presently paid to his antagonist
twelve guineas. Animated by this success, espe-
cially as it was against a man who was known to be
in habits of playing at the first clubs, Philip Some-
rive again proposed playing after supper. Fortune
continued to be propitious; and when his father,
mother, and sisters retired, at a later hour than or-
dinary, he still continued at the table, where he
was now a winner of about fifty guineas.
They were no sooner out of his way, than the
V.O.L., XXXVI, U w


218 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
true spirit of gaming, which their presence had
checked, broke out.
This is poor piddling work, Generall exclaimed
he: Do you not think hazard a better thing?
The General answered coolly, that it certainly
was ; but, added he, I suppose my good host
would think his house polluted by having the
necessary instruments in it. . He has no other
dice, I dare swear, than those in the back-gammon
table.
Oh! as to that, answered young Somerive, I
am always provided with an apparatus in case of
emergency—there is no travelling without such a
resource—I have the pretty creatures up stairs.
What say you, General—shall we waste an hour
with them?
With all my heart, replied Tracy. Let us see if
you are as much befriended by chance as you have
been by skill.
Young Somerive now produced from his travel-
ing portmanteau a box and dice: he put a green
cloth over the table, that the rattling of them might
not be heard in the house; and then telling the
servants that none need sit up but the General's
servant, they began to play, and continued at it
till morning broke, with various success—But on
quitting it, Somerive found himself a very con-
siderable gainer, and retired to his bed flushed
with the hope that the General, all veteran as he
appeared, and calmly as he played, was a pigeon,
from whose wings he might pluck the feathers
which were wanting to repair his own.
The General, who only wanted a study of his
character, and to whom hundreds were as nothing
when he had any favourite project in view, was
now perfectly assured that, by losing money to
him, or by supplying him with it when he lost it


The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 219
to others, this young man would become wholly
subservient to his wishes, however contrary to
honour or conscience. He did not dislike play,
though he never regularly pursued it; and had
one of those cool heads in such matters, which had
prevented his ever suffering by it. . He had gene-
rally been a winner, and particularly in betting:-
he frequented, when he was in London, all the
houses where high play is carried on; and was so
much accustomed to see thousands paid and re-
ceived at these places as matters of course, that he
held the trifle he had paid to Philip Somerive the
evening before as not worth remembering. It was
therefore with some surprise that he heard Mr.
Somerive, who had called him apart the next
morning, express in very forcible terms, his great
concern that his son had won so large a sum of
him. If the General felt any concern, it was that
Philip should have been unguarded enough to
speak of it. He soon, however, learned that Mr.
Somerive alluded solely to the fifty guineas he had
won at piquet, and that of subsequent transactions
of the evening he knew nothing. This therefore he
carefully concealed, and, assuring Mr. Somerive
that he had almost forgot they played at all, con-
jured him not to be uneasy about it.
I know, my dear General, said Somerive, I
know perfectly well that this is a mere trifle to
you; but to my son it may, nay it will have the
worst consequence. He is, I see with an aching
heart, too much devoted to play—Success only
mourishes this ruinous passion—And distressed as
I have been, and indeed am, by his conduct, I
should rather have paid an hundred pounds for him
than have seen him win fifty.
The General endeavoured to quiet, on this head,
the apprehensions of the unhappy father, by telling
U 2


220 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
-
him that he saw nothing in the young man that
was not at his age, and with his prospects, very
excusable. It is surely, said he, hazardous, my
good friend, to check your son too much. If home
is rendered utterly unpleasant to him, his vola-
tility seeks resource abroad; and there you know
how many designing people beset a young man of
his expectations.
Good God! exclaimed Somerive, what are his
expectations? He has impressed you, I see, my
dear Sir, with the same idea which has in fact
undone him, and will undo us all. What expect-
ations has he that can in the least be relied upon,
unless it be of this small estate, which he is already
dismembering, and which will soon disappear—
ah! very soon indeed, in the hands of a gamester?
Tie it up, then, said the General.
I cannot, answered Somerive; for it is entailed,
and, except my wife's jointure of an hundred a
year, which with difficulty I contrived to settle
upon her, he may dissipate it all, and I have no
doubt but he will.
You judge, I think, too hardly of him. Some-
thing is surely to be forgiven him, who has always
been told that he must be heir to the great pro-
perty of the Raylands, and possess one of the
largest landed estates in the county.
O! would to Heaven he never had been told so!
said Mr. Somerive with a deep sigh. If ever, my
dear General, he should talk to you about it, pray
endeavour to wean him from expectations so ruin-
ous, and, I think, so fallacious. It is true that I
am heir at law to all the estates of Sir Orlando
Rayland my grandfather, in default of Sir Hilde-
brand's daughters having issue, but not if the
survivor of them disposes of it by will, for the
whole is hers without any restriction; and there


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 221
is not the least chance of her dying without a will,
for l know she is never without one: and the peo-
ple who surround her take especial care that her
own family shall be excluded from it.
You do not then suppose, said the General, you
do not believe it possible that these people, by
whom I conclude you mean those old servants of
whom I have heard you speak, have interest enough
with her to secure to themselves so large a pro-
perty as Mrs. Rayland possesses? I should think
it more likely that though she will probably give
them considerable legacies, she will leave the
estate to the next heir; her pride will urge her to
this, perhaps, on the condition of his taking the
name of Rayland.
I fear not, answered Mr. Somerive. She has a
very singular temper, and has always been taught
that the sister of her father Sir Hildebrand disgrac-
ed herself by marrying my father. She has on a
thousand occasions given me to understand, that
the small portion of the Rayland blood which I
have the honour to boast, is much debased by
having mingled with that of a plebeian; and that
the blood of my children being still a degree far-
ther removed from the Raylands, she cannot con-
sider them as belonging to the family, which is in
her opinion extinct—She means therefore to per-
petuate its remembrance by the only method in
which she believes she can do it worthily; and,
after giving her servants considerable legacies
perhaps something to Orlando—to have re-
course to the common refuge of posthumous pride,
and, with her large landed estates, to endow an
hospital, which shall be called after her name.
The General exclaimed loudly against such a
method of settling her property; but, after hear-
ing on what Mr. Somerive founded his opinion, he
U 3


222 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
agreed that it seemed but too probable. And
yet, added he, it appears to be more the interest of
these servants, by whom you say she is governed,
that the estate should descend to an individual—
particularly that of the old housekeeper, who, from
what I can make out of the scraps I have picked up
here and there about this Monimia, seems to have
a plan of drawing in your youngest son to marry
her; and of course it must be her wish that he
should be Mrs. Rayland's heir.
I have not discovered, replied Somerive, in all I
have collected from Orlando, that the aunt is at all
privy to their attachment. But that indeed may be
her art—She possesses more than almost any wo-
man I ever knew ; and had she much less, she
must know that the bare suspicion of such an in-
trigue, on the part of Mrs. Rayland, would occa-
sion the disgrace of Orlando—the expulsion of the
irl from the house—and perhaps the ruin of her-
self, if the least idea occurred of her being of their
counsel.
Upon the whole, then, my friend, cried the Ge-
neral, I think that the putting Orlando into some
profession immediately seems the only prudent mea-
sure you can take. This will probably ascertain
Mrs. Rayland's intentions, if they are in his favour;
and, if they are not, will remove him from a situ-
ation w; appears in my mind a thousand times
more likely to ruin him for life, than even those
imprudences of which you complain in his brother:
for be assured, my dear Sir, a young fellow is
never so completely ruined as when he has married
foolishly—Every other folly is retrievable; but an
engagement of that sort blasts a man's fortune for
ever: and the wisest thing he can do afterwards
is to hang himself.
Though Mr. Somerive, who was not a man of
... 3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 223
the world, and who had experienced many years of
happiness with a woman whom he married for
love, was by no means of Tracy's opinion as to
marriages of affection in general, he saw the va-
riety of evils such a marriage would bring on Or-
lando, in as strong a light as his friend could re-
present them. He therefore entirely acquiesced in
the necessity of his being removed from Rayland
Hall; and waited with impatience for Orlando's
account of what had passed in that conference
which he had undertaken to hold with the old lady,
on the subject of his entering the army.
Just as he parted from General Tracy, who about
an hour and a half before dinner retired to his toi-
let, Orlando appeared on horseback. His father
met him; and bidding him join him in the garden
as soon as he had put his horse in the stable, he
walked thither—Orlando in a moment attended
him. Well, said Mr. Somerive gravely, have you
had an opportunity of conversing with Mrs. Ray-
land on this matter? I have it every hour more at
heart, and am determined that you shall be removed
from your present situation, unless, what is not to
be expected, she signifies her positive resolution to
make you very ample amends for your loss of time,
and gives me assurances of it.
Orlando, in this peremptory determination of
his father, fancied he saw the machinations of his
brother to get him away from the Hall; but, with-
out expressing any part of the pain such a suspicion
gave him, he answered, You know, my dear Sir,
that in our last conference on this subject, I assured
you of what I now desire to repeat, that I live
only to obey you; but I have had no opportunity
of speaking to Mrs. Rayland on this subject; for
when I saw her on the first evening of my return to
the Hall, it was with great difficulty I could ap-


224 - THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
pease the anger she felt at our having dined with
Stockton.
She knew it then P
Oh, yes!—Lennard and Pattenson take care
she shall know every thing. At length, however, I
had the good fortune, not only to obtain a remission
of my offence, but to engage her to invite our
family and the General to dine at her table on
Thursday, when the tenants' feast is to be held at
the Hall. Mrs. Rayland piques herself on shewing
the General, whom she respects as a man of family,
a specimen of old English hospitality, in opposition
to the modern profusion of the Castle—and her
desire to obtain his suffrage in favour of the ancient
mode of living at Rayland Hall, has performed
what no other consideration would have effected.
This unexpected project entered her head the mo-
ment I had described our visit; and all yesterday
was passed in considering about it, and debating
with Lennard whether she should be well enough.
To-day it is decided that she shall, and I am sent
with the invitation, which certainly you and my
mother and sisters will accept; and I suppose Ge-
neral Tracy will oblige us by going also.
Of that there can be no doubt, replied Mr.
Somerive.
I thought, therefore, added Orlando, that you
and the General might have an opportunity, during
the course of the day, of introducing the conver-
sation relative to my entering the army; and that
it would be perhaps better than my abruptly dis.
closing what may, in some of her humours, appear
to Mrs. Rayland as a desire on my part to quit her.
You have certainly given my ancient cousin love
Fºl. Orlando, said Mr. Somerive, smiling; for
never heard that, even in her younger days, she
shewed for any body as much affection as she lately
has done to you.


Tli E OLD MANOR HOUSE, 225
And yet, replied Orlando, I am almost certain
that it goes no farther than a little present kind-
ness, or perhaps a small legacy.
Mr. Somerive, feeling that this was too probable,
and was indeed what he had just before been re-
peating to General Tracy, sighed deeply—and bid-
ding Orlando go with his message of invitation to
his mother and sisters, he sent up the card to the
General; and then went on his usual circuit round
his farm, desiring Orlando to stay dinner.
CHAPTER XIX.
ORLANDo returned to Rayland Hall in the even-
ing, carrying with him the most polite answer from
General Tracy; and, from his own family, assur-
ances of the grateful pleasure with which they ac-
cepted Mrs. Rayland's invitation for the following
Thursday. Poor Monimia too, though she was to
have no other part in this festivity than to assist her
aunt in preparing for it, heard with satisfaction
from Orlando that it was fixed, because she believed
that this unusual civility towards his family and
their guest was an indubitable mark of Mrs. Ray-
land's increasing affection for him.
Orlando, however, who from his father's last con-
versation, and from his persuasion that Mrs. Ray-
land would not oppose it, saw that his departure
was certain, and would soon happen, thought it
cruel to encourage the flattering impressions which
the soft heart of Monimia so readily received, and
which he had himself taught her to cherish when
they were apparently much less likely to be realised.
He therefore, when they met this evening, renewed,
what he had sometimes distantly touched upon be-


226 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
fore, the probability that he must soon enter the
army, and quit, at least for a time, the spot which,
while she remained on it, contained all that gave
value to his life. The tender, timid Monimia, in
whose idea every kind of danger was attendant on
the name of soldier, was thunderstruck with this
intelligence; and it was not till Orlando had tried
every argument to sooth and console her, that she
was able to shed tears. Could we hope, my Mo-
mimia, said he, when he found her composed enough
to listen to him—could we hope to continue as we
are, and to converse thus undiscovered for years to
come, tell me if there is not too much bitter min-
gled with the few transient moments of happiness,
to make us reasonably wish to continue it? When
we meet, is it not always in fear and apprehension?
and are we not ever liable to the same alarm as that
from which you suffered so cruelly three weeks
since?—Alas! even now we are in the power of an
unprincipled ruffian, who, though he appeared
willing to engage for mutual secrecy, may, in a fit
"of drunkenness, betray us; or, through mere in-
solence, tell—because he has the power of telling.
He did not see you; but he knows, and indeed so
does Pattenson, that somebody was with me ; and
the very jealousy that misleads the old rogue Pat-
tenson, will perhaps make him watch and discover
us. I need not, Monimia, describe all I should
suffer for you if that were to happen; nothing
would remain for us but to fly together: and surely
I need not add, that if I did not fear to expose you,
my angel, to the miseries of poverty, I would,
without hazarding a discovery, fly to-morrow; but
I am, you know, under age, and we could not
marry in England. If I was thus to disoblige my
father, he would abandon me for ever, and from
Mrs. Rayland I could expect nothing. Such is the


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 227
melancholy train of thought I have been compelled
to admit in reflecting on our present situation. Per-
haps the line of life that is proposed for me is the
only one that we can with hope look forward to for
the future.—He paused a moment: Monimia stifled
the sobs that convulsed her bosom ; she could not
speak, but sat with her handkerchief to her eyes,
and her head resting on her hand, while he pro-
ceeded—It is certain that I must tear myself from
you; that I must enter on a new scene of life, and
perhaps encounter some difficulties and hardships:
but would you not despise a man of my age, who
would not so purchase independence? If I have a
profession, I shall have something on which to de-
pend, if Mrs. Rayland will not, and my father
cannot provide for me; something on which, if I
have tolerable fortune, I may in a few years be
enabled to support my Monimia. Can I, ought I
with such hopes to hesitate?
I allow, replied Monimia with a deep sigh—I
allow that you ought not.
While General Tracy lives, resumed Orlando,
he will be my friend; at least such are his promises
to my father. . He assures him that he will make a
point of my speedy promotion; and his interest is
certainly such as leaves no doubt of his having the
ower to do it.
Ah, Orlando! said Monimia in a low and broken
voice, you speak only of the good, and forget or
conceal the evil. What if you are maimed, or
killed? What then becomes of Monimia, who could
not die too, but must live perhaps the most deso-
late and miserable creature upon earth?
General Tracy, replied Orlando, has assured my
father, that the regiment in which he means to pro-
cure me a commission, and for which they are now
recruiting, is about to be immediately recalled from


228 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
America, where the war must very soon terminate
in favour of England, and that therefore I shall
certainly not be sent abroad: he even says, that as:
soon as I have my commission, it is highly probable
that I shall be ordered into this country on a re-
cruiting party, and may take up my quarters for two
or three months in this neighbourhood.
These reasonable arguments, joined to the flat-
tering hope that Orlando might, though he entered
on a profession by which he would, she believed,
become independent, still remain in England, and
even be occasionally in his native county, added
to the conviction that they could not long continue
to see each other without being discovered, recon-
ciled Monimia to the thoughts of his accepting the
commission offered to him by the General; and
she became more calm, and able to talk of it with
some degree of composure. Orlando, on their
parting for that time, besought her to assure him
that she would make herself easy, and learn to
think of his destination rather as a matter of satis-
faction than apprehension. Monimia promised all
he desired; but she was no sooner alone than her
apprehensions again returned, and the sad possibi-
lities that she had before enumerated recurred in all
their terrors to her imagination. To these many
were added of which she dared not speak to Or-
lando: the fears that he might forget her; and that
when once entered on new scenes, and among all
the beauty, elegance, and accomplishments which
she read of in magazines and newspapers, the hum-
ble Monimia would be remembered no longer.
This seemed to her so probable, and was so dis-
tressing to her heart, that she thought she could
better endure almost every other evil. Sleep re-
fused to banish these cruel ideas from her mind;
and the morning broke, and called her from her


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 229
restless bed to her task of attending on her aunt
in the housekeeper's room, before she could find
any comfort in any of her reflections, unless it was
the hope that Mrs. Rayland might oppose the
scheme of sending Orlando away, since Monimia
persuaded herself that she every day became fonder
of his company.
Monimia appeared before her aunt so pale, from
want of sleep, and from the acute uneasiness she
had undergone, that Mrs. Lennard, notwithstanding
her usual insensibility, took notice of it.
Hey-day, girl! cried she, why what's the matter
now? Why you look, I protest, as if you had been
up all night! Pray what have you been about?
About, aunt! said Monimia, while a faint blush,
excited by fear and consciousness, wavered a mo-
ment on her cheek—I have been about nothing.
That is what you generally are about, I think,
replied Mrs. Lennard harshly. But I suppose you
have been sitting up after some nonsense or other—
with your books or your writing. I shall put an
end to Madam Betty's career, I promise you; I
know she lets you have candles, and gets books for
you out of the study, though I have time after time
forbidden her to do any such thing.
Monimia, willing to let it be thought that Betty
did do so, rather than excite any other suspicion
by denying it, only said mildly—I hope, dear aunt,
there is no harm in my trying to improve myself,
if I do not therefore neglect what you order me
to do?
Improve yourself!—Yes, truly, a pretty im-
provement—Your chalky face and padded eyes are
mighty improvements: and I'd be glad to know
what good your reading does you, but to give you
a hankering after what you've no right to expect 2
VOL., XXXVI. - X


230 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
An improved lady will be above helping me, I
suppose, very soon.
When I am, my dear aunt, answered Monimia,
it will be time enough for you to forbid my reading;
but, till then, pray don't be angry if I endeavour
to obtain a little common instruction.
Don't be impertinent, exclaimed Mrs. Lennard;
don't be insolent—for if you are, Miss, this house is
no place for you.-I see already the blessed effects
of your reading—you fancy yourself a person of
consequence: but I shall take care to put an end
to it; for if Betty supplies you with candles, I'll
discharge her.
She has not indeed, my dear aunt, said Monimia,
whose generous mind could not bear that another
should suffer for her.
She has not —what has she not? inquired Mrs.
Lennard.
She has not lately supplied me with candles, re-
plied Monimia.
How is it then, cried Mrs. Lennard, fixing on her
a stern and º eye, that light is sometimes,
aye and very lately too, seen from your window,
at hours when your own candle is taken away, and
when you ought to be in bed
To this Monimia could answer nothing, but that
it was true she had now and then saved a piece of
wax candle herself; but, in order to put an end to
an inquiry which had already made her tremble
with the most cruel apprehensions, she endeavoured
less to account for what had happened, and which
she could not deny, than toappease her aunt by ver
earnest assurances that what offended her should
happen no more, and that, since she so much dis-
liked her reading of a night, she would never again
practise it. '
Mrs. Lennard seemed to be somewhat satisfied by


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 231
these protestations—though, while Monimia was
with many tears repeating them, her fierce eyes
were fixed on the countenance of her trembling
niece with a look of questioning doubt, which made
Monimia shrink with dread—for it seemed to inti-
mate that more was suspected than was expressed.
At length, however, she condescended to ap-
pear pacified; and summoning Betty and another
of the maid-servants, she gave them their employ-
ments, in preparing for the grand dinner: then
ordering Monimia to take her share, and the super-
intendence of the whole, she returned to the par-
lour; and poor Monimia, glad to be relieved from
her presence, proceeded as cheerfully in her task as
her melancholy reflections on what had passed with
Orlando the preceding night, and her newly-
awakened dread of her aunt's suspicions, would,
allow her to do.
Mr. Somerive was much at a loss to know how
to act in regard to his eldest son: fondly flattering
himself that this beloved son had seen the danger-
ous errors of his former conduct, he could not bear
the idea of shewing any resentment at what was
past, or that, by his being left out of the party go-
ing to Rayland Hall, he should be considered as an
exile from the favour of Mrs. Rayland; yet, to let
him go without an invitation, he knew, would give
offence, and he knew not how to set about obtaining
one. Orlando, who passed a few moments with
him in the course of the preceding Wednesday, saw
his father's uneasiness, because he had felt some-
thing of the same kind himself about his brother;
and he generously, though without making any
merit of it, undertook to remove this source of vex-
ation, by engaging Mrs. Rayland to invite him.
This was an arduous task, as the old Lady had not
seen him for more than two years, and during that
X 2


232 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
time had heard only evil reports of his conduct.
The offence he had given her by associating with
the Stockton set, and even joining in those trespasses
of which she believed she had so much reason to
complain, had embittered her mind against him,
even more than his gaieties and extravagance: yet
Orlando, by assuring Mrs. Rayland that he was now
sensible of his error, that he was come home with a
resolution to remain with his family, and that it
would discourage him in the career of reformation if
she did not seem ready to forgive, and again con-
sider him as a part of it, so flattered her self-conse-
quence, and soothed her resentment, that she agreed
to receive Philip as one of her guests, and commis-
sioned Orlando to carry an invitation to his brother:
nor could she with all her natural severity of tem-
per, and little sensibility to greator generous actions,
help being affected by the noble disinterestedness
of her young favourite, who thus laboured to recon-
cile to her a brother who would have been consi-
dered by most young men as a formidable rival in
her favour, and have been assiduously kept at the
distance to which he had thrown himself. This ex-
alted goodness of heart she put down immediately
to the account of the Rayland blood; and in prais-
ing Orlando to Mrs. Lennard, to whom she now
often spoke of him with pleasure, she remarked, that
he every day became more and more like the Ray-
land family.—What fine eyes the young man has
<ried she, and how they flashed fire when he was
pleading for that sad brother of his, with so much
earnestness! And then when I seemed willing to
oblige him, what a fine countenance 1 I could al-
most have fancied it was my grandfather's picture
walked out of its frame, if it had not been for the
difference of dress!
Mrs. Lennard assented, and encouraged every fa-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 233
vourable idea her mistress entertained of Orlando;
but all this while a mine was proceeding against
him, of which the success would inevitably ruin all
his hopes.
This originated in the jealousy of Pattenson, who,
whatever favour he obtained by dint of presents
and money from his coquettish dulcinea, could ne-
ver divest himself of his apprehensions that Orlan-
do was a successful rival. This cruel fear had taken
possession of his mind long before the discovery of
Jonas Wilkins; and notwithstanding the girl's so-
lemn protestations that she was in her own bed at
the time she was accused of being with Orlando in
his study, and the offers of the woman who lived in
the same room to confirm this by her Bible oath,
Pattenson could never be persuaded but that it was
Betty herself; because, having not the slightest
suspicion of Monimia, who was, he knew, locked in
by her aunt every night, he believed that it was im-
possible it could be any other person. Betty, in
order to tease him, sometimes affected to be con-
scious that the accusation was true, while she per-
sisted in denying it; and Orlando rather encourag-
ed than repressed anotion that prevented any conjec-
tures which might have glanced towards Monimia.
For three weeks, therefore, this uneasy suspicion
had corroded the bosom of the amorous though ve-
nerable Mr. Pattenson, who, greatly as he loved his
ease, resigned it to the gratification of his revenge;
and who determined to detect Betty, and in doing
so thought he should have an opportunity of ruin-
ing Orlando with his lady, and thus getting out of
his way a rival who might one day be his master;
and whom he hated, not only on account of his love,
but of his interest; for so highly had he been in
favour with all the three ladies, that each had in
dying, given him a very considerable legacy, and
X 3 -


234. THE OLD MANOR HOtjSE.
recommended him to the survivor; and he did not
doubt but that, on the decease of his present mis-
tress, he should find his property inferior to that of
few gentlemen in the county.
The gradual increase, therefore, of the favour
shewn to Orlando did not at all please him; but his
attempts to injure him with Mrs. Rayland had ne-
ver succeeded, and began to be displeasing to her.
Still, however, he knew that, if Orlando were de-
tected of an intrigue with one of her women-ser-
vants, it was an offence which Mrs. Rayland would
never pardon; and though this discovery would
certainly occasion the discharge of the fair Helen
for whom he sighed, Pattenson was sure that Or-
lando could not take her into his protection for want
of money; while, being dismissed without a cha-
racter, by the two inexorable vestals, his lady and
her companion, the girlwould be glad to make terms
with him; and he was quite rich enough to under-
take to keep her in some of the neighbouring towns,
till she might be supplanted by some newer object.
Such were the speculations of the politic Patten-
son; but, like many other politicians, he pursued,
among the many crooked paths before him, that
which led him from his purpose. Instead of watch-
ing Orlando, he set himself to watch Betty, who
never went in even with a message to him in his
study without Pattenson following her; and on the
might he engaged her to sit up for him, the butler
was concealed in a closet within the servants’ hall,
and heard all their conversation; and though what
then passed tended directly to prove to Pattenson
that he was in an error, he persuaded himself that
they suspected his concealment, and had agreed
upon what they should say to mislead him.
Instead, therefore, of rejoicing to find his suspi-
cions were not confirmed, he was only irritated to


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 235
find that his attempts to detect the supposed lovers
were baffled; and he redoubled his vigilance in
watching Betty, and engaged one of the footmen
in the same office. This was the same man who
had seen Orlando cross the park one morning at a
very early and unusual hour, and who then taking
him at a distance for a poacher, had pursued and
stopped him ; circumstances which the fellow,
who was the mere creature of Pattenson, had after-
wards related to him, with conjectures as to the rea-
son of Orlando's appearance that had helped to
raise higher those suspicions Pattenson had before
entertained.
That Mrs. Rayland had determined to have com-
pany at her own table, and particularly the family
of Somerive, on the day of the tenants' feast, was a
terrible vexation to Pattenson—who, instead of pre-
siding like the master of the house in the hall, would
now be only the butler at the side-board in the great
dining-room; and to chagrin for the consequence
he thus lost, was added the mortification of know-
ing that while he should be busied in attending on
his lady up stairs, Orlando, who on these occasions,
which happened twice a year, always mingled with
the young farmers, would have all the ladies of the
hall to himself.
It had been the custom of the house, time imme-
morial, for the landlord, receiving his Michaelmas
rents, to give the most numerously-attended enter-
tainment of the year, and to allow the tenants' sons
and daughters, their friends, and the servants of the
family, to have a fiddle in the great hall. The Mrs.
Raylands, notwithstanding the state in which they
had been educated, had been always, during their
youth, led to the company by their father, and, ac-
companied by Lady Rayland, had each gone down
one dance with some neighbouring gentleman who


236 THE old MANor House.
was invited on purpose, or with the chaplain of the
family. Those days, though long since past, with
almost all the witnesses of their festivity, were still
recollected by Mrs. Rayland with some degree of
pleasure; and as she adhered most scrupulously to
old customs, however unlike her usual mode of life,
this sort of rustic ball given to the tenants had al-
ways been kept up, except in those two years that
were marked by the death of two of the ladies.—
Mrs. Lennard and Mr. Pattenson, who had long pre-
sided at them, loved the gaiety of the scene, and the
consequence they had in it, as they were considered
as the master and mistress of the feast; for though
Mrs. Rayland once used to go down to honour it
with her presence for ten minutes, she had now left
off that custom, from age and infirmity; and her
servants, to whom it was attended with some trou-
ble and loss of time, had persuaded her that she was
always ill after such an exertion. It was, therefore,
usual with her to sup on this anniversary somewhat
earlier than ordinary, and to go to her bed, dismiss-
ing Lennard to her post of mistress of the revel,
with a strict charge to her to watch assiduously
against the intrusion of drunkenness or impro-
priety; to see that all the guests withdrew in due
season, and quite sober; and to settle every thing
after their departure for the decorum and tranquil-
lity of the next day.
Mrs. Lennard had in general adhered to these
good rules, though she thought herself at liberty a
little to vary from them in the detail. Thus she
deemed it no breach of the regularity her lady re-
commended, if she acceded to the earnest solicita-
tions of a handsome young farmer, who, as she was
persuaded, left the buxom damsel his partner, pure-
ly for the gratification of going down a dance with
her; though it sometimes happened that her interest


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 237
in the renewal of a lease, or some building wanting
on the farm, for which she could effectually inter-
cede, were more powerful motives than even the
honour or the pleasure thus obtained—notwith-
standing Mrs. Lennard’s assertion, which was pro-
bably true, that she had learned to dance of the
dancing-master who taught the first Duke of Cum-
berland and all the princesses, and that she was ce-
lebrated for her excellence in that accomplishment,
particularly her great agility in the rigadoon.
This rigadoon, like all early and pleasing acquire-
ments, was still recollected with gratitude for the
fame it had obtained for her; and notwithstanding
the lapse of years, and some rheumatic complaints,
she could occasionally introduce some of its origi-
nal graces into her country dance. It is true she
never performed above one or two at most; but
what she did, she piqued herself upon executing
with a degree of spirit, which made all the opera-
tors in cotillon steps and allemands, “hide their di-
minished heels.' But now, alas! a fall she got a few
months before, and the cruel and cowardly attack
of the rheumatism on the limb while it was in a dis-
abled state, had put an end to the exhibition of this
rigadoon step for ever. Yet, with the true spirit of
perseverance, Mrs. Lennard, though she danced no
more, loved to overlook the dancers, and not hav-
ing the same reasons as Pattenson had to dislike the
party proposed, had with all her interest promoted
it—feeling, probably, that the pleasure she resigned
in the country-dance with her rigadoon step, would
be amply made up to her in appearing no longer as
only housekeeper and attendant, but in the capa-
city of a companion and friend to Mrs. Rayland;
for, now her lady was so infirm, she was introduced
in that character to whatever company might be in
the house. Far as she was advanced in years, to


238 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
adorn her person was her foible; and she reflected
with some pleasure on the smart and well-fancied
dress with which she intended, on this important
Thursday, to astonish and outshine the Somerive
family. Of this vanity, however, poor Monimia
was the victim; for, after many debates about what
she should wear, Mrs. Lennard found something to
do to every article of her dress. These alterations
were entrusted to Monimia; and at night when Or-
lando sought her, as usual, in the hope that he
might pass an hour with her in her own room, he
found her not only indulged with candles, which
had been so lately prohibited, but weeping over a
task which she doubted whether it would be possi-
ble for her to finish, in the time assigned her, to her
aunt's satisfaction.
Orlando had a particular interest in her appearing
to advantage the next day; for, though he knew
she would not be allowed, nor did he wish her to be
seen among the guests, he had imagined a project
to introduce her and his sister Selina to each other
while every other person was engaged. The more
he reflected on this scheme, the more practicable it
appeared, and the more it flattered his imagination.
He, therefore, could not bear to think that, between
fatigue and fretting, the beauty he had said so much
of to Selina should not be seen in all its brilliancy.
You shall not, said he, Monimia, go with me to-
night, but you shall go to bed; and if those cursed
things must be done, you may finish them in the
morning.
Ah, no! replied Monimia, wiping away the tears
which on so slight an occasion she was ashamed
of letting him see—no, Orlando, not so—I must
neither pass these next four or five hours with you,
or in my bed; but must sit up and finish this: for I
am very sure that, with the dawn of the morning,


.The OLD MANOR HOUSE, 239
my aunt, without considering how little time she
has allowed me for this business, will summon me
to that which must go forward in the housekeeper's
room; and that, to-morrow, I shall have the jellies
and syllabubs to make, to give out every thing to
the cook, and to help in all the made dishes: per-
haps I shall never sit down ten minutes from the
time I get up till dinner is sent in ; and therefore
what I have to do of this sort, must be done to-
night.
Curse on the ridiculous, ostentatious old woman
exclaimed Orlando. I cannot bear to think of
your being so fatigued
Do not, said Monimia, with an angelic smile—
do not let us, my dear friend, be rendered uneasy
by trifles, when it is but too probable that we shall
have so many real sorrows so soon to contend with.
What is the loss of a few hours' rest ? and of how
many hours have not I voluntarily deprived my-
self! Besides, added she, seeing him gaze on her
with a look of deep concern, to finish the whole is
not so great an effort as I foolishly, from low
spirits, owing perhaps to thinking too much on the
conversation of last night, at first represented it to
myself. However, Orlando, instead of my going
down to your room, I must sit here. -
And I must not remain with you? cried he.
A little while you may, replied Monimia; but
speak low—I shall not do my millinery the worse
for your sitting by me, if you will but be calm and
reasonable.
They then began to consult on the proposed
meeting of the next day. Monimia trembled as it
was talked of; yet pleasure was mingled with the
apprehension with which she thought of being
made acquainted with any of his relations, par-
ticularly with his beloved Selina, whom he repre-


240 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
sented as a second self. It was settled, after some
little debate on the subject, that when every part
of the family were engaged in the hall, Monimia
should, at an hour fixed upon, find her way in the
dark to the study; not through the chapel, but by
the usual way through the house; and that Selina
should be brought there by her brother immediately
afterwards, where they might remain half an hour
unsuspected, and with much less hazard than in
Monimia's room. This being arranged, Orlando
entreated her to spare herself as much as possible;
and having extorted a promise from her, that when
she found herself fatigued she would endeavour to
sleep, he reluctantly left her.
CHAPTER XX.
Moni MIA, secure of the tenderest affection of her
lover, bore, without more repining, the little
hardships to which her situation exposed her:-
but her mind looked forward, in mournful anticipa-
tion, to the time when she should no longer hear
that soothing voice lending her courage against
every transient evil; no longer receive continual
assurances of the ardour and generosity of his at-
tachment; and find in his disinterested love, his
attentive friendship, sufficient consolation against
her uncertain or uneasy destiny.
To obey him, was the first wish of her life;
she therefore endeavoured to drive from her mind
the melancholy reflections that prevented her re-
pose, and put off the finishing her work till the
mext day. As soon as it glimmered through her
casement, she arose to her task; which having soon


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 241
finished, she awaited with a lightened heart the
other orders of her aunt.
The whole house was in a bustle—and Mrs.
Rayland was not only in unusual health, but as
anxious for the splendour and excellence of the
entertainment, as if she had a deeper design than
merely to outshine the newer elegancies of Car-
loraine Castle. All the operations of Mrs. Lennard
and her attendants succeeded happily. By half
after two all the guests were assembled: by half
after three all the tables groaned under the weight
of venison and beef. About seventy people were
assembled in the hall. In the dining parlour the
party consisted of General Tracy, who was placed
at Mrs. Rayland's right hand; on her left Mrs.
Hollybourn, the wife of the archdeacon of that
district, a lady of a most precise, and indeed for-
midable demeanour: opposite to her, and next to
Mrs. Somerive, sat the Doctor himself, a dignified
clergyman, of profound erudition, very severe
morals, and very formal manners; who was the
most orthodox of men, never spoke but in sentences
equally learned and indisputable, and held almost
all the rest of the world in as low estimation as he
considered highly his own family, and above all
himself.
Between her mother and Mr. Somerive, on the
other side, was placed their only daughter and
heiress, Miss Anne-Jane-Eliza Hollybourn, who,
equally resembling her father and her mother,
was the ſpride and delight of both: possessing
something of each of their personal perfections,
she was considered by them a model of loveliness;
and her mind was adorned with all that money
could purchase. The wainscot complexion of
her mamma was set off by the yellow eyebrows
and hair of the Doctor. His little pug nose divest-
VOL., XXXVI. Y


242 THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
ed of its mulberry hue, which, on the counte-
mance of his daughter, was pronounced to be le
petit mez retroussé, united with the thin lips drawn
up to make a little mouth, which were peculiar to
his ‘better half,’ as he facetiously called his wife.
The worthy archdeacon's short legs detracted less
from the height of his amiable daughter, as she
had the long waist of her mother, fine sugar-loaf
shoulders that were pronounced to be extremely
genteel, and a head which looked as if the back of
it had by some accident been flattened, since it
formed a perpendicular line with her back. To
dignify with mental acquirements this epitome of
human loveliness, all that education could do had
been lavished; masters, for drawing, painting,
music, French, and dancing, had been assembled
around her as soon as she could speak; she learned
Latin from her father at a very early period, and
could read any easy sentence in Greek; was learn-
ed in astronomy, knew something of the mathe-
matics, and, in relief of these more abstruse studies,
read Italian and Spanish. Having never heard
any thing but her own praises, she really believed
herself a miracle of knowledge and accomplish-
ments; and it must be owned, that an audience
less partial than those before whom she generally
performed, might have allowed that she performed
very long concertos, and solos without end, with
infinite correctness, and much execution. Then
she made most inveterate likenesses of many of
her acquaintance ; and painted landscapes, where
very green trees were reflected in very blue water.
Her French was most grammatically correct, though
the accent was somewhat defective; and she knew
all manner of history—could tell the dates of the
most execrable actions of the most execrable of
human beings—and never had occasion to consult,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 243
so happy was her memory, Trusler's Chronology.
As it was believed, so it was asserted by the Doctor
and his wife, that their daughter was the most
accomplished woman of her age and country; and
by most of their acquaintance it was taken for
granted. The gentlemen, however, whom all these
elegancies were probably designed to attract,
seemed by no means struck with them; some of
them, who had approached her on the suggestion of
her being an heiress, had declared that her fortune
made no amends for her want of beauty; and others
had been alarmed by the acquisitions which went so
much beyond those they had made themselves.
Thus, at six-and-twenty (though the lady and her
parents, for some reasons of their own, called her
no more than twenty-two,)Miss Hollybourn was yet
unmarried ; for, of those lovers who had offered,
some had been rejected by the Doctor, and some
by herself. She affected a great indifference, and
talked of the pleasures of pursuing knowledge in
an elegant retirement. But it was observed, that
whenever any young men of present fortune, or
of future expectation, were in the country, Dr.
Hollybourn's family returned the visits of the ladies
to whom these gentlemen belonged, with unusual
punctuality.
While they were in this part of the world, they
always dined once or twice at Rayland Hall, where
the Doctor was well received as a most pious wor-
thy man, his Lady as a very good kind of woman,
and Miss as a mighty pretty sort of a young person.
Of late the whole family had risen into higher fa-
vour; for the Doctor was the only clergyman in the
country around who had resisted the good enter-
tainment so profusely given at Carloraine Castle,
and had refused to visit a man who kept a mistress.
He had even gone farther, and preached a sermon
Y 2


244. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
which all his congregation said pointed immediately
at Mr. Stockton; but as Mr. Stockton did not hear
it, and having heard it would not have cared for it,
the reproof only edified his hearers, and raised the
Doctor in the esteem of the Lady of the Hall.
The lower part of the table was filled by the four
Miss Somerives and their two brothers; Orlando,
at the request of Mrs. Rayland, taking his seat at
the bottom.
The plenty and excellence of the table, which
was furnished almost entirely from the park, farm,
warren, gardens, and ponds of Rayland Hall, were
highly commended by the guests, and by none
with more zeal than the General and the Doctor,
who vied with each other in applying that sort of
flattery of which their venerable hostess was most
susceptible. The General spoke in terms of the
highest respect of her ancient family, and of the
figure made in history by the name of Rayland.
The Doctor, while he did justice to the excellent
dishes before him, launched out in very sincere
praise of the domain which produced them : the
beautiful park which, he averred, fed the very best
venison in the country; the woods abounding in
game; the extensive ponds, whose living streams
contained all manner of fish ; the rich meadows
below, that fatted such exquisite beef; the fine
sheep walks on the downs above, which sent to
table mutton that rivalled the Welsh mutton itself!
—then, such gardens for fruit! such convenient
poultry yards! Mrs. Rayland, who loved to
hear her place praised, could have listened to such
eulogiums for ever; and seemed totally to have for-
gotten that, according to the course of nature, she
should be mistress of these good things but a very
little time longer, and that, when a little space in
the chancel of the adjoining church would be all


th P. old MANor House. 245
she could occupy, they must pass into the posses-
sion of another.
Who that other was to be, appeared an inquiry
which the Doctor had much at heart. From some
late circumstances he had reason to suppose that
Orlando would be the fortunate possessor of all the
excellent accommodations which impressed him
with so much veneration:—but he now saw the
elder brother again received, and when he con-
sidered the advantages which primogeniture might
give him in the mind of Mrs. Rayland, he doubted
to which of the Somerives it would be politic to
pay court.
Some ideas were floating in his mind, that which-
ever of these young men became master of Rayland
Hall, could not fail to be a very proper match for
the most accomplished Miss Hollybourn. It was
certain that he had always reckoned upon a title for
her; but such a deficiency might easily be made
up by the successor to such a fortune. What so
easy as to change a name by the King's most gra-
cious licence? and to renew the old title of Baronet,
which had been so long in the family?—Sir Philip
Rayland Sir Orlando Rayland either sounded
extremely well. Both were very well looking
young men, and the youngest remarkably hand-
some. The more the Doctor considered this pro-
ject, the more feasible it appeared; and he now
began to study the chances, which he thought he
could do from Mrs. Rayland's behaviour.
A very little observation determined him in fa-
vour of Orlando. He saw that Mrs. Rayland seem-
ed to look upon him as her son, while towards his
brother her manners were cold and stately. When
dinner was over, the gentlemen, after a short stay
over their wine, followed the ladies to another
apartment. General Tracy was, at the desire of
Y 3


246 The old MANor House.
Mrs. Rayland, shewn into the gallery of portraits
by Orlando—and the young ladies, at the request
of Miss Hollybourn, who had never seen all the
pictures in the house, were permitted by their mo-
ther to be of the party; while Philip Somerive,
who went out under pretence of accompanying
them, slipped away as soon as he left the drawing-
room, and went after his own imagination.
It was now dark, and these portraits were to be
shewn by candle-light to General Tracy, who cared
not a straw if the whole race of Raylands had been
swept from the memory of mankind; though he
had, partly by guess, and partly from recollection,
been incessantly talking to Mrs. Rayland about the
glory of her ancestors. By this he perceived he
had made a very unexpected progress in her fa-
vour; which he would by no means forfeit by
shewing any indifference to her proposal of visiting
the representations of the eminent men in whose
praise he had been so eloquent. But a much
stronger inducement was his hope to find an oppor-
tunity of speaking to Isabella, while he pretended
to contemplate with admiration the picture of her
great grandfather.
But this hope was rendered abortive by the pre-
sence of Miss Hollybourn, who leaning on Isabella's
arm, continued to question Orlando as to the history
of every portrait, and then made her remarks upon
it—sometimes addressing herself to the General,
and sometimes to Orlando, who were equally weary
of her, and who would both have given the world
for her absence; for Orlando dreaded her detaining
him beyond the time that he had fixed for the meet-
ing between his sister Selina and Monimia; and the
General detested her for being in the way when he
fancied he could otherwise, by some means or
other, have enjoyed that notice from Isabella which


THE old MANor House. 247
he found it so very difficult to obtain in the house
of Mr. Somerive; where, since he had spoke more
plainly to her of his passion, she had not only shun-
ned him, but had assured him that she would repeat
his conversation to her father. Twice, therefore,
he had been forced to apologize, and turn off his
professions as a joke, because he could never find
her long enough alone to allow of his using those
arguments that he thought must be successful; and
he had been eagerly solicitous to accept the invita-
tion from Mrs. Rayland, because he hoped that in
such a great house, in a day of universal festivity,
such an opportunity would be found.
Miss Hollybourn, having sufficiently shewn her
knowledge both in painting and history, and ima-
gining her auditors were amazed and edified by
both, requested to know if the house did not fur-
nish many other portraits of remarkable persons,
or pictures by eminent hands. Orlando answered
coldly, that there were some in other parts of the
house, but none particularly worthy her attention.
She desired, however, he would have the goodness
to shew her round that suit of rooms. It was the
side of the house formerly set apart for company,
but now was very rarely inhabited. The furniture
was rich, but old fashioned:—the beds were of
cut velvet or damask, with high testers, some
of them with gilt cornices:—the chairs were work-
ed, or of coloured velvets, fringed with silk and
gold, and had gilt feet:—fine japanned cabinets,
beautiful pieces of china, large glasses, and
some valuable pictures, were to be seen in every
room, which, though now so rarely inhabited, were
kept in great order; and the oak floors were so
nicely waxed, that to move upon them was more
like skating than walking.
Miss Hollybourn had something to say on every


248. THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
object she beheld. One bespoke the grandeur,
another the taste, a third the antiquity of the fa-
mily who were owners of the mansion: but still,
among all this common-place declamation, it was
easy to see that the most amiable moveable in it at
present was, in her opinion, the handsome, inte-
resting Orlando.
General Tracy, accustomed to study the fair,
perceived this immediately. He perceived too, that
Orlando disliked her as much as she seemed charm-
ed with him, and that therefore this rich heiress
would not be the means of preventing the plan they
had in agitation from taking effect. He therefore
ventured to say to him, when he had an opportunity
as they descended the great staircase—You are a
fortunate man, Sir!
Fortunate, Sir! said Orlando, who had nothing
in his head but his intended meeting with Monimia
—How do you mean fortunate 2
Nay, replied the General, most young men would,
I believe, think it fortunate to be so highly approved
of by such a young lady :
What lady, Sir! cried Orlando, in increased
alarm, and still thinking of Monimia.
Miss Hollybourn, replied the General—the ac-
complished Miss Hollybourn. -
Miss Hollybourn! exclaimed Orlando with a
contemptuous look; yet recollecting that he had
no right to despise her whether the General's con-
jecture was just or not, he added, The approbation
of such a young lady is certainly what I neither de-
sire nor deserve.
This passed as they waited on the staircase, while
Miss Hollybourn explained to the two Miss Some-
rives the Loves of Cupid and Psyche, which were
painted on the wall; though the picture was so little
illuminated by the two wax candles, carried by


250 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
Mrs. Rayland, then looking round the room,
said, Mr. Orlando Somerive, you will have the
honour of beginning the dance with Miss Holly-
bourn.
Orlando, who would have heard of an impend-
ing earthquake with as much pleasure, hesitated,
and said, My brother, Madam—my brother has a
superior claim to that happiness.
No, no, child! cried Mrs. Rayland; not at all—
you are, as it were, at home here, and therefore I
will have you begin. Besides, I don't see your
brother:—when he returns, he may take your eldest
sister; and the two youngest ladies may dance to-
gether, for I suppose you will all choose to dance.
Mrs. Somerive assented for her daughters, and
said, Perhaps, Madam, Philip is already below.
However that may be, replied Mrs. Rayland
coldly, it is quite time to begin ; the people are,
no doubt, impatient. Therefore, if you General
Tracy, and you Dr. Hollybourn, and you Mr. So-
merive, will have the kindness to see the ladies to
the hall, my people will help me thither in a few
momentS. -
The man of war, and the man of peace, now
declared how happy they should esteem themselves
to be permitted the honour of being her attendants;
but she told them only Pattenson and Lennard had
been used to it, and again desired they would con-
duct the other ladies. The General, under the
cruel necessity of offering his hand to Mrs. Some-
rive, or Mrs. Hollybourn, cast a wistful look to-
wards Isabella, and took the hand of the latter, on
seeing Mrs. Somerive conducted by the Doctor;
while Orlando, with a heavy heart, led Miss Holly-
bourn, and his sisters followed. It was now within
a quarter of an hour of the time that he had hoped
to meet his Monimia; and he saw himself tied down


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 251
to an engagement from which he feared there was
little hope of escaping in time. Philip, to whom
he most earnestly wished to transfer the little co-
veted honour designed him by his partner, appeared
not; and poor Orlando stood awaiting his arrival at
the head of fifteen or sixteen couple who were
going to dance, execrating his ill fortune, which
seemed to have brought this odious heiress on pur-
pose to disappoint him of the exquisite pleasure
with which he had on this night fondly flattered
himself—that of forming a lasting and tender friend-
ship between the sister he so fondly loved, and his
adored Monimia.
CHAPTER XXE.
At length Mrs. Rayland was seated at the upper
end of the hall, near the fire—the General placed
himself by her, and the Doctor strutted round her
—the other ladies were opposite; and the dance
began.
Poor Orlando, whose heart beat not responsive
to the music, made, however, an effort to conceal
his vexation. His partner, who had learned for
many years of the most celebrated master, exerted
all her knowledge of the art, and displayed all her
graces to attract him; while he, hardly conscious
of her existence, proceeded mechanically in the
dance; and so little penetration had the spectators,
that his absence, or distaste to what he was about,
was wholly unperceived, while Mrs. Rayland could
not help observing to the Doctor how well Orlando
erformed—Is he not, said she, a fine young man?
Indeed he is, Madam, replied the Doctor, who
had now the opening he so long wished for; a very


252 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
fine young man, I think; and he became an inch
higher as he spoke. I think indeed that this island
produces not a finer couple than your kinsman, Ma-
dam, and the daughter of your humble servant.
Mrs. Rayland, who loved not female beauty,
whether real or imaginary, did not so warmly
assent to this as the Doctor expected; who, not
discouraged, squatted himself down in the place the
General had that moment vacated (who could not
forbear walking after Isabella down the dance), and
thus proceeded:
I assure you, dear Madam, I have often spoken
most highly in praise of your sagacity and discern-
ment in electing the young Orlando as your fa-
vourite and protegé. He is a fine young man—good,
prudent and sensible; and, I am sure, grateful for
your bounty. I dare say that he will do well; for,
under your auspices, there are few men even of
consideration and fortune, who, having daughters,
would not be proud of an alliance with him.
Mrs. Rayland answered rather coldly, I believe
Mr. ði. has no thoughts of marrying—He is
yet too young.
He is young, to be sure, Madam; but, for my
own part, I must observe, that early marriages
founded, as no doubt his would be, alike on pru-
dence and inclination, generally turn out happily.
As to my own girl, undone as I and Mrs. Holly-
bourn must to be sure feel without her, I declare
to you that, though she is so young, I should not
hesitate to dispose of her, to a man of even her own
age, if I were convinced that he was a prudent,
sober young man, unlike those sad examples of
folly and extravagance that we see before our eyes
every day ; a young man who had had a virtuous
education, which in my opinion is a private one; a
young man of family and of good expectations—I


THE old MANor House. 253
say, Madam, that on such a one, though his pre-
sent fortune be unequal to Miss Hollybourn's ex-
pectations, I should not hesitate, young as she is,
and living as I do, only by gazing on her, to bestow
her with twenty thousand pounds down, and—I
will say nothing of future expectations—I am, I
bless the Father of all mercies, in a prosperous for-
tune—I have seventeen hundred a year in church
preferment; my own property, which I have re-
alised in land, is somewhat above twelve hundred.
When I have given my girl her little marriage por-
tion, I have still something handsome in the three
per cents, and in India stock a trifle more. My
brother-in-law, the bishop, has no children, and
my daughter will inherit the greatest part of his
fortune. So you see, Madam, that, to say nothing
of her personal and mental accomplishments, which
to be sure it ill becomes a father to insist upon—I
say, reckoning only her pecuniary advantages, there
are few better matches in England. -
The Doctor, who knew that Mrs. Rayland loved
money, imagined she could not fail of being at-
tracted by this history of his wealth, nor misunder-
stand his meaning in giving it: but he had for once
mistaken his ground. Mrs. Rayland, though she
loved her own money, loved nobody the better for
having or affecting to have as much. She knew
that, rich as Doctor Hollybourn now was, he began
his classical career as a servitor at Oxford; and that
his brother-in-law the bishop, from whose nepotism
his wealth and consequence had been in great mea-
sure derived, was the son of an innkeeper. Though
she always spoke highly of his piety, and his high-
church principles, she had ever contemned his efforts
to make himself be considered as a man of family:
nor did she feel much disposed to encourage any
scheme to make Orlando independent of her by
VOL. XXXVI. Z


254, Tºh E OLD MANOR HOUSE,
marriage, still less an attempt to extort from her a
decision concerning him; which, whatever her real
sentiments might be, she was not of a temper to
declare. For all these reasons she heard the con-
versation of Doctor Hollybourn very coldly, and
only said, that to be sure Miss was a very accom-
plished young lady; and having such a fine fortune,
might expect to marry in high life.
Still the Doctor was not repulsed; and fancying
that he had not yet spoken plain enough, he went
on to enlarge on his notions of happiness, and on
his views for his daughter. High life, he said, in
the common acceptation of the word, was not his
ambition. It was real domestic happiness, and not
unnecessary and unmeaning splendour, he desired
for his dear girl—a good husband untainted with
the vices and false philosophy of a dissolute age—
an handsome country residence, where she might
be received into an ancient and religious family—
were rather his objects. A title, added he, a title
has its advantages no doubt, and especially if it be
an ancient title, one that brings to the mind the
deeds of the glorious defenders of our country—
men who have shed their honourable blood in de-
fence of the Church of England, and their King—
who bled in the cause for which Laud and his sainted
master died. When I hear such names, and see
their posterity flourishing, I rejoice—When I learn
that such families, the honour of degenerate Eng-
land, are likely to be extinct, my heart is grieved.
And how should I be thankful, how feel myself
elevated, if my daughter, marrying into such a fa-
mily, should restore it, while my interest might
obtain a renewal in her posterity of the fading ho-
mours of an illustrious race
This was speaking at once pompously and plainly.
But Mrs. Rayland was more offended by the air of


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 25.5
consequence assumed by the Doctor, than flattered
by the fine things he said of her family; and she so
little concealed her displeasure, that Mrs. Some-
rive, long weary of the parading and supercilious
conversation of Mrs. Hollybourn, and who saw, by
the Doctor's frequently looking towards Orlando,
that the discourse was about him, and that Mrs.
Rayland was displeased with it, arose and came to-
wards them : she said something to Mrs. Rayland
merely with a view to break the discourse, which
was, however, immediately done much better by
the General, who, afraid of being too particular,
now left Isabella; and returning to the seat Doctor
Hollybourn had seized, he cried, Come, come, my
good Doctor, we soldiers are a little proud of our
favour with the ladies, and we do not patiently see
ourselves displaced by you churchmen. I shall not
relinquish my seat by my excellent hostess.
The Doctor then got up; and fancying, from the
softness and sweetness of Mrs. Somerive's manner,
that he should in her meet a willing auditor, and
perhaps the very best he could find for a scheme
which acquired every moment new charms in his
imagination, he asked if he should attend her to the
other end of the room to look at the dancers; to
which, as she was extremely restless and uneasy by
the long absence of her eldest son, whom she every
moment hoped to see enter, she readily assented.
The General then took possession of the post the
Doctor had quitted; and being more used to every
kind of approach, he made infinitely more progress
with Mrs. Rayland, in obtaining her consent to Or-
lando's entering the army, than the Doctor had
effected for his scheme, notwithstanding the splen-
dour of his fortune, the accomplishments of his
daughter, or his mention of his brother the bishop.
In the mean time the poor young man, who was
Z 2


256 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
rendered by Mrs. Rayland's favour an object sought
for by the divine, and by his own spirit an object of
dread to the soldier, was half distracted, and knew
not what he was about. It was now past the hour
when he had promised Monimia to bring Selina to
her; for, not expecting the unwelcome addition of
the Hollybourn family, he concluded that, after
going down a dance with one of the buxom daugh-
ters of the principal tenant, he could have slipped
away at the end of it; and whispering his mother
that he was going to shew Selina some of his draw-
ings, and how he had ornamented his little tapestry
room, that he might account for her absence, he
should have had an uninterrupted hour with his
most beloved sister and his Monimia.
Instead of this he now found himself fixed for the
whole night to Miss Hollybourn; who had already
declared that she found herself in such a humour
for dancing, and that really the whole set was so
much more tolerable than she expected, that she
should not very soon wish to sit down. Poor Or-
lando, who had no excuse to offer for quitting her,
had no hope but in the arrival of his brother, to
whom he flattered himself he might resign this un-
envied honour at least for one dance: but even this
hope was very uncertain; for Philip might perhaps
return no more to the room, or if he did, might be
unwilling to accept the felicity of dancing with
Miss Hollybourn, for he was not of a humour to
put himself out of the way for any one; and, as he
very seldom danced at all, would now, if he did join
the dancers, much more probably select for his
partner one of the handsome daughters of the te-
nants, with whom he could be more at home.
Thus the time which Orlando expected to have
passed in so different a manner wore away. In
vain he looked towards the door—no brother ar-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 257
rived to succour him. The second dance was al-
ready at an end; and Isabella, who had, with her
mother's permission, accepted the hand of a rich
young farmer, while Selina and Emma danced to-
gether, had already called a third, and was flying
down with a spirit and gaiety which quite enchanted
her ancient lover; while Orlando, who on account
of Miss Hollybourn still kept a place near the top,
was preparing with an heavy heart to follow her,
when his father, with an expression of extreme
concern on his countenance, approached, and asked
him if he knew where his brother was 2
No, Sir, indeed I do not, answered Orlando ; I
cannot even guess—but, for God's sake, give me
leave to go look for him. I see you are very un-
easy at his absence.
I am indeed, replied Mr. Somerive, and your
mother much more so.
Let me go, dear Sir, then, said Orlando eagerly.
No, no, answered his father:—Go down this
dance, and take no notice—if then he does not
come, go see if you can find him. I have been in
search of him myself, but to no purpose. I fancied
he might be in your room. I went to the library
door, for I could have sworn I heard somebody
walking there; but the door was locked, and I
called and knocked at it in vain. If Philip was
there, he had some reason—no good one, I fear—
for not answering. -
Orlando, now ready to sink into the earth, yet
unable to fly from his intolerable task, began the
dance, after having been twice called upon by his
partner; but thinking only of the terror Monimia
must have been in, while, shut up in the library, she
heard his father at the door, and overwhelmed with
vexation at being thus detained from her, he could
no longer command that portion of attention that
Z 3


258 The old MANor House.
was requisite even to the figure of the dance. But
having blundered four or five times, turned the
wrong women, and run against the men, then missed
his time, and put every body out, he said in a hur-
rying way to Miss Hollybourn, who began to be
much discomposed by his mistakes—I really beg a
thousand pardons, but Isabella's dance is so ex- .
tremely difficult I cannot go down it—I shall only
distress you, Madam, by my blunders; had we not
better go to the bottom 2
Dear Sir, cried the lady bridling, I can find no
such difficulty in it. If you would only take the
trouble to attend a moment, I am sure I could ex-
plain it to you so that you could not make a mistake.
—Now only observe—We first pass between the
second and third couples—and I lead out the two
gentlemen, and you . two ladies—then meet and
allemande—then le moulin at bottom—then I turn
the third gentleman—then you
Orlando, unable to command himself, said, still
more confusedly, No, upon my honour, I shall never
do it. I am very sorry to disappoint you, Madam;
and wish I could for this dance have recommended
you another partner. He then bowed, and was
walking away, when she bounced after him.
You don't imagine there is any other person
here, cried she, biting the end of her fan—I hope
you don't imagine there is any body else here with
whom I shall dance 1 -
Pardon me, Madam, said Orlando, taking her
hand; here is my elder brother, who has even a
better right to that honour than I have. At this
moment his eyes were gratified by the sight of
Philip, to whom he, without waiting for Miss Holly-
bourn's answer, led her, and cried, Dear Phil, here
am I in the most awkward distress imaginable;
Miss Hollybourn wishes to dance this dance down,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 259
and I am so stupid I cannot do the figure. I am
sure you will be very happy to supply my place.
Philip, who was never much disposed to sacrifice
his own pleasure to the gratification of others, and
who had schemes of his own on foot, answered with
less than his usual ceremony (for he was never
more polite for having drank a good deal):
A-hey, Sir Rowland who told you so? How
the devil should I, who am no dancer, execute
what is too difficult for so perfect a caperer as thou
art—Sir Knight?
Mortified beyond endurance at being thus reject-
ed, Miss Hollybourn, disengaging her hand with
an angry jerk from Orlando's, said haughtily—Pray,
Mr. Orlando, spare yourself this trouble; I am con-
tent to sit still. She then walked away; and Or-
lando, not giving himself time to consider what he
did, said in a whisper to Philip—If you have any
compassion, my dear Phil, take her for this dance
—I will be grateful, believe me, and will not desire
to punish you with her above half an hour.
D—n her, a little carroty pug-nosed moppet !
cried Philip, as ugly and as insolent as the devil
—why should I take the trouble to humour her?
It will oblige me beyond expression, answered
Orlando; it will oblige my father and mother.
Philip just then recollecting that he was upon his
good behaviour, agreed, though with an ill grace;
and Orlando eagerly carrying him up to Miss Hol-
lybourn, who sat fanning herself and swelling at
the top of the room, began a speech, in which he
blundered worse than he had done in dancing; but
Philip took it out of his hands, and said—Madam,
I am so much in an habit, in this house, of giving
the pas to my brother here, Sir Rowland, that I
really dared not aspire to the honour of your fair
hand till I perfectly understood that he had relin-


260 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
quished it for the present dance; but as he has
now explained himself, if you will allow me the
bliss of being his double, I will acquit myself to
the best of my poor abilities; and if you, charming
Miss Hollybourn, will deign to instruct me, you
shall find, that under so lovely a preceptress I shall
make up in docility for deficiency of practice.
Miss Hollybourn had so little natural sense
among all her acquirements, that this speech, which
from its substance, and still more from the manner
of its delivery, was evidently meant in ridicule,
seemed to her to be very polite, and made very
much in earnest. She therefore, casting a look to-
wards Orlando, much less sweet than those she had
favoured him with towards the beginning of the
evening, assented with a smirk to the proposal of
his brother—and immediately joined the dancers;
while Orlando, trembling lest some new interrup-
tion should again deprive him of the sight of Mo-
mimia, hastened to find Selina, to whom he beck-
oned, and whispered to her to come round another
way, where he would meet her, that their going
out together might not be remarked. He changed
his mind about speaking to his mother, fearing lest
she should propose going too, if the object was
only to shew Selina his room; and he thought it
better to risk an inquiry after Selina, which per-
haps might not be made, or, if it were, might easily
be answered.
It was the custom on these occasions for the in-
ferior servants not to come into the hall till the
Lady and her company, if she happened to have
any, were withdrawn. When the business of the
dinner and tea tables was over, they became spec-
tators from a railed gallery, which over the en-
trance to the hall made a communication between
the principal apartments above, Here the upper


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 261
house-maid, the footmen, and the cook had been
stationed—Betty, (most superb in red ribbands)
not quite so long as the rest.
Monimia had been forbidden by Mrs. Lennard to
appear at all during any part of the evening; an
injunction which she was not at all disposed to dis-
obey. She was far, therefore, from envying Betty,
who came into her room all in a flutter, as soon
as she was dressed, to shew her finery, and descant
on the pleasure she expected in dancing when
Madam was gone, and the gentlefolks, and boast-
ing how many solicitations she had already had
from the young men. Monimia, glad to get her
out of the room, thought only of fulfilling her en-
gagement with Orlando, and of the pleasure and
comfort of being made known to one of his sisters;
yet her timidity and diffidence made her fear this
interview as much as she wished it. Unconscious
of the interesting sweetness of her countenance, and
the simple graces of her form, she feared lest Selina
might think her brother's affection ill placed, and
blame his attachment to an object of so little merit.
Under these impressions, she would have given
herself all the advantages that dress afforded; but
her scanty wardrobe left her very little choice, and
she had no means of varying her appearance from
what it usually was—a white muslin gown being the
utmost of her finery. She took care, however, to
dispose her hair in the most becoming manner she
could; and having finished her little toilet, she de-
scended with a palpitating heart and a light step to
the part of the house through which she was to
pass in going to the Study. It was now empty, for
all the servants were in the gallery, waiting the de-
parture of their Lady, to join the festivity of the
night; and Monimia glided through the north
wing, which was never at any time inhabited, and


262 THE OLD M A NOR HOUSE.
without any misadventure reached the Study, where
she waited in trembling suspense the arrival of Or-
lando and Selina.
Every body being engaged in the middle of the
house, that part of it was as silent as if there was
no bustle in the other, except the distant sound of
the music in the great hall, to which Monimia, with
the door of the Study a-jar, involuntarily listened;
when she was suddenly alarmed by a voice in the
adjoining parlour, talking and laughing, and appa-
rently romping, and a man's voice answering in a
half whisper, and begging of the first person, whom
she knew to be Betty, to be more quiet. As her
being discovered in Orlando's Study would have
ruined her peace for ever, she shut-to the door as
softly as she could, and turned the key. The con-
versation between the two people without appeared
to be so animated, that she flattered herself they
did not hear her; but as she still remained listen-
ing at the door, hardly daring to breathe, her ter-
ror was increased by hearing them approach and
attempt to open it. Egad! it is locked, cried a
voice which Monimia then first discovered to be
young Somerive:—Does Sir Rowland always lock
his door?
Generally he does, replied the other, but I dare
say among the house keys there's one that will
open it—yet, hang it, don't let us try. He'll come
perhaps, and that you know will be very disagree-
able.
He come ! said Philip—No, no, he's safe º
—He dares as well jump into the fire as quit the
post where the old woman has placed him—Come,
come—see if there's no other key will open this
door. Besides, as to his coming, what should he
come here for 2 'Tis more likely, if he can get
away, he'll go to visit Miss in the turret.


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 263
Lord! cried Betty, how you have that notion
stuffed in your head—when I tell you again and
again, he no more meets Miss, as you calls her,
than the child unborn. Sure I should know
She a poor innocent silly thing! I don't believe
he takes any account of her But hush Oh
geminil who's there?
The voice of the elder Somerive was now heard,
calling aloud in the passage leading to the parlour
they were in for his eldest son. Philip ! cried he,
Philip !—where are you?
'Tis my father, said Philip—Cannot we get out
without meeting him?
Oh yes, replied Betty; follow me, and don't
speak for all the world.
She then opened another door which led out into
the garden, which, as Orlando usually came in that
way, was seldom locked; and as all this had passed
in the dark, they glided away unperceived—not
a moment however before Mr. Somerive, entering
with a candle the room they had quitted, gave a
new alarm to the terrified Monimia. Mr. Somerive,
who had heard the footsteps of the fugitives as they
left the parlour, imagined somebody was walking in
the Study—Hetherefore tried the door, on the other
side of which poor Monimia still stood trembling,
and again loudly called on Philip Somerive; en-
treating him, if he was there, to answer him, and re-
presenting all the ill consequences of his thus dis-
appearing abruptly, after having been received into
an house where he had before given offence, but
where it was so material for him to be thought well
of. No answer however was returned; and at
length Monimia heard Mr. Somerive close his fruit-
less remonstrance with a deep sigh, and depart.
These repeated alarms now seemed to subside,
and a dead silence ensued, but still Orlando came


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 265.
mess and in dread, and, though I do nothing wrong,
undergo the terrors and alarms of guilt. But, do I
not act wrong? Alas! I am afraid I do—It must be
wrong to carry on a clandestine correspondence,
to meet by stealth a young man whom his friends
would discard were they to know he met me at all
—It must surely be wrong to incur imputations from
which, if once they are believed, it is impossible
I can ever be vindicated wrong to let Orlando
hazard, for me, the loss of Mrs. Rayland's favour—
and wrong to put myself in the way of being be-
lieved no better than the servant, of whose light
conduct I have seen so many instances, besides
that which this moment happened, of her privately
meeting Mr. Philip Somerive. How could I bear
to be thought of by others as I think of her 1 and
yet I seem to act as culpably. Oh Orlando! surely
if you thought of this, you, who are so generous,
so anxious for my happiness, would never expose
me to it. Yet we must meet thus, or never meet
at all! and could I bear to be deprived of seeing
him for the little, the very little time that is yet to
pass before he is sent from hence—never—never
perhaps to return?
This sad idea filled her eyes with tears; and she
was not recovered from the agony into which it
threw her, when she again heard footsteps in the
parlour—Somebody trode lightly along. Monimia
listened, and fancied there was more than one per-
son—Immediately the lock was turned; and the
door being fastened, a voice, which she recognized
with joy for that of Orlando, said, in a half-whisper:
Monimial are you not there? It is Selina and I–
open the door therefore without apprehension. Mo-
nimia remembered, with affright, that the voices of
the two brothers bore a great resemblance to each
"other, and she again hesitated. But Orlando speak-
WOL. XXXVI. A A


266 The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ing louder, and her recollecting that his brother
could not know that Selina was to accompany him,
she, though with trembling apprehension, turned
the key, and Orlando and his sister appeared.
Let me, cried he, as he put Monimia into the
arms of Selina—let me unite in bonds of everlasting
friendship the two loveliest and most beloved of
beings! Selina tried to say, Whoever is dear to Or-
lando is so to me, and I rejoice in thus being allow-
ed to say so. But, though she had innocently
studied the sentence, she was too much confused to
make it articulate; and Monimia was quite unable
to speak at all. In a moment, however, Orlando,
attempting to hide the uneasy flutter of his own
thoughts, approached them with a candle which he
had lit at the embers of his fire; and, reminding
them how short their interview must be, bade them
both sit down—and let us, added he, endeavour to
enjoy moments so brief and so precious.
==
CHAPTER XXII.
SELINA, as timid, and almost as new to the world
as Monimia herself, was too much terrified at the
risk Orlando ran, and at what she herself hazarded,
to be soon composed. She could hardly, indeed,
have been in greater trepidation had she escaped
from the company to have met a lover of her own.
Her eyes, however, were occupied in examining the
face and figure of Monimia; and no feminine envy
induced her to deny the existence of that beauty
or sweetness of which Orlando had said so much
She even thought Monimia more lovely than her
brother had described her, yet she saw i. to little
advantage; for, the alarming situation she had been


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 267
in for almost an hour and a half, the apprehension
lest Orlando should not come, the reflections which
arose while she waited for him, and the emotion
with which she now for the first time beheld his
sister, had robbed her fair cheeks of their tender
bloom; her eyes were swollen, and her voice was
faultering and faint. Orlando seated her near
Selina, and, sitting down by them, threw one arm
round each of them: and, looking with a smile on
both, said, Why, what silent girls you are Selina!
is it thus you greet your new friend? You who
will talk to me of her for an hour, and never ceased
soliciting of me to contrive this unhoped-for meet-
ing? And you, Monimia! Come, come, I must have
you more conversable. Let us consider, my dear
girls, how you may meet hereafter; for, without
accomplishing that, the present meeting will only
serve to tantalize us all.
The tears, which she had for a moment restrain-
ed, again filled the eyes of Monimia. But, turning
them tenderly on Orlando, she sighing said, Ah
how can I hope your sister Selina, amiable and in-
dulgent as she seems, will again incur, for me, ha-
zard which I see now makes her tremble, and fears
which I myself can hardly endure? Indeed, Orlan-
do, if you did but know what I have suffered since I
waited here in expectation of your coming !—I
know it, cried Orlando, imagining she alluded to
his father's having been at the door of the study—
But luckily you had taken the precaution to lock
the door; which I, little suspecting that this part
of the house would be visited, had neglected to de-
sire. So, as my father neither saw nor suspected
any thing but that my brother was in this room,
there is no harm done, nor any thing to fear.
Monimia sighed, but thought it was improper,
before Selina, to repeat the dialogue that she had
A A 2


268 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
heard between Mr. Philip Somerive and his female
companion. She was far, however, from believing
there was nothing to fear; and their short confer-
ence was to her embittered with the dread of a dis-
covery, which she could not conquer. Selina, trust-
ing to the judgment of her brother, and desirous
of obliging him, succeeded better in conquering the
restraint she had at first felt; and, charmed with the
voice, the manner and person of Monimia, she eager-
ly entered into his views, and talked over the means
by which they might sometimes meet, if, as was too
probable, invincible obstacles continued to be op-
posed to their seeing each other by the consent of
Mr. and Mrs. Somerive—that of Mrs. Rayland
could not be asked, and that of Mrs. Lennard they
were sure would not be granted.
In this conversation Orlando spoke of what was
to happen when he was gone, in terms that signified
how certain he was that he should go. Monimia's
heart sunk as he repeated, When I am not here, I
cannot see that there can be any objection to your
openly seeing my sisters.-Alas! thought she, what
wretched company shall we then be to each other!
yet to see the sisters of Orlando will always be a
comfort to me. Selina too heard with extreme pain
the frequent mention he made of his departure;
and having, from many observations she had made
on the behaviour of General Tracy, during his re-
sidence of almost five weeks in her father's house,
conceived a very unfavourable opinion of him—her
dislike amounted almost to detestation when she
considered him as being the principal mover of the
plan which was thus to rob her of her beloved
brother. Whatever she thought of his conduct in
other respects, she had the prudence to keep to
herself, and affected to dislike him only on account
of Orlando. -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 269
Among the various little schemes which were
considered for the future acquaintance of Selina
and Monimia, none seemed sufficiently safe to be
adopted without farther consideration; but Orlando
promised to think of them all, and to acquaint them
both with the result of his reflections. It was by
this time necessary to part—Orlando proposed
leading his sister back to the room, and carrying
her immediately to his mother, to tell her that she
had been in his apartment, that any surprize ex-
cited by her absence might be ended without far-
ther inquiry; while Monimia hoped to find her way
back to her own room, as safely as she had before
traversed the house in her way from it.
They were then reluctantly bidding adieu, when
they were thunderstruck by an attempt from without
to force open the door. Orlando, thrown for a mo-
ment entirely off his guard, turned pale; and cast-
ing towards Monimia a look of anguish and terror,
he cried, Who can it be? what shall we do?—The
tender timid Monimia had at this instant more pre-
sence of mind than he had: Let me go, said she,
into your bedchamber—there I can lock myself in:
then ask who it is; and, if it is one who has a
right to inquire into your actions, open the door,
and let him see you are sitting here with your sister.
There was not a moment to deliberate, for the
person without still tried to open the door. Or-
lando waved his hand to Monimia to execute her
project:-she glided away, and shut after her the
door, which was hung on both sides with tapestry
and shut without noise, while Orlando demanded, in
a loud and angry voice, who was at the door, and
what was their business? At first a feigned voice
answered, Open the door, good friends, and you
shall know our business. Orlando answered, I shall
not open it till I know to whom 5–and then a vio-
A A 3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 271
Well, then, cried this tormentor, as I am cursed
tired, my dear knight, and have got a devilish
headach, prithee, when thou art gone, lend me
thy apartment for half an hour's quiet. I've pro-
mised George Green and half a dozen more of them,
to meet them by and by in Pattenson's room, and
make out the night according to good old custom;
and if I get a nap while the sober party, the cats
and the kittens, are trundling off, I shall escape
all the plaguy formality of—Wish you good night,
dear ma'am!—hope you'll catch no cold !—shall
be glad to hear you got home safe!—most agree-
able evening indeed!—wish we may meet here
this time twelvemonth l—and such mawkish cant;
and I shall be as fresh as morning to meet the
good fellows by and by—So, come, Sir Rowly,
lend me your bed for a little. , I'll send in pretty
Betty, added he leering, to make it for you before
you come to bed.
Orlando, fearing, from this strange proposal, his
brother was aware how impossible it was for him
to grant it, now looked more confused than ever,
and said very peevishly, You are so drunk now,
Philip, that it will be much wiser and more decent
for you to go home directly—I at least will have
nothing to do with your stay. Come, Selina, let
us go—Philip, I will follow you.
No, indeed you will not replied he, sitting
himself down by the fire. If you won't lend me
your bed, you will at least let me have a chair.
I will leave nobody in my room, said Orlando
warmly.
What I hast got any bank-notes? has thy old
woman given thee a little hoard? Egad she has
—I've a good mind to rummage, that I may know
what brotherly help thou couldst give in case of a
bad run.


272 The old MANon house.
This is insupportable ! cried Orlando :—What
shall I do with him? whispered he to Selina. Poor
Selina, unable to advise, was in as great conster-
mation as the half distracted Orlando, who walked
about the room a moment, considering by what
means he could disengage himself from this trou-
blesome visitor; but unable to think of any, he
was beginning, in mere despair, to expostulate with
him anew, when the approach of other persons
was heard in the parlour; and Mr. Somerive him-
self, apparently in great displeasure, entered the
Library.
Orlando! cried he, Philip ! Selina what is all
this? to what purpose are ye all here?—Selina
your mother is much amazed at your absence.
Orlando, then collecting his scattered thoughts,
related, that he had j, brought Selina thither
for a few moments to shew her his apartments, which
she had never seen; and that while they were sit-
ting quietly together, Philip, whose situation, Sir,
you see, said he, came in, and I could not prevail
upon him to leave us, or to suffer us to return al-
together to the company.
Mr. Somerive, now speaking with an air of au-
thority and concern to his eldest son, received only
an account of his request to Orlando, which, he in-
sisted upon it, was a very reasonable one. You
are indeed, said his father, fit only to go to bed;
but it must not be in Mrs. Rayland's house—you
must come, Sir, with me.
Young Somerive then arose to obey; for his
father, when he was present, and had resolution
to be peremptory, still retained some power over
him. He staggered however so much that he was
unable to proceed. Mr. Somerive bade Orlando
assist him, which he was willing enough to do;
but as Philip leaned upon him is whispered, Sir


THE OF.D. MANOR HOUST. 273
Knight! if I can give the reverend senior the slip,
I will still have my nap, and finish the evening
with those joyous souls; d-me if I don't
This threat terrified Orlando more than ever;
he knew how likely it was to be executed; and
therefore, in the hope that he might be able pre-
sently to return and release Monimia. whose longer
absence from her room might be attended with the
most alarming consequences, he hastily determined
to lock the study door, and thus convince his
brother that his scheme of returning thither, to
which he saw he adhered either with the stupid
obstinacy of intoxication, or disguising, under its
appearance, knowledge more destructive, was im-
practicable. He, therefore, as soon as they were
all out of the room, locked the door, and, saying
aloud he had done so, he proceeded before his
father, with a candle in his hand, to the apartment
where Mrs. Rayland, much fatigued with the
exertions of the evening, was taking leave of her
guests. Philip, who seemed by no means in a
condition to appear before her, had been con-
signed, in the way, to the care of one of the men-
servants, who had seated him by the fire in a pas-
sage parlour, where he was in a few moments fast
asleep.
Mrs. Somerive, to whom Selina's absence was
easily accounted for, gently chid her for not saying
whither she was going; and the long ceremonies
of good-night on all hands being at length over,
Orlando handed to her coach the nymph whom
he had, in her opinion, so ungallantly forsaken.
He found her so much hurt at being made over to
his brother, who probably had not acquitted him-
self to her satisfaction, that he found it necessary
to apologize, at which however he was extremely
awkward, assuring her, with much hesitation, that


274. THE old MANor House.
he was not aware that she would so soon quit the
dancing-room, and that he flattered himself with
the expectation of being honoured with her hand
in a dance, where he could acquit himself in a
manner more worthy so excellent a partner.
The lady received his excuses with coldness
and disdain; but the Doctor, who heard, seemed
more willing to accept them in good part. I never
suspected, Sir, cried the consequential Divine,
that, with your understanding, you could fail to
appreciate the lady whose hand you held—It is
not the fond partiality of the father, but common
candour, which leads me to say, that of equals
she has few in merit, superiors none. I hope we
shall meet here again, Mr. Orlando; and that we
shall see you, with good Mr. and Mrs. Somerive,
and their fine family, at Combe Park. Good Mrs.
Rayland, I heartily hope, that most worthy lady,
who bears her years surprisingly well, will be
able, before the winter's rigorous advances lay
an embargo on valetudinarians; I say, I hope my
excellent old friend will fix on some day to grace
our poor abode, and sacrifice with us to the hospi-
table deities.
Orlando bowed his assent to a speech which he
began to fear would last all night.—No effort of
inis, however, could have stopped the stream of the
Doctor's eloquence, when once it began to flow;
but fortunately Mrs. Hollybourn found it cold,
and said peevishly, Dear Doctor you keep Ann
in a thorough air—Pray consider—she has been
dancing, and I tremble for the effects of such a
current of air
Blessings on your care thought Orlando, who
was in the most extreme uneasiness all this time,
lest Monimia, who he knew could not escape from
his room, should be missed in her own. The
-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 276
parade, however, that was yet made before this
family were seated in their carriage, took up
several minutes more; and even when Orlando
had at length the satisfaction to see them driven
from the door, he was compelled to attend to the
disposal of his father, his mother, his four sisters,
and the General, who could not for some time
settle how they should return—the General being
solicitous to take two of the young ladies in his
post-chaise, to which Mrs. Somerive very perem-
torily objected, to the amazement of her husband,
who, not having the least idea of her motives,
cried, Bless me, my dear; it will be better surely
to put any two of the girls under the care of
General Tracy, than to crowd him with me and
Philip, who, if we can find him, is not, I fear, in
a state to travel without incommoding his compan-
ions.—Well, them, replied Mrs. Somerive, frighten-
ed at having said more than she intended, I will
have the pleasure of going in the General's car-
riage, and Emma can sit between us without in-
convenience. In this arrangement the General
was obliged to acquiesce, and even to appear
pleased with it, though it baffled the schemes he
had been laying the whole evening. This second
carriage then departed; and now Orlando, who
could well have left his sisters in the care of his
father, would have flown to his imprisoned Mo-
mimia—But a new difficulty arose: his brother,
for whom search had been making, as well in the
room where he had been left sleeping, as in every
other part of the house that had been opened for
company, was no where to be found.
The Somerive family had all taken their leave of
Mrs. Rayland, and waited in a parlour near the
hall. Mr. Somerive now expressed great alarm at
the ill success of those inquiries that had been made


276 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
after his eldest son. Perhaps, Sir, said Orlando–
perhaps my brother, finding himself, when he
awoke, unfit to appear, is gone home on foot. Or-
lando had indeed very different conjectures; and,
in the whole tenor of his behaviour that evening,
found reason to fear that he had but too positive
information relative to Monimia, and was deter-
mined to detect her. This apprehension, and the
dread of her being missed by her aunt, who would
in all probability visit her room as soon as the com-
pany were dispersed, gave to Orlando's manner
such wildness and confusion as increased the dis-
tress of his father. Orlando repeated, I am per-
suaded, Sir, Philip is gone home—I dare say you
may yourself return quite easy.
Are you so easy yourself then? answered Mr.
Somerive—I think not, Orlando, from your coun-
tenance. Even admitting that my son has walked
homeward, and will not commit any impropriety
which shall expose him, or injure him in the opinion
of Mrs. Rayland, is there nothing to fear for the
safety of a man who has such a road to travel, in
such a state?
Let me, Sir, go then, and seek for him on that
road; and do you, I entreat you, return home and
make yourself easy. A longer delay will not only
alarm my mother, but occasion inquiries on the
part of Mrs. Rayland, who will probably hear of
it by her servants;—nor can it indeed answer any
purpose, since every search that can be made has
already been made within the house.
Have you the key of your own apartment?
I have, Sir, replied Orlando, trembling lest his
father was about to ask for it. I locked the door
of the Study when we all left it together.
He cannot therefore be there, said Mr. Somerive,
musing—I cannot conjecture where he can be


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 277
Pray, Sir, cried Orlando, pray be composed,
and suffer me to go the park-way homeward—I am
persuaded my brother is safe.
He does not indeed, said Mr. Somerive with a
deep sigh—he does not deserve the solicitude I feel
for him. Orlando, on you I depend for finding
and conducting him home.
Orlando solemnly assured his father and his sisters
that he would do so; and as their remaining longer
at the Hall contributed nothing towards relieving
their uneasiness, they at length determined to go.
When they were gone, Orlando hoped that the
alarms of the night were over, and that Mrs. Len-
nard, as the tenants and all the servants were still
dancing in the hall, would not have time to think
of the usual ceremony of locking Monimia's door
at ten o'clock. It was now however twelve.
With a palpitating heart then he went to find her.
She was still locked in his bedchamber, where,
half distracted by fears of every kind, she had had
sufficient time to reflect on all the hazards she in-
curred by these clandestine meetings with Orlando;
and sometimes determined, if she escaped detection
this time, never to be prevailed upon to venture it
again.—Then the sad recollection, that he would
soon cease to ask it, and that, if she did not meet
him thus, she must relinquish the pleasure of ever
speaking to him at all, shook the resolution which
fear and prudence united to produce;—and she al-
most wished, dreadful as it would at the moment be,
that a discovery might compel them to the expedi-
ent Orlando once named—that of their flying toge-
ther, and trusting to Providence for the rest.
WOL., XXXVI, B 3


278 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
CHAPTER XXIII.
ORLANDo found Monimia alarmed and dejected;
but hardly giving himself time to re-assure her, and
account for his long absence, he besought her to
hasten to her room—I hope, said he, and believe
the house is quite uninhabited on this side still, for
all the servants are in the hall. My brother is miss-
ing, and I have promised my father to find him
and conduct him home. What a taskſ for I know
not where to look for him; not a moment must be
lost, since my family are in such cruel alarms.
However, I will wait here, my Monimia, till I
think you are safe in your turret, and then set out
—I know not whither—on this search.
Monimia hastened to do as he desired. But is
Betty, said she, in the hall? I have reasons, which
I have not now time to explain, for believing they
are together. I know not, answered Orlando, whose
fears every moment increased; I care not what
happens if you are but once in safety.
Monimia then with light and timid steps passed
through the adjoining parlour. She found all that
end of the house deserted, and regained the long
passage which led from her turret to the apartment
of her aunt. All was quiet; and she flattered her-
self that Mrs. Lennard, occupied by the attention
necessary to be shewn to the guests, had for once
omitted the ceremony of locking the doors of that
part of the house, and particularly hers, at the usual
hour. In this hope she tripped along the passage,
and had just reached the door of her own room,
when Mrs. Lennard, with a candle in her hand,
appeared at the other end. There was no hope of
escape—She stood trembling, unable to open the
lock, which she held in her hand; while her aunt


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 27
with a hasty step and an angry countenance ad-
vanced towards her—Hey-day, Madam! cried Mrs.
Lennard, pray, what makes you here 2 so dressed
too, I assure you! I thought I had ordered you not
to leave your room. Pry'thee, Miss, where have
you been 2 and how have you dared to disobey my
orders ?
Dear aunt, cried the affrighted Monimia, in a
voice almost inarticulate through fear—Dear auntſ
be not so very angry—Every year till now you
were so good as to give me leave to go into the hall
gallery to look at the dancers for a quarter of an
hour. I dressed myself in hopes that some time in
the evening I should see you to ask leave—it grew
very late, you did not come to my room, and so—
And so, hussey, you left it without, did you?—
Monimia, unwilling to advance another direct false-
hood, remained silent; and Mrs. Lennard, fixing
her fierce inquiring eyes upon her, said sternly,
Monimia, there is something in your conduct which
I do not understand—I suspect that you are a very
wicked girl—I have had hints given me more than
once, that you are imposing upon me, and ruining
yourself.
How can I impose upon you, Madam? said Mo-
mimia, who, believing the crisis of her fate was now
approaching, tried to collect a little spirit—How
can I impose upon you? Do you not always confine
me to my room, and have I any means of leaving
it without your consent?
That is what I am determined to discover, cried
Mrs. Lennard—(Monimia became paler than be-
fore)—You have a false key, or you have some
other means of getting out—However, it is not at
present a time to inquire into this. Go now, Ma-
dam, to your room, and to your bed. Having seen
you here is enough to convince me, that the intel-
B B 2


280 THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE.
ligence I have had given me is not without grounds.
Come, Miss, as you may perhaps choose to set out
again—if you have, as I suspect, the means of
opening the door—I shall wait here till you are in
bed, and take away the candle.
Monimia, who dreaded nothing so much as that
Orlando might ascend the secret stairs, in order to
inquire if she was safe, while her aunt was yet with
her, hastened to undress herself; and as she feared
that, if all were silent in her room, Orlando might
speak without the door, which would inevitably dis-
cover them at once, she wished, for the first time
in her life, that the copious stream of eloquence
with which the pleasure of scolding always supplied
Mrs. Lennard might now continue in full force—she
therefore contrived to say something which she ima-
gined would produce this, and she succeeded. Pro-
voked at Monimia's attempt to excuse or defend
herself, and impatient at being kept from the party
below, in which she considered herself, now that
her lady and the guests were withdrawn, as the
first figure, Mrs Lennard spared not her lungs, nor
was she very nice in the choice of those epithets
which most forcibly expressed heranger against her
niece. In the midst of this harangue, Orlando, im-
patient to know whether Monimia was safe, and un-
able to set out in search of his brother till he had
obtained this satisfaction, softly ascended the nar-
row stairs, and in a moment was convinced that all
their escapes, during this perilous evening, had
ended in a complete discovery of their intelligence;
for to nothing less could he impute the fury in which
Mrs. Lennard appeared to be. Under this impres-
sion, his spirits and temper quite exhausted by the
various perverse accidents that had within a few
hours befallen him—irritated by frequent disap-
pointment, and indignant at the insults to which he


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 281
believed Monimia was at the moment exposed, he
was on the point of bursting into the room, declaring
his affection for her, and meeting at once the invec-
tives of her aunt, the renunciation of all his hopes
from Mrs. Rayland, and the displeasure of his own
family. He blamed himself for not having before
taken a step which, whatever might be its future
consequence, would at least be decisive, and save
Monimia from those cruel alarms and distressing
conflicts to which his love had so long made her
liable. But at the moment that his hand was lifted
to execute this rash purpose, the storm within seem- .
ed to abate: he heard Mrs. Lennard say—I assure
you, that the very next time I see or hear the least
grounds for believing you are carrying on such a
correspondence, that day shall be the last of your
stay under this roof. This gave Orlando hope that
they might not be absolutely discovered; and at
the same moment the idea of his father made more
unhappy, and deploring the fate that gave him two
sons equally careless of their duty—of his beloved
and affectionate motherweeping at the disobedience
of her children—arose forcibly to check his preci-
pitate resolution. He hesitated; he listened; Mrs.
Lennard spoke lower, but still in a tone of remon-
strance and reproach. He determined to wait to
speak to Monimia after her departure, but she seem-
ed not likely to depart ; and as he attentively lis-
tened to what he could not now very exactly distin-
guish, the terms in which she expressed her indig-
nation, he heard several voices calling him in the
park. This was a new alarm—To issue from the
lower part of the turret at such an hour, when it
was impossible he could have any business there,
was not to be thought of: yet the door was not
closed, and he believed it not improbable that the
people whom he apprehended were in search of his
B B 3


282 the old MANor House.
brother, might at length seek him there; as his in-
toxication, when he was missing, might lead them
to imagine that he might have gone into some of
the buildings and have fallen aleep. He descended,
therefore, and waited at the door. The voices were
now at a distance; and apparently being near the
apartment of Mrs. Rayland, the P. who had
before called aloud were afraid of disturbing her.
He seized this opportunity of escaping; and, follow-
ing the sound, which was still heard at intervals,
he met at length the groom and the under footman,
who told him that Mr. Philip Somerive had return-
ed about a quarter of an hour before into the room,
where he was now so extremely riotous that he had
got into a quarrel with one of the young farmers;
that he had stripped to box; and that every inter-
position of theirs only served to enrage him more.
They therefore besought Orlando to return into the
hall, that he might appease and prevail upon his
brother to go home; for that their lady, already
alarmed by the noise, had sent down orders to have
the house immediately shut up, and for the people
to depart. A thousand times during the course of
this evening had poor Orlando execrated his own
folly, that had thus brought his brother into an
house, where, while he had been such an unceasing
torment to him, he had probably effectually ruined
himself. But there was now not a moment to give
way to these repentant reflections. He hastened
therefore into the room, where his brother, awaken-
ed from the stupor of drunkenness into its most
extravagant phrensy, had taken some offence at a
young man of the company, and was now withheld
only by the united strength of three stout farmers
from fighting. Orlando for some time argued and
implored in vain. The fury of Philip only chang-
ed its object, and was directed against him. But


The OLD MANOIt house. 233
with his opponent, whose blunt English spirit was
not, as he declared, at all disposed to yield tame-
ly to the insults of any 'squire, no not the biggest
'squire in the king's dominions, the cool reasoning
of Orlando had more effect. He soothed then this
justly offended frustic, and, promising that Philip
should hereafter acknowledge the impropriety of
his behaviour, he prevailed on him to depart with
Pattenson and some other of the men into another
room; and then his brother being almost exhausted,
and relapsing again into stupidity, Orlando wished
to conduct him home. This was, however, on con-
sideration, found to be impossible;” for he was
equally unable to ride or walk, even with the assist-
ance which Orlando was very ready to lend him.
In this dilemma nothing remained but to put him
into his own bed; where, being at a great distance
from Mrs. Rayland, there was no probability of her
knowing the state to which his intemperance had
reduced him. This then he determined to do.
Pattenson and a party of the men who were in ha-
bits of drinking had already withdrawn: the women
were huddling away to their respective homes;
and Orlando, with the help of the groom, carried off
the almost senseless Philip to his own bedchamber,
where he left him on his bed; and then, harrassed
and unhappy as he was, fatigued with all that had
happened, and torn to pieces with anxiety about
Monimia, he yet had another task to perform, which
he felt, however painful, to be necessary—and this
was, to walk to West Wolverton, that by his ac-
count of Philip he might quiet the fears of his
father as to his personal safety.
He arrived there, quite worn out with uneasiness;
and the pale countenance and dishevelled hair with
which he entered the parlour, seemed to confirm all
the fears with which the unfortunate Somerive had


284. The OLD MANOR HOUSE.
been tormented on account of his eldest son. He
found him walking backwards and forwards in the
parlour, listening to every noise; and he had pass-
ed the whole interval in this manner, except that he
had now and then gone up stairs to his wife, whom
he had prevailed upon to go to bed, to persuade her
to mitigate those fears under which he was himself
agonized. At this juncture the appearance of Or-
lando, whose looks seemed to speak only of some
sad catastrophe, deprived his father for a moment of
the power of asking what intelligence he brought;
and when he could speak, it was only to say—Or-
lando! your brother? He is safe, dear Sir, answer-
ed Orlando; pray be not thus alarmed. Relate
then, cried Mr. Somerive in an eager voice, relate
where he is—wretched boy! Indeed, Sir, said Or-
lando, extremely shocked at the look and manner of
his father, you consider this matter more seriously
than it deserves, and are more alarmed than the
occasion seems to require. He then related what
had happened, softening however his brother's folly
as much as he could ; and assured his father that he
would take care Philip should return in the morn-
ing, and that Mrs. Rayland should be kept igno-
rant of the confusion his intemperance had occa-
sioned.
You are a noble and excellent creature, Orlando,
cried Somerive, with a sigh as if his heart would
break; but God knows what will become of your
unhappy brother. . This relapse into debauchery,
so degrading, awakens all my fears—fears, which
a little subsided on his unexpected return home.
But it is not an hour, my dear boy, to detain you
with the misery that I see awaits us all. Since you
have given up your bed to Philip, I desire you will
take one here, while I hasten to quiet the anxiety
which has almost overcome your poor mother,
S


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 285
who imagined nothing less than that her son was
drowned, or that some other horrid calamity had
befallen him.
Mr. Somerive then departed; and Orlando,
though somewhat comforted by having the power
to relieve the sad solicitude of his parents, was
infinitely too uneasy to feel any inclination to sleep,
though he was so greatly fatigued. It was by this
time daylight; and, after some reflection, he re-
solved to return back to the Hall, and to await in
the library the hour when he should be delivered
from the unwelcome inmate whom he had been
compelled to admit. Every other anxiety however
that assailed him was unfelt, when he thought of the
situation in which he had left Monimia. The harsh
tones in which the threats of Mrs. Lennard were
delivered still rung in his ears; and his fancy repre-
sented the lovely victim of her ill humour drowned
in tears, yielding to despair, and perhaps recol-
lecting with anguish and regret the moments she
had given to his importunate love. It was broad
day by the time he returned to the Hall, and the
workmen and gardeners were dispersed about the
house. He dared not therefore indulge himself with
another visit to the turret; but having with some
difficulty obtained admittance from the tired and
sleepy servants, he wrapped himself in his great
coat, and sat down in the Study, where he easily dis-
covered, by the loud snoring from the adjoining
room, that Philip was sleeping away the effects of
the powerful draughts of the preceding night. Or-
lando, half tempted to envy the state of forget-
fulness into which he had fallen, occupied himself
in reflecting on the strange and perverse accidents
of the evening, in which he and Mominia had
trembled so often on the brink of discovery-per-
haps were discovered, just at the time when they


286 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
had flattered themselves with the hope that they
might the more securely meet. He resolved all
that was likely to happen if Mrs. Lennard was
really acquainted with their correspondence; and
hesitated not to resolve, in that case, to go to his
father, to declare his affection for Monimia, and to
rescue her from the tyranny of her aunt, whatever
might ensue. On the other hand, if their ac-
quaintance yet remained doubtful, or only sus-
pected, he saw that prudence and duty, his tender-
ness for Monimia, and his affection for his father,
equally dictated their present separation; and that,
to whichever of these he listened, they agreed in
pointing out his leaving Monimia now, to acquire
some establishment which might give them at least
a probability, without the breach of any duty, of
being happily united hereafter. There was some-
thing humiliating to his ingenuous mind, in all the
arts and prevarications which their clandestine cor-
respondence compelled him to use himself, and to
teach the innocent Monimia. A thousand times he
wished that he had been born the son of a day-
labourer; that his parents, entertaining for him no
views of ambition, had left him to pursue his own
inclinations. A thousand times he lamented that
Monimia was not circumstanced like Miss Holly-
bourn, that he might openly have addressed her:
and the image of the arrogant heiress arose with
redoubled disgust to his mind, when he compared
her situation with that of his desolate orphan Mo-
mimia. More than three hours passed away while
these thoughts were fluctuating in his mind. At
the end of that time he was aroused by the
entrance of Betty, who pertly demanded if he did
not choose any breakfast?
He desired to have it brought. To which the
girl replied, Perhaps you had rather breakfast with


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 287
the old women?—Whom do you mean? inquired
Orlando. -
Mean! answered she ; why, who should I mean,
but mistress, and mother Lennard 2 There's no
other old woman in the house as I knows on, nor
there had not need. They've been inquiring after
you.
After me? -
Yes, replied Betty. And Madam I suppose will
tie you on to her apron-string soon, for she is never
easy without you. . Upon my word, Mr. Orlando,
you look a little rakish though, I think, for such a
sober young gentleman, and considering too that
you did not demean yourself with dancing as you
used to do with us servants, after the gentlefolks
were gone. I warrant however that you did not
pass the time at prayers.
You give your tongue strange license, said Or-
lando, who endeavoured to conceal his vexation,
for he imagined that all alluded to Monimia. How-
ever, do tell me, if Mrs. Rayland wishes me to
breakfast with her?
I knows nothing about her wishes, replied the
girl; I only knows that Lennard have been asking
every servant in the house about you, and cross-
questioning one so that Isuppose she thoft I had got
you locked up in my cupboard, as they say she
used for to have the men-folk in her younger days
in the housekeeper's store-room. The old woman
and the oven for that | Set a thief to catch a thief!
I do desire, said Orlando, that you would have
done with all this, and tell me whether Mrs. Len-
nard expects me at breakfast? However, added
he, pausing, I will alter my dress, and wait upon
her at all events; and do be so good as to prepare.
in the mean time some breakfast for my brother.
Betty then left him apparently with pleasure to


288 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
execute this last commission; and Orlando, after
changing his clothes, went to Mrs. Lennard's room
to inquire whether Mrs. Rayland wished to speak
to him, and at what time he might wait upon her.
This however was not his only motive; he thought
he should immediately discern by Mrs. Lennard's
reception of him, whether his fears of a partial or
an entire discovery were well founded. He for-
tunately found Mrs. Lennard in the housekeeper's
room; and, accosting her with his usual interesting
address, he inquired how Mrs. Rayland did after
the fatigues of the evening, how she was herself,
and whether he might at any time that morning
make a personal inquiry after Mrs. Rayland 2
The sage housekeeper received his civilities with
great coolness, and answered, even with some as-
perity, that Mrs. Rayland was much better than
ever she could have expected after so much com-
pany. As to your inquiring after her, Sir, added
she, I don't know indeed how that may be; per-
haps (fixing on him her penetrating eyes) there are
other people in the house after whom you would
rather ask. -
Orlando, whose conscious blood rose into his
cheeks at this speech, felt them glow, and the sen-
sation increased his confusion. No, replied he, he-
sitating. No, certainly you cannot . . . . . suppose
... that there is any body . . . . . that I . . . . . that
I wish to inquire after more than Mrs. Rayland
. . . . . I was much afraid that the fatigue would be
too much for her.
There are other people, replied the lady, who
were fatigued also. I must beg the favour of you,
Mr. Orlando, not to interfere with my niece. I
suppose it was by your desire or contrivance that
she took the liberty of leaving her room last night,
contrary to my positive orders. -


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 289 x
-
Orlando, a little recovered from his consternation,
endeavoured to laugh this off, and was proving to
Mrs. Lennard that it was impossible for him to have
occasioned this disobedience, when a summons came
for her to attend Mrs. Rayland; and I was ordered,
Sir, said the footman, to desire you would come up
also, if you were about the house.
Mrs. Lennard now stalked away with great dig-
mity, and Orlando followed her, more than ever
alarmed for Monimia.
CHAPTER XXIV.
INSTEAD of the reproaches Orlando expected to
hear, Mrs. Rayland received him, if not with so
much cordial kindness as usual, at least without any
appearance of anger. After the usual compliments
on his part, and some inquiries on hers, whether all
those who were immediately her guests had gone as
soon as they left her, Mrs. Lennard withdrew, and
Orlando was left alone with the old lady, and again
trembledlest some remonstrances were to be made ;
for his mind was so entirely occupied by that sub-
ject, that he forgot it was possible for the atten-
tion of others to be differently engaged.
His apprehensions increased, when Mrs. Ray-
land, after a solemn silence, thus began :
I believe, Mr. Orlando, I have given you abun-
dant proof that I esteem you above the rest of my
kinsman's family.
Orlando bowed, and would have said that he was
sensible of and grateful for her kindness; he could
make nothing of the sentence—but blushed, and
faltered while Mrs. Rayland went on.
Your father has once or twice proposed sending
WOL., XXXVI. C C


290 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
you out into the world, and has consulted me upon
the occasion. I suppose you are not unacquainted
with the plan he has lately thought proper to pro-
pose for you.
Orlando, relieved by hearing that her discourse
did not tend whither he feared it would, said that
he knew General Tracy had offered his father to
procure him a commission; an offer, Madam, con-
tinued he, of which I waited to hear your opinion
before I myself ventured to form any wishes upon
the subject.
This was carrying his complaisance farther than
he had ever yet done. But, confused and appre-
hensive as he was, he said any thing which might
turn the discourse from what he most dreaded,
without having his mind enough at liberty to in-
quire rigorously into the truth or propriety of what
he uttered; and even the independent spirit he had
always prided himself on supporting, was lost amid
his fears for Monimia.
Mrs. Rayland looked at him steadily for a mo-
ment—
You are ready then, said she, to follow any line
of life, Orlando, which your friends approve?
I am, Madam and always have been.
And you do not dislike the army?
Very far from it, Madam. w
I have been accustomed from my youth, re-
assumed the old lady after another pause, to con-
sider the profession of arms as one of those which
is the least derogatory to the name of a gentleman.
It is honourable, Madam, to any name.
My grandfather, continued Mrs. Rayland, after
whom you were by the permission of our family
called—my grandfather, I say, Sir Orlando Ray-
land, appeared with distinguished honour in the
service of his master in 1685, against the rebel


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 291
Monmouth, though not of the religion of King
James. My father Sir Hildebrand distinguished
himself under Marlborough, when he was a younger
brother, and saw much service in Flanders. Of
remoter ancestors, I could tell you of Raylands
who bled in the civil wars; we were always Lan-
castrians, and lost very great property by our ad-
herence to that unhappy family during the reigns
of Edward the Fourth and Richard the Third. My
great great grandfather, who was also called Or-
lando. . . . . . . . .
Mrs. Rayland had soon totally forgotten the
young hero who was before her, while she ran over
the names and exploits of heroes past; and, lost in
their loyalty and their prowess, she forgot that
hardly any other record of them remained upon
earth than what her memory and their pictures in
the gallery above afforded. Orlando, however,
heard her not only with patience but with pleasure.
In recurring thus to them when the question of his
professional choice was before her, it appeared
that she had somehow associated the idea of his fu-
ture welfare with that of their past consequence;
and besides the satisfaction this discovery afforded
him, he began to hope that his fears of any dis-
covery were quite groundless.
Mrs. Rayland having at length completed the
catalogue of the warriors of her family, and having
no more to say, returned to the subject which had
given rise to this discussion.—Therefore, young
kinsman, I say, that if this worthy General Tracy
will favour you with his countenance, if your fa-
ther and your relations approve of it, and if you
ourself are disposed for the profession of arms, I
shall be glad not only to give you some assistance
towards setting out, but to aid you from time to time
C C 2


292 • THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
in such means of promotion as the General may
point out to me.
Orlando, who now found the whole affair de-
cided, felt one pang at the certainty which pre-
sented itself, that he must quit, soon quit his belov-
ed Monimia; it was severe, but momentary: and
with equal warmth and sincerity he thanked Mrs.
Rayland for her goodness, and assured her that he
was ready to avail himself of her generous inten-
tions in his favour. -
But are you sure, Mr. Orlando, added Mrs.
Rayland interrupting his acknowledgments—are
you quite sure that no unworthy connection, no
improper attachment here, will make the departure
for your regiment disagreeable to you?
The blood that had so often been the treacherous
emissary of conscience before, now flew to the
cheeks of Orlando; indeed his whole countenance
changed so much that Mrs. Rayland, though not
very clear-sighted, perceived it. Her brow took
that severe look which it almost always lost in the
presence of her young favourite—I see; cried she,
observing Orlando still hesitate—I see that I have
not been misinformed.
Every thing seemed to depend on the presence
of mind which he was at this moment able to exert.
He recovered himself, and said, in a firm and calm
tone, I know not, Madam, what information you
have received ; but this I know, and do most so-
lemnly assure you, that I have no unworthy con-
nection, no improper attachment—and, added he,
animated by reflecting that his love for the inno-
cent, amiable Monimia was neither—and when you
discover that I deceive you, I am content to relin-
quish your favour for ever.
Indeed you will lose it, answered Mrs. Rayland,
a little relaxing of her severity;-and that I may


ATHE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 293
still have the pleasure of supposing you worthy my
ood opinion, and that well disposed young man
which I have always wished to find you, your leav-
ing this place a while may not be amiss. I know
how to make some allowance for the arts of wicked
girls; but I shall take care that no such person dis-
graces my family for the future. In regard to you,
cousin, I hope you are above any such unworthy
thoughts. It must be my business to give proper
directions for the rest, and for the due regulations
of my family. You will prepare, cousin, for your
commission, which the worthy General tells me he
expects every day: he assures me it is worth up-
wards of four hundred pounds. Your father is
very happy in having met with a real friend.—Or-
lando, thunderstruck by a speech which he believed
related to Monimia, stoodlike a statue. It was for-
tunate for him that Mrs. Rayland, after the words
wicked girls, continued to speak; for, had she not
done so, Orlando would infallibly have betrayed
himself by entering into a warm defence of Moni-
mia; he would indeed have confessed without re-
serve, their long attachment, and frequent inter-
views; but the rest of her speech and the entrance
of Mrs. Lennard, for whom she rung just as she
concluded it, gave him time to recollect himself:
yet when Mrs. Rayland, in her usual way, dismiss-
ed him, he doubted whether his honour and his
love did not call upon him to come to an imme-
diate explanation. The consideration and kindness
which Mrs. Rayland expressed for him, so unlike
the usual prudish asperity of her disposition, were
offensive and hateful to him when he believed she
acquitted him at the expense of Monimia. He
hastened however to his own apartment, because
it was necessary to see what was become of his
brother. It was some alleviation to his confusion
C C 3 * -


204 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
and distress to find Philip was gone; and he sat
down, endeavouring to collect his thoughts, and to
determine on what was to be done. ,
That Monimia was on his account to be dismiss-
ed from the house of Mrs. Rayland, and the pro-
tection of her only relation, the circumstances of
the preceding night, added to what he had just
heard, left him but little reason to doubt. What
them was to become of her? and how could he
make her any reparation for the injury he had done
her, but by instantly declaring the truth, and re-
linquishing all prospect of future prosperity, from
which she must be excluded?—Desperate as he felt
this step to be, he was in a state of mind that urged
him to decide on any thing that might bring their
fate to a crisis: and, believing himself finally de-
termined, he started up from his short counsel with
himself, and was going hastily to the apartment of
Mrs. Rayland, when at the door he was stopped
by Betty, who with her hat on, and a small bundle
in her hand, dropped him a curtsey, and said, with
an arch smile, I’m come to take my leave of you,
'Squire, and to wish you well.
Whither are you going then, Betty 2 said Or.
lando P
Lord, Sir, cried the girl, you're such another
hard-hearted gentleman –What I warrant you
don't know that Madam have sent me down my
wages, with orders to go out of her house directly,
and all upon your account.
Upon my account –Pattenson it seems have
been telling more false lies to Madam. He won't
believe ever since that night that somebody was
seen in your room—I don't know who, not I–but
that you and I be too great: Madam Lennard
would never hear on't till to-day; but now they've
found out, by laying their old noddles together,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 295
that I was out of the house that night, and they say
'twas along a you. Knowing my own innocence,
I bears it all; for I be clear of the charge, as you
know very well: I wish every body could say as
much ; but I know what I know.
Orlando now instantly comprehended that it was
of Betty Mrs. Rayland had spoken, and not of the
innocent Monimia, whom his rash impatience was
again on the point of betraying. Sensible of his
good fortune in having been thus prevented, he was
still confused and agitated. Whatever you know,
Betty, said he, of me, I am at least very sorry you
have, by any mistake relative to me, lost your
place, and Mrs. Lennard's favour. -
As to her favour, answered the girl pertly, I
values it no more than that ; and she had better
keep her tongue within her teeth about me, I can
tell her that ; and as for places, there's more in
the world. One should have a fine time on’t, in-
deed, to pass all one's life in this here old dungeon,
among rats, and ghosts, and old women. How-
ever, young "Squire, I advises you as a friend, to
take more care for the future: some people are very
sly; but for my part I scorn to betray um—but
mayhap the next housemaid mid’nt be so willing
as I have been to bear the blame for things she's as
innocent of as the child unborn.
I cannot tell to what you allude, replied Orlan-
do in a hurried voice; but this I know, that if I
have done you any injury, I am very sorry for it,
and willing to make you any reparation in my
power. He then took a guinea from his pocket—
Accept of this, cried he, and be assured I shall on
any future occasion be happy to serve you.-The
girl took the guinea, but without expressing any
gratitude either for that, or his apparent wishes to
make her what amends he could for the loss of her


296 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
place: she flippantly told him, she hoped, for all
Madam's injustice, and the malice of her enemies,
she had friends who would not let her be beholden
to nobody—She then left the house.
Orlando, thus relieved from the most acute un-
easiness he had ever suffered, returned to his room.
He most ardently wished to communicate to Moni-
mia the joy he felt in finding that the suspicions
excited by so many awkward circumstances, had by
some means or other fallen upon this servant; and
apparently without doing her any injury, which
would have considerably lessened his satisfaction.
Far from regretting her dismission, she seemed
pleased with having had an opportunity given her
to be dismissed; and Orlando, who had long known
her to be a very improper associate for Monimia,
found many reasons to be glad of her departure.
That she knew, or very strongly suspected their
meetings, seemed very evident; she was much less
dangerous any where than within the house—and as
to what she might say without, which might be
prejudicial to the character of Monimia, he deter-
mined to prevent the ill effects of that where it
might be most prejudicial, by confessing, before he
left the country, the very extent of his fault to his
father, who ahready suspected so much of the truth.
However earnestly he wished to speak to Moni-
mia, and however uneasy the idea of her suspense
and dejection made him, he could find no opportu-
nity of speaking to her during the morning, without .
hazard, which he had too recently suffered for, so
immediately to incur again. Though Mrs. Lennard
had artfully made Betty the victim, there was still
reason to believe she was not without suspicions;
and to irritate or increase them now, would be to
preclude himself from the last pleasure he was like-
ly to tasteduring the restof his short residence at the
3


Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE. 297
Hall—the pleasure of soothing his beloved Moni-
mia, and, at the few interviews which they might
yet obtain, reconciling her soft heart to the neces-
sity of that separation that was so soon to happen.
He was summoned to dinner with Mrs. Rayland,
who seemed pleased to find he was still at the Hall.
Never did the old lady appear in such good hu-
mour with him, or so relaxed from the starch prudery
of her usual character.—She gave way to her love of
telling anecdotes and stories of her own family; and,
pleased with the attention Orlando gave to her nar-
ratives, she hinted to him, though still with great
ambiguity, that it would be his own fault if he was
not one day or other the representative of a family
so illustrious. She then spoke of his elder brother
with anger and contempt, which Orlando generously
tried to soften; of his mother with her usual cold-
mess and dislike; and of his sisters as good, pretty-
behaved girls—that is, I mean the two youngest.
As to Miss Belle—she's a London lady already: I
protest it hurts me to see young women so bold—
but she has been cried up for a beauty. 'Tis vanity
ruins all girls—no good is ever to be expected from
them when once they get conceited notions into
their heads of being handsome. -
Orlando undertook the defence of his sister with
more zeal than prudence; but Mrs. Rayland, though
not to be convinced that Isabella was not a vain
coquet, which indeed her unguarded gaiety gave
the old lady very good reason to believe, was how-
ever in a humour to be pleased with all Orlando
said. Her attachment to him had been long insen-
sibly increasing; and though, like another Eliza-
beth, she could not bear openly to acknowledge her
successor, she was as little proof as the royal ancient
virgin, against the attractions of an amiable and
handsome young man, whom she loved to consider


298 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
as the child of her bounty, and the creature of her
smiles. Though determined to keep him dependent
during her life, and even to send him out a soldier
of fortune, she really meant to give him, at her
death, the whole of her landed property; and the
machinations of Pattenson, whose jealousy and ava-
rice alike excited his hatred to Orlando, had hither-
to had an effect so different from what he expected,
that he found his politics entirely baffled, and that
he was more likely to lose by farther attempts, his
lady's regard, than to shake that she entertained
for the young favourite.
A few years before, the very suspicion of an in-
trigue would have shut for ever the doors of Ray-
land Hall against the supposed delinquent ; but
now the attempts to impute such to Orlando had
ended in nothing but the dismissing a servant—a
circumstance proving at once, that though some
credit was given to the accusation, no resentment
towards him was entertained.
Mrs. Lennard, who had more sense and more art
than Pattenson, and who had opportunities more
closely to observe her lady, had long seen the
progress of her affection for Orlando, and long
ceased to counteract it.—She was not weak enough
to imagine, as Pattenson did, that such great pro-
perty as Mrs. Rayland possessed would be divided
among her servants—but she knew that she should
herself possess a very considerable legacy; and she
thought it better that Orlando should inherit the
bulk of the fortune, than either his father, who had
always considered the old servants about her as his
enemies, or any public charity—to some of which
Mrs. Rayland had, in former fits of ill-humour, ex-
ressed an intention to leave the Rayland estate.
Mrs. Rayland had, in common with many old
people, a strange aversion to speaking of her will,


THE Of, D MANOR HOUSE. 299
or of what was to happen after her death; and far
advanced as she was in life, she talked of future
years as if she believed herself immortal. Mrs.
Lennard had, however, once seen part of a will—
with which, in respect to herself, she had great
reason to be satisfied. She knew that Mrs. Rayland
had lately made another, to which she was not a
witness;–for such was the peculiarity of her lady
in this respect, that she had sent for a lawyer and
witnesses from London, that none of the neighbour-
ing attormies, or even her confidential servants,
might know its contents. Mrs. Lennard did not
doubt but that Orlando was in this made heir of
almost all the landed property; but she had no
reason, from Mrs. Rayland's behaviour to her, to
apprehend that this new will was at all prejudicial
to herself.
Still, however, it was not her interest to encou-
rage the affection which many circumstances gave
her reason to believe Orlando entertained for her
niece. She knew that, if the rashness of youth and
passion should urge them to marry, it would not
only ruin Orlando, who would then be a beggar;
but that she should herself be accused of having
promoted this fatal indiscretion, and lose her own
advantages without obtaining any for her niece,
whom she by no means wished to see independent
of her, even if independence could thus have been
obtained ; and whom she treated with redoubled
rigour, when she found reason to believe that Or-
lando felt for her that attachment which she had
from their childhood foreseen and attempted to
prevent.
The more Orlando gained on the favour of Mrs.
Rayland, the more apprehensive Mrs. Lennard be-
came of his affection for Monimia: she had how-
ever persuaded herself, that, with the precautions


300 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
she took, their clandestinely meeting or carrying oa
any correspondence was impracticable; and, satis-
fied that Monimia was confined to her room, her
vigilance had now and then slumbered. But it
awakened by the late reports that obtained in the
house and about the country; reports which origin-
ated in the gossip of Orlando's nocturnal visitor; of
his being missing at unusual hours, and from Betty's
hints. When, therefore, Pattenson's jealousy was
so far roused as to urge him to speak to his lady of
a supposed intimacy between Orlando and this his
faithless favourite, Mrs. Lennard let it make its im-
pression ; and Betty's pertness, who had before
agreed with Philip Somerive to take the first oppor-
tunity of going off to him, gave her a pretence
immediately to discharge her. Mrs. Rayland, con-
tent to part with her favourite Orlando, because she
thought it for his advantage to see something of the
world in an honourable profession—and because she
believed, if youth and idleness had concurred with
the art of the girl with whom he was accused, to
lead him into any improper connection, this was the
best way to break it—determined on his departure
with satisfaction, since the General assured her
there was at present no probability of his leaving
England.
Mrs. Lennard, who thought herself fortunate in
having all the suspicions fall on Betty, kept as a
profound secret those she entertained herself rela-
tive to Monimia, whom she resolved narrowly to
watch till Orlando was gone. And Pattenson, glad
that the young minion was to go, as he termed it, for
a soldier, reconciled himself by that reflection to
the failure of his original plan, which had been
totally to ruin him with Mrs. Rayland. As to the
loss of his fair one, he knew she would not remove
far; and that resentment for his accusations would


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 30?
not make her long relentless, while he had presents
and money to offer her. -
Such were, at this juncture, the politics of Ray-
land Hall.
==
CHAPTER XXV.
THE house of West Wolverton too had its poli-
ticians, but none of them were so content with
their past operations, or future prospects, as the
venerable group last described.
Isabella, wild and coquettish as she was, could no
longer affect to misunderstand the language with
which General Tracy ventured to address her.
For some time, however, she attempted to laugh
it off; but at length resolved, by the counsel of
Selina, to speak to her mother, and entreat that, if
the General remained any longer their guest, she
might not be so often left to hear professions so
insulting, which the presence of her sisters did not
always restrain. Mrs. Somerive, whose heart was
half broken by the behaviour of Philip, and who
saw, with inexpressible anguish, the ravage which
the uneasiness arising from that source was hourly
making on the constitution of her husband, had
been fondly flattering herself, during the first
weeks of the General's visit, that in him Mr. Some-
rive had found a sincere friend, and their children
a powerful protector. The solicitude he expressed
for Orlando, and the consideration with which he
treated Philip, made her sanguinely believe that
he would provide for one, and possibly reclaim
the other. The sums which the latter had won
from him at play—Mrs. Somerive, who knew
nothing of their nightly gambling, supposed the
* WOL, XXXVI. ID D -


302 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
General had lent him; when her heart, overflow-
ing with gratitude towards this generous friend,
was suddenly struck with the intelligence Isabella
gave her.
She at first fancied the vanity of Isabella might
have given meaning to his expressions which they
were never meant to convey; but, upon questioning
her and Selina repeatedly, and from theobservations
she made the two following days, she was con-
vinced that their representations of his behaviour
were just. This cruel certainty she determined
however to conceal from her husband, and to guard,
by her own prudent watchfulness, against the ar-
tifices of the General without bringing on a rupture
between him and Somerive that might be attended
with consequences she sickened to think of.
The General, however, who paid her the most
assiduous court, was soon sensible of a change in
her manners; for she was incapable of the dissimu-
lation which people of the world so successfully
}. From hence, and from the behaviour of
sabella, the General found that alonger stay would
betray his insidious designs without contributing
at all to their success, and he prepared to go; yet
could not bear to relinquish for ever his hopes of
gaining Isabella, with whom he was more in love
than ever. He lingered, therefore, notwithstanding
all the discouragement he received; and Somerive,
who believed him the best and most sincere friend
that ever man had, communicated to him all his
affairs, and all his anxiety—by which the General
perceived plainly, he was in such a state of mind
as must hasten him to the grave; and he had learn-
ed that, impressed with ideas of his (the General's)
friendship for all his family, he had made him
executor, and trusted the welfare of his wife and
daughters entirely to him and to Orlando.


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 303
Though Tracy therefore could neither give up
his pursuit, nor succeed in it at present, he believed
that the death of the father, the indigence to which
the whole family would be reduced, and the absence
of Orlando, would together make easy the project
of obtaining Isabella for a mistress; and that pa-
tience and dissimulation alone were necessary to
keep up his influence in the family, till they should
be wholly in his power. He determined, therefore,
to check himself; to make no more professions
with which Isabella could be offended, but to
express his contrition that he had said what she
construed into want of respect; to hint remotely
at honourable intentions; and thus, without en-
gaging himself, or, as the fashionable phrase is,
committing himself, to retain his influence over
the whole family, as well as over the father; and
to be assured that, whenever he chose to return,
he should be received with pleasure. As to any
suspicion that Isabella might think him of an age
so disproportionate as to hear even his honourable :
offers with disdain and ridicule, it never occurred
to the General; and he was pretty well assured,
from the pecuniary circumstances of the family,
that every other member of it would receive the
remotest hint of an intended alliance with transport.
The behaviour of Mrs. Somerive, on the evening
of the tenant's ball, convinced him that Isabella
had not merely threatened when she protested she
would speak to her mother of his behaviour; and he
found that though Mr. Somerive, whenever he
talked of going, pressed his stay, it was time to
depart.
The messenger, who was sent to the post town,
on the following evening for letters, brought to
General Tracy a large pacquet, arrived that day
by the stage. On opening it, it was found to
D D 2


304 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
contain the commission of an ensign for Orlando
Somerive, executed in due form, from the War
Office. This he hastened to offer, with a florid
speech, to Mrs. Somerive; who had hardly re-
covered from the emotions with which the sight
of it, and his peculiar and studied manner of
presenting it, occasioned, when Orlando, anxious
to know at what time his brother had got home,
and how his mother and sisters were after the
fatigue and uneasiness of the night before, ar-
rived.
On his first entrance, he inquired eagerly after
his brother.—Your brother cried Mr. Somerive:
he is not at home, Orlando, nor have we seen him
since last night;-believing he was with you, and
indeed supposing it possible that he was not well
enough to leave your apartment, I made myself
tolerably easy about him.—But when did he leave
you? and where is he now 2
Orlando replied, that he had left his bed about
eleven o'clock; and then, to quiet the uneasiness
which he saw this º absence gave to
them all, he added, But he is gone, I dare say,
to Mr. Stockton's, where he has talked some time
of intending to pass a day or two, and probably will
not return home till to-morrow or next day.
Gone to Mr. Stockton's! exclaimed Mrs. Some-
rive.—What! without linen or change of clothes,
though there is an house full of company?
Mr. Somerive, who saw how much his wife was
alarmed and affected, endeavoured to speak lightly
of the absence of her son—You know, my love,
said he, that Philip does not pique himself on
being a beau; and that the party at Mr. Stock-
ton's are only men. He can probably borrow any
linen he wants of his friends; and as he means to
be at home so soon, and has no servant with him,


“THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 305
p. preferred doing so to the trouble of sending
ome for his own. Mrs. Somerive sighed, and
cast a desponding look on her husband, who added,
But come, my dear Bella, you and I have some-
thing to say to Orlando—we will go all together
into my study for a few moments, and the girls will
have tea ready against our return,--So saying, he
took his wife's hand, and, Orlando following them,
they left the room.
Mrs. Somerive was no sooner released from the
restraint which the presence of the General impos-
ed, than she threw herself into a chair, and fell into
an agony of tears. Her husband gently chid her for
emotion which he endeavoured to persuade her was
much beyond the occasion ; and, having suc-
ceeded in rendering her somewhat more calm, he
told Orlando that his commission was arrived, and
inquired whether any conversation had passed
between him and Mrs. Rayland in consequence of
what had been held between her and General
Tracy the preceding evening? Orlando related it
all as nearly as he could recollect it, save only
that sentence which related to some fancied attach-
ment; and Mr. Somerive received, with great
pleasure, what appeared to him equal to a confirm-
ation of the most sanguine hopes he had ever en-
tertained on his son's behalf.-Mrs. Somerive how-
ever was less elated: she could not comprehend
how Mrs. Rayland, if she had so much affection
for Orlando, could not only bear to part with him
but promote his departure; or how, if she meant
to make him her heir, she could determine to send
him out in the world a soldier of fortune. The
representations of her husband, however, and the
content which Orlando expressed, reconciled her
by degrees to what she could not now recal. She
gave him, but not without many tears, the com-
D D 3


306 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
mission with which General Tracy had just pre-
sented her—but as she tried to give him her bless-
ing with it, she relapsed into convulsive sorrow.
Mr. Somerive found it would only distress her to
return to the parlour; he therefore bade Orlando
lead his mother to her own room, while he, return-
ing to where his daughters were sitting with Gene-
ral Tracy, bade them go to her, and send their
brother down to the parlour.
Orlando, on his entrance, addressed himself to
Tracy, whom he thanked in the most graceful
terms. The General answered his compliment
with politeness, and the three gentlemen then began
to discourse of the departure of Orlando for that
party of his regiment that were in England, which
Tracy told him could not properly be deferred
longer than till the following week. He advised
therefore that Orlando should set out for London
on the following Monday—when, said he, as I shall
go thither myself, I can have the pleasure of giving
you a place in my post-chaise.
Mr. Somerive, while he expressed regret that
the General was to leave him so soon (though his
stay had been prolonged to almost six weeks,) yet
embraced this offer with avidity. He foresaw,
that in the equipment of Orlando, of which Mrs.
Rayland was, he understood, to defray the expense,
the directions of such a friend could not fail of
being extremely useful, and that his instructions
might in a thousand more material instances be of
advantage to him.—It was therefore settled among
them, that, on the evening of the following Sun-
day, Orlando should take leave of his ancient be-
nefactress, and repair to his father's house, to be
ready to attend General Tracy to town the next
morning.
Orlando was now impatient to return to the Hall


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 309
of his father (which, though he did not complain,
was visible to every body), the unhappy miscon-
duct of his brother, threatening the ruin and dis-
persion of his family, and the possibility that Mrs.
Rayland might disappoint the expectations she had
raised, all combined to sink and depress him, and
again to lend to the well-known paths he was tra-
versing, horrors not their own, while every object
repeated—Orlando will revisit these scenes no
more 1
By the time he reached that part of the park
from whence the house was visible at a distance, it
was quite dark, and, had he not almost instinctively
known his way, he could not have discerned it—for
no light glimmered from the Gothic windows of
the Hall, not even in that part of the house in-
habited by the servants; and Orlando imagined that
most of them, fatigued the night before, were gone
earlier than usual to bed. He fixed his eyes
earnestly on Monimia's turret:-all was dark; and
he doubted whether her aunt had not removed
her, in consequence of the suspicions that ori-
ginated in the circumstances of the preceding even-
ing. This apprehension made his spirits sink still
more heavily ; and when he was within an hundred
yards of the house he stopped, and gazed mourn-
fully on the place, which perhaps no longer con-
tained the object of his affection.
There is hardly a sensation more painful than the
blank that strikes on the heart, when, instead of the
light we expect streaming from some beloved spot
where our affections are fondly fixed, all is silent
and dark-Ah! how often in life we feel this yet
stronger, when the friend on whom we rely be-
comes suddenly cold and repulsive; Orlando, who
was passionately fond of poetry, recollected the


310 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
simply descriptive stanza in the ballad of Hardy-
knute :
“Theirs nae licht in my lady's bowir,
“Theirs nae licht in the hall;
“Nae blink shynes round my fairly fair—”
And, like the dismayed hero of the song,
“Black feir he felt, but what to fear
“He wist not zit with dreid.”
Quiet as every thing appeared round the house,
he knew it was earlier than the hour when Mrs.
Lennard usually locked the door of Monimia's
apartment for the night; it was possible that she
might have detained her niece in her own room
longer than was her general custom.
In hopes that he might see the light at length
glimmer through the casement, which would assure
him Monimia was there, he determined to watch
for it a little longer, where he might not be him-
self observed.
It was indeed so very dark that he was sure it
was impossible for any one to discern him from the
house, or at least to distinguish his figure from that
of the deer who were feeding around him. He sat
down therefore on the turf; but the dreary moments
passed, and still no light appeared—though Or-
lando was sure that if a light was in the room he
must see it, because of the want of shutters towards
the upper part of this long window. A thousand
conjectures disturbed him, and grew, as time wore
away, more and more painful. Perhaps Monimia
was indisposed, and had gone early to bed; per-
haps the alarms she had suffered the preceding
evening, and uneasiness at his not having seen her,
might have overcome her tender spirits, and, toge-
ther with the harsh reproaches of her aunt, have
rendered her really ill. His warm and rapid ima-


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE, 31 I
gination now represented her sinking under anguish
of mind which she dared not communicate—and
tenderly reproaching him for being the cause of all
her sufferings. It was he who had disturbed the
innocent serenity of her bosom—and persuaded her
to grant him interviews with which she continually
reproached herself. Or, if this was not the case, if
her lovely frame was not overwhelmed by sickness
arising from sorrow, perhaps she was more strictly
confined in some part of the house where it would
be impossible for him to see her; from whence it
would be equally impossible for her to escape to
him, to indulge him in the last sad pleasure of a
parting interview. This last conjecture appeared
highly probable, from what Mrs. Lennard had said
to him in the morning; and he found it too into-
lerable, even while it was but conjecture, to be sup-
ported with patience. The great clock now struck
eleven: every vibration seemed to fall on his heart.
—He traversed yet a little longer the turf immedi-
ately under the windows of the turret; and at length
saw a light from the servants' hall, whither he went,
hoping, yet fearing, to gain some intelligence
which he dreaded to ask. He entered, however;
but found only Pattenson there, who was putting
out the fire. It was in vain Orlando addressed him
with great civility. The sulky old butler, who im-
puted to him the alacrity with which his favourite
nymph had left the house, looked at him with a
countenance cloudy and indignant, and deigned
not even to give him the candle he asked for.—
There are candles, if you want them was all he
could obtain from him. He inquired if Mrs. Ray-
land was gone to her room 2 if he could speak to
Mrs. Lennard 2 To which Pattenson, turning sul-
lenly away, replied, The women's side of the house
has been shut up these two hours—you'll hardly get


312 THE OLD MANOR Hous E.
any admittance to make your flummering speeches
to any on 'em to-night.—Orlando, already irritated
by vexation, was so much provoked at this inso-
lence, that he was tempted to knock down the con-
sequential Mr. Pattenson; but he fortunately recol-
lected that he was an old man, and a servant, and
that it was unworthy of him to strike such a per-
son, whatever might be the provocation. He could
not however help expressing his anger for this in-
sult, in terms stronger than he usually allowed him-
self; and then, half frantic, went to his own room,
merely because he knew not what to do to obtain
some intelligence of Monimia.
After a moment's consideration, he went through
the chapel, and to the lower room of the turret. If
Mrs. Lennard had discovered the door of commu-
nication, he thought he should perceive it by some
means or other—but all below was as he left it:—
he then mounted the stairs, and listened at the door
behind Monimia's bed, but all was profoundly
silent. He ventured to tap softly at the door, their
usual signal, which Monimia never failed, when
she was alone, to answer instantly; but now no
answer was returned. He spoke—but no soft voice,
in tremulous whispers, replied. Again he rapped,
and spoke louder; but still all was dead silence
around him.—Yet he waited a moment or two—lost
in distracting conjectures—Monima was certainly
not in her room—what then was become of her, or
whither was she gone? He felt as if he should
never see her more, though it was impossible to
suppose she was removed from the house. At
length he returned to his own apartment again
more wretched than he left it;-and not seeing any
probability of discovering that night what could
thus have robbed him of the sight of Monimia, he
went to his bed—but not to sleep, though he had


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 913
suffered so many hours of mental and bodily fa-
tigue. He watched the earliest dawn of light; and
as soon as he could discern the objects about the
park, he dressed himself and went out—walking
slowly round the house, and looking up at all the
windows, in hopes that if Monimia was as restless.
as he was, she might appear at that of the room she
was confined in, in the expectation of seeing him.
But he made his melancholy tour repeatedly in
vain. He then returned to his own room, furnished
himself with materials for shooting, and went into
the kitchen underpretence of drying some powder;
that, while he watched it carefully himself, he might
have an excuse of staying to talk a little with
the cook. This woman, whose admiration of Or-
lando's beauty had made her much his friend, was
willing enough to gossip with him, and talked
much of Betty's being so suddenly discharged, de-
claimed against her, and hinted that it was pity
such a young 'squire should undervalue himself so
as to take a liking to such a tawdry trollop.–Or-
lando, who cared very little what was thought of
him in regard to Betty, rather humoured than de-
nied the oblique charge; but endeavouring to lead
the conversation towards Mrs. Lennard, whom she
called a covetous cross old frump; and as for that,
added the woman, she uses that sweet child, her
miece as they call her, no better than a dog.
Why, how does she use her? cried Orlando, fal-
tering and in a hurried voice: What! has she late-
ly done any thing?
Not as I knows on; but I knows she is always
rating her, soasthe poor young thing have no peace
of her life—and if she offer for to come to speak to
any of us sarvants, there's a rare to do! Fine airs
truly for mother Lennard to give herself—as if her
niece was a bit better than we be! If she's so proud
VOL. XXXVI. E E


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 315
kitchen, without seeming to attend to the raillery
of the servant with whom he had been talking, he
said there was a hawk about the park, which he had
seen early that morning strike a young hare; and
that he would endeavour to shoot it. He went then
almost under the windows of Mrs. Lennard's room,
and fired repeatedly, without obtaining what he
wished for. At length he saw through the case-
ment the figure of Monimia. He clasped his hands
together, as if to entreat her to stay, and to express
the anguish he laboured under. She looked fear-
fully behind her, as if dreading her aunt, and then
beckoned to him to approach. He flew under the win-
dow—she opened the casement, and said, while fear
madehervoice almostinarticulate, my aunt suspects
us, and has removed me into her closet—Come after
it is dark under the window, and I will tell youfarther.
Gracious Heaven! exclaimed Orlando, I go from
hence on Monday, and we shall meet then no more.
I dare not stay, cried the trembling Monimia—
Pray, come as soon as it is dark 1
To what purpose, exclaimed Orlando, if I am
only to see you thus 2 By Heaven I shall lose my
senses | -
Oh! if you knew, said Monimia, what I have suf-
fered, you would not terrify me now—For mercy’s
sake go! She then shut the window; and Orlando
not caring, and hardly knowing what he did, went
again round the house—half tempted to turn the
mouth of his gun against himself. The wildness
and distraction of his countenance struck one of
the under keepers, who, believing he was really in
pursuit of some bird of prey, came to offer his as-
sistance. The impatience however of Orlando's
answers, so unlike his general obliging manners,
convinced the fellow that the report he had heard in
the family was true, and that Orlando was in despair
E E 2


316 the OLD MANOR HOUSE.
because handsome Betty, as she was called among
the servants, had left the family on his account.
The young man loved Orlando, as did indeed every
creature who approached him; and he now endea-
voured to console him—If I was you, Sir, said he
as he walked after him, I would not take this to
heart so much. What! cried Orlando peevishly,
take what to heart? Why about this young woman,
answered the keeper: to be sure you be parted, but
perhaps all's for the best; who knows?
Orlando, whosehead and heart were full of Moni-
mia, imagined that it was of her the man spoke;
and turning hastily to him, he said in an eager, yet
angry way—
What is it you mean, Jacob, and what is for the
best ?
Nay, Sir, answered Jacob, I only say, that worse
might have come of it; for to my knowledge there
have been a deal said, and the talk of the country
sure enough it have been. There was tother night
at the Three Horse Shoes—there was three or four
of us of the Hall, and John Dutton and Richard Wil-
liams at Mill, and Stokes and Smith and some more
—and so they were speaking of this here young
body; and Stokes, who is a free spoken man, he
said, says he—What scoundrel, exclaimed Orlando
enraged and thrown wholly off his guard, what in-
famous lying scoundrel shall dare to traduce her? I
will tear the soul out of any rascal, who shall
breathe even a suspicion against Monimia.
Monimia, Sir cried the man, who was thunder-
struck by the violence of Orlando, Lord, I was
speaking of Betty—she as went away this morning
because of your keeping company with her—I'm
sure, Sir, I never thought no harm of Miss Monim-
my, nor scarce ever see her twice in my life.
Orlando now repented him of his rashness. Well,


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 317
well, said he—I believe you, Jacob—I'm sure you
would not say or think any harm of an innocent
young lady, especially, Jacob, if you thought it
would displease me, and do me a great deal of harm.
Jacob now most earnestly protested not only his
unwillingness to offend, but his desire to oblige his
honour. Orlando, whose spirits were yet in such
a tumult, that he could not arrange the ideas that
crowded on his mind, now bade Jacob follow him
into his study. Unwilling as he had always been to
put Monimia into the power of servants, he knew
that something decisive must be hazarded, or that
he must resign all hopes of seeing her before he
went: he was the less scrupulous, as he was so soon
to go, and he hoped he could make it this young
man's interest to be faithful to him. It occurred to
him, that even when he was gone, some person must
be in his confidence, who would receive, and deli-
ver to Monimia, the letters which he knew he dared
not direct to her at the Hall. This mistake, there-
fore, which had for a moment vexed and confused
him, he now thought a fortunate circumstance, and
without farther reflection, disclosed to this young
man his long affection for Monimia; the difficulties
he was in at the present moment about seeing her;
and his wish to find some means of corresponding
with her hereafter. Jacob entered into his situation
with an appearance of intelligence and interest with
which Orlando was well satisfied. They agreed
upon a plan for the evening—by which Orlando
hoped to procure an interview with Monimia, in-
stead of merely seeing her at the window; and
elated with his hope, he forgot the hazard and im-
propriety of the means he had used to obtain it.
Having however talked over and settled every
thing with his new confident, he went to pay his
compliments to Mrs. Rayland, to whom he report-
E E 3


3.18 Th ſe OLD MANOR HOUSE.
ed the arrival of his commission, and whom he found
in the same disposition as when he last saw her—
Then having obtained her leave to dine at his fa-
ther's, he set out in pursuit of his brother, in hopes
of carrying some intelligence to his family that
might dissipate their uneasiness, of which his own
did not render him unmindful. He rode therefore
to Mr. Stockton's, where he learned from the ser-
vants, that Mr. Philip Somerive had been there
about one o'clock; that he had borrowed linen of
their master, with whom he stayed till after a late
dinner, and then had set out in a post-chaise, as
he said, for London. This was information but
little likely to quiet the uneasiness of his father and
his family—with a heavy heart, therefore, Orlando
proceeded to give it. Mr. Somerive received it
with a deep sigh, but without any comment; his
wife with tears; while the General, from whom they
concealed nothing, endeavoured to console them by
speaking light of it. I am persuaded, said he, my
good friends, that your extreme solicitude and anx-
iety for your children often carry you beyond
the line that dispassionate reason would mark for
your conduct towards them.—Then addressing
himself in his insinuating way to Mrs. Somerive
he added—For example, now, my dear good friend
—you no sooner hear that it is right for you to part
with your younger son for the army, than you ima-
gine that he will be killed. No sooner is your el-
der missing upon one of those little excursions,
which a young man of high spirit, without any
present employment, very naturally indulges him-
self in, than you figure to yourself I know not what
evil consequence. Believe me, Orlando will not
sleep in the bed of honour, nor our more eccentric
Philip be devoured by the Philistines. Make
yourselves easy, therefore, I beg of you. Your


. THE OLD MANOR Hous E. 319
son is gone to London for four or five days perhaps
—what then 2–Here is your other son going with
me—and we will make it our business to see Philip,
if you will but make yourselves easy—and I dare
say you will have him with you again, before you
eat your Christmas dinner, safe and sound.
Mr. Somerive, who saw from sad experience the
departure of Philip in a very different light, would
not however dwell longer on a subject so affecting
and so useless. It was of no avail to discuss now
the reasons he had to dread the conduct of his eld-
est son, in this unexpected absence; nor did he won-
der, for he had often seen it in others, at the com-
posure with which General Tracy argued against
the indulgence of uneasiness, which he himself
could never feel; and he repeated to himself, as he
longed to say to his friend, that it is easy to recom-
mend patience with an untouched or insensible
heart, patience in evils, that either can never reach
the preacher, or which he is incapable of feeling.
—Some lines of Shakspeare, applicable to the
General's remonstrance, and the uneasy state of his
thoughts, occurred to him as he walked into the
garden to conceal those thoughts from his wife.
“No, not 'tis all men's office to speak patience
“To those that wring under a load of sorrow ;
“But no man's virtue or sufficiency
“To be so moral, when he shall endure
* The like himself. Therefore give me uo comfort.”
CHAPTER XXVI,
ORLANDo could not, though he attempted it, con-
ceal the anguish of his heart during the day; for
though he had arranged with his new confident the


320 TIME OLD MANOR HOUSE,
means of seeing Monimia, it was far from certain
these plans would succeed; or, could he be content
with the means which he had used, however desir-
able the end—Monimia, who while she yielded
to his earnest entreaties, had always felt, from the
natural rectitude of her understanding, the impro-
É. of their clandestine correspondence, would,
e feared, be more than ever sensible of her indis-
cretion, when she found that a servant was entrust-
ed with it—and on thinking over what had passed
between him and the under keeper, he found more
reason to entertain a good opinion of his acuteness
than of his integrity.—When to these reflections
were added the certainty of his immediate de-
parture, and the uncertainty of his return; the
mournful looks of his mother, who could not behold
him without tears; the deep, but more silent sor-
row marked on the countenance of his father, and
the pensive expression of regret on those of his sis-
ters; he could with difficulty go through the forms
of a melancholydinner, at which the General in vain
attempted to call off the attention of his hosts to sub-
jects of common conversation, and to divert them
from private misery by those public topics which
then interested none of them. The expulsion of the
Americans from the province of Canada, which had
happened the preceding August; and the victory
gained by the British fleet near Crown Point against
a small number of their gondolas and galleys, in the
course of the following October, successes of which
exaggerated official accounts were just received,
were matters whereon the General triumphantly
descanted, and on which he obtained more atten-
tion from his audience, because he asserted very
positively that, in consequence of these amazing
advantages, the whole continent of America would
submit, and the troops of course return as soon as


Th F. o LD MANOR HOUSE. 321
they had chastised the insolent colonists sufficiently
for their rebellion.—Orlando then, he assured his
family, was not at all likely to join his regiment,
which would almost immediately be ordered home;
but would be the safe soldier of peace, and perhaps
return to them in a few weeks, no otherwise altered
than by his military air and a cockade. The only
smile that was seen the whole day on the faces of any
of the family was visible on that of Mrs. Somerive,
on the General's description of an American flight,
though none had a more tender heart, or a more
liberal mind: but having heard only one side of the
question, and having no time or inclination to in-
vestigate political matters, she now believed that
the Americans were a set of rebellious exiles, who
refused, on false pretences, “the tribute to Caesar,”
which she had been taught by scriptural authority
ought to be paid. Thus considering them, she re-
joiced in their defeat, and was insensible of their
misery; though, had not the new profession of Or-
lando called forth her fears for him, she would
probably never have thought upon the subject at all
—a subject with which, at that time, men not in
parliament and their families supposed they had no-
thing to do. They saw not the impossibility of en-
forcing in another country the very imposts to
which, unrepresented, they would not themselves
have submitted. Elate with national pride, they
had learned by the successes of the preceding war
to look with contempt on the inhabitants of every
other part of the globe; and even on their colonists,
men of their own country—little imagining that,
from their spirited resistance,
“The child would rue that was unborn
“The taring of that day.”
At length the hour arrived when Orlando obtain-


The OLD MANOR HOUSE. 323
I shall be driven out of my senses, exclaimed
Orlando, as he traversed the room ; if I cannot see
her before I go, I shall be distracted—How did you
obtain admittance to her? Cannot I speak to her
by the same means?—Why hardly; for you must
know that I was forced to get one of the maids to
help me. The new house-maid that Madam have
hired this morning upon trial, is an old acquaint-
ance of mine; I gave her an item of the matter,
and so she contrived to take me up to mend the
window-shutter, which she had broke on purpose;
and bid me I should take a hammer and nails, and
make a clatter if Madam Lennard came. I took
care to make my job long enough; and when the
old house-keeper ax'd me what I was a doing, I had
an excuse you know pat, and it passed off very
well; and not only so, but she said to me, says she
—When you have done that job, Jacob, I wish you
would just look at the wainscot under the window
and under them there drawers of mine; for it's as
rotten as touchwood, and the rats are for ever
coming in, says she ; and says she, I never saw the
like of this old house—it will tumble about our ears,
I reckon, one day or 'nother, and yet my lady is
always repairing it, says she; but the wainscoting
of this here end of the wing, says she, has been up
above an hundred years; and we may patch it, and
patch it, and yet be never the nearer: but, for my
part, I suppose it will last my time, says she.
Orlando no sooner heard that another person,
the new house-maid, had been incautiously admitted
to participate a secret which he had hitherto so
anxiously guarded, than his vexation conquered the
pleasure he had for a moment indulged, in learning
that it was possible for another, and therefore for
him to see Monimia. . To the latter part of the
game-keeper's oration he could not attend, occupied


3.24 THE OLD MANOR HOtjSE.
with the idea of the new uneasiness this circum-
stance must give to Monimia; and agitated by in-
numerable fears and anxieties, he remained a mo-
ment silent after his companion had ceased to
speak, and then said—She told you, I think, that
after I was gone, her aunt would suffer her to re-
turn to her former apartment?
Yes, that was what she said.
Well, then, I will go. Indeed I am going by
day-break to-morrow. Nay, I am going from this
house to-night; and therefore I shall take leave of
Mrs. Rayland this evening. He paused a moment,
and then added, I suppose it is possible to convey
; letter to Monimia, though I despair of seeing
er ?
O Lord! yes, Sir, that you may do for certain;
for I told her, that if she would let down a letter
for you by a string at seven o'clock, I would be
there to take it; and you might send her one back
the same way.
What is it o'clock now 2 cried Orlando.
Almost six, sir.
It is time then for me to go to my appointment
with Mrs. Rayland, whose tea I am afraid is ready.
Do you be punctual to seven o'clock; and, if I can
escape, I will be with you at the window. But I
beseech you, Jacob, to remember, that all the ob-
ligation I shall owe you on this occasion will be
cancelled, if you are not secret. I wish you had
not mentioned this matter to any other person, es-
pecially to a woman—You know they are not to be
trusted.
Aye! that I know well enough; they'll cackle,
I know they will, if life and death depended
upon it: but, Lord | Sir, how a-name of fortune
was I to get at Miss, unless I had done so 2 and I
do believe Nanny is as trusty as most.


THE OLD MANOR House. 325
It was equally useless to argue on the necessity
of the measure, or the discretion of Nanny. The
die was cast; and to meet Monimia safely after so
much hazard had been incurred, was all that it
would now answer any purpose to think of Or-
lando, during his short conference with his own
thoughts, had determined to take that night his
last leave of Mrs. Rayland, and to say to her be-
fore Mrs. Lennard, that he was to set out the next
morning early, with General Tracy, for London.
He hoped, by thus acting, to persuade the aunt of
Monimia that she might safely send her back to her
former apartment; and that by making an appoint-
ment with her for Sunday, when he would by the
people at the Hall be believed on his way to Lon-
don, he should enjoy without interruption the me-
lancholy pleasure of bidding her adieu, and settling
the safest method for their future correspondence.
For this purpose he wrote to her; and sealing the
letter, he put it into his pocket and repaired to
Mrs. Rayland; who, understanding he was come
to take his leave, received him with great solem-
mity, yet not with less kindness than usual.
Her conversation consisted chiefly of good ad-
vice. She declaimed against the vitiated state of
modern manners, and related how much better
things were in her time. She warned him to be-
ware of the gamesters and bad women; who, she
said, were the ruin of all young people ; and gave
him, though obliquely, to understand, that his
future favour with her depended on his behaviour
in this his first appearance in life.
With her the age of chivalry did not seem to be
passed; for she appeared to consider Orlando as a
damoisell, now about to make his first essay in
arms. Indeed, while she talked much of modern
immorality and dissipation, she knew very little of
VOL. xxxvi. F F


326 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
modern manners, seldom seeing any of those peo-
ple who are what is called people of the world; and
forming her ideas of what was passing in it, only
from newspapers and the Lady's Magazine, or some
such publication, which excited only wonder and
disgust—while her recollection came to her relief,
and carried her back to those days she herself re-
membered—and with still greater pleasure to the
relations her father had given of what passed in his.
The freedom of modern life suited so ill with the
solemnity of respect that was shewn towards her in
her youth, that she shrunk from the uneasiness it
gave her, and made around her a world of her
own: of which when Orlando became an inhabitant,
all that regarded him was assimilated to her own
antediluvian notions.
In answer to her long and sage lecture, Orlando
assured her, and with great sincerity, that he had
no wishes that were not centered in the spot and
meighbourhood he was about to leave: that, new as
he was to the world, he yet believed it would offer
him no objects that could a moment detach his
affections from his family and his friends. There
was so much earnestness, and something so im-
pressive in the manner of his saying this, as not
only enforced belief, but sensibly affected Mrs.
Rayland. She almost repented that she had ever
consented to his going; but to detain him now with-
out acknowledging him as her heir (which she had
determined never to do), was not to be thought of;
and General Tracy had succeeded in convincing
her, not only that it was a justice due to her young
relation to give him an opportunity of seeing more
of mankind; but that, as he would not quit Eng-
land, he would enjoy all the advantages of an ho-
nourable profession, without losing the advantage
of her protection. Without giving implicit credit to


THE OLD MAN () It HOUS F. 397
the tales by which Pattenson attempted to pre-
judice him in her favour, she thought enough of
them to let them influence in some degree her de-
termination; and she believed that, if he had formed
any improper attachment, nothing was so likely to
break it as sending him from the country, and into
scenes of life which would, she supposed, occupy
his mind without injuring his morals. .
It seemed as if towards the close of her life Mrs.
Rayland had acquired, instead of losing, her sen-
sibility; for she, who had hardly ever loved any
body, now found that she could not without pain
part from Orlando. She felt her pride and pleasure
equally interested in exerting towards him that ge-
nerosity, which from the rest of his family she had
withheld; and the apparent dejection of his spirits,
the reluctance with which he left the Hall, made
him appear to her more worthy than ever of her
favour. When therefore she had exhausted every
topic of advice she could think of, and received
from the manly simplicity of his answers, all the
assurances that words could give of his gratefully
receiving it, she presented him with a bank-note of
two hundred and fifty pounds; which she told him
was for the purpose of purchasing what he would
have occasion for on his first entrance into the
army. She had, however, so little idea of modern
expenses, that she really considered this as a very
great sum, and such as it was an amazing effort of
generosity in her to part with: yet, while she made
this exertion, her kindness towards him was so far
from being exhausted, that she told him he should
find her always his banker, so long as he continued
to give her reason to think of him as she thought
In OW.
Orlando kissed the hand of his ancient bene-
factress; but the tears were in his eyes, and he
F F 2 -


328 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE,
was unable to speak. He tried, however, to thank
her for this last, and for all her former favours to
him: but the words were inarticulate; and the old
lady herself, “albeit unused to the melting mood,"
was now so much affected, that she could only
faintly utter the blessing she gave him. You had
better not say any more, Sir, said Mrs. Lennard,
whô seemed disposed to weep too—much better not,
for indeed it will make my lady quite out of spirits.
Orlando, very willing to shorten such a scene,
turned to Mrs. Lennard, towards whom in a few
hurried words he expressed his thanks for her past
kindness, and his wishes for her health and hap-
piness; and then hastened away, his heart oppressed
by the scene that had passed, yet beating tumul-
tuously with the thoughts of that which was to
Conne.
He hardly dared, however, give himself time to
think. He had told Mrs. Rayland a falsehood, for
which his ingenuous heart already smote him. He
was about to act in direct violation of all he had
promised and all she expected of him. He knew
that, were he detected lingering about the house,
after what he had just said of his intentions of leav-
ing it immediately, he should lose for ever all the
advantage of that favour which Mrs. Rayland now
so openly avowed for him; and that, if his attach-
ment to Monimia were known, it would excite more
anger and resentment than almost any of the errors
against which she had been warning him. But all
these considerations, strongly as they ought to
have operated against any other indiscreet indul-
gence, were powerless when put in competition
with his tender affection for Monimia; and to leave
her without being able to speak to her and console
her, was what he could not for a moment have en-
dured to think of, if poverty, disgrace, and exile


330 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
tainty that would destroy this faint ray of hope.
He went back, however, to the window, in hopes
that he might yet speak one word to Monimia; but
he saw that there was now another candle in the
room; and, retiring a little farther so as to be able
to see more of it, he distinctly saw Mrs. Lennard
walking in the room, and apparently busied in the
usual occupations to which she dedicated Saturday
nights. To stay, therefore, was not only useless
but dangerous; and he thought it better to make a
great bustle in going, that all the inhabitants of the
Hall might be apprised of his absence. He sent
Jacob into the kitchen to give some farther orders
about forwarding his trunks and baggage to the
next market-town, as they were to be sent to Lon-
don by the waggon; and then, mournfully and
reluctantly prepared to leave the room where he
had passed so many happy hours—the room where
his mind first tasted the charms of literature, and
his heart of love. It was indeed possible that he
might once more revisit it, once more that evening
with Monimia; but it was also possible, perhaps
most probable, that he might not see her again.
A thousand painful reflections presented them-
selves. He left her exposed to numberless incon-
veniencies; and his late rashness had, perhaps,
added to them by putting her into the power of
servants. Yet he might be denied an opportunity
to put her upon her guard against any of the cir-
cumstances he foresaw, or even to settle how she
might receive his letters.
He traversed the library, yielding to these tor-
menting thoughts; and, by the light of the solitary
candle he had set down in the window seat, every
thing appeared gloomy and terrific. Every object
and every sound seemed to repeat the sentence that
constantly occurred to him—Orlando will revisit


THE Oi, D MANOR HOUSE, 331
this house no more! It is difficult to say how long
he would have indulged this mournful reverie (not-
withstanding his resolution just before taken to quit
the house with as much noise as possible), if he had
not been alarmed by the sound of a female step in
the adjoining parlour. He started. It was perhaps
Monimia! He flew to the door; and there, with too
evident marks of disappointment in his countenance,
he discovered it to be Mrs. Lennard herself, who,
with a candle in her hand, and much perpendicular
dignity in her air, stalked into the study—I am
glad, Mr. Orlando, you are not yet gone, for I have
a message from my lady. Orlando would have
faced a cannon with less trepidation than he waited
for this message, which his conscience told him
might relate to Monimia. It proved, however, to
be only that he would give to Lennard the keys of
the rooms; and that she might see the window safe
and barred. To this, though it disappointed him
wholly of his hopes of meeting Monimia there, it
was impossible to object. The cautious house-
keeper, therefore, barricaded every avenue to this
apartment, without forgetting the door that led to
the chapel; and then formally inquiring if Orlando
had taken out every thing he wished to have, to
which he answered Yes (as his boxes had been
moved the preceding day), she said she would
follow him; and he left the room with an additional
pang, while Mrs. Lennard locked the door and
marched solemnly after him.
Towards the middle of the great parlour, through
which they were passing, he stopped, and said in a
voice that betrayed his emotion—You will be so
good, dear madam, to assure Mrs. Rayland of my
grateful respects, and to accept yourself a repetition
of my good wishes.
Thank you, Sir, answered the lady, I am sure I


§32 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
wish you very well: but now, Mr. Orlando, since
we part friends—
I hope we always were friends, Madam, said
Orlando, attempting to smile, and turn the dis-
course, which he feared tended to the subject he
most dreaded.
I hope so too, Sir; but I must say, that I am
afraid in regard to that girl, my niece, there has been
some wrong doings. It was not right in you, Mr.
Orlando, I must say, to hold a secret correspon-
dence with her, which I am very sure you did by
means of that sad slut Betty, who latterly has been
always giving me hints of it: but I, who did not
think Monimia so cunning and artful, did not under-
stand them; and, even to this day, I cannot imagine
how you contrived so often to talk to her out of the
window, without being seen or heard. However, it's
all over now, I hopeſ and I am willing to let it be
forgot as a childish frolic. When you return here,
Sir, you will by that time have seen too much of
the world to think about such a chit as Monimia—
if, indeed, she should happen to be here so long.
Orlando, divided between his joy to find that the
real avenue by which they had conversed was un-
known, and the pain the last hint gave him, knew
not what to reply; but, confused and hesitating, he
stammered out a sentence which Mrs. Lennard did
not give him time to finish—Come, come, Mr.
Orlando, said she, I know you are above any false
representations: besides, I assure you, you cannot
take an old bird with chaff–However, as I said be-
fore, there is an end of the matter—Ishall take care
of young madam here; and Idare say you will find
plenty of ladies where you are going, better worth
looking after.
Orlando, utterly unable to answer this raillery,
mow wished her once more health and happiness;


$34. THE OLD M A N () R H () US E.
much, was very unwilling to entrust him with
more. He had not so exactly described the way of
his communication with Monimia, as to enable any
other person to find it: and he wished rather to re-
cal than to increase the confidence he had placed
in a man of whom he knew very little, and who
might perhaps make an ill use of his confidence.
A new difficulty therefore arose: he knew not what
to do with Jacob and the horses, which he now re-
pented that he had used. If he sent them on to his
father's, it would be suspected by a family who
were every hour looking out for him, that he had
staid behind with Monimia: if he left them in the
wood, the man would probably be discontented;
and if he sent them to an alehouse near the mill at
the extremity of the park, Pattenson (who was the
great friend and patron of the man who kept it) or
some of the other servants, might be there, whose
inquiries could neither be satisfied nor evaded.
Determined however as he was to open his heart to
his father before his last adieu, he, after some de-
liberation, resolved to send them home; and he
thought the inquiries his father would make, would
give him a good opportunity to put an end (at least
as far as he could) to a mystery of which he felt
ashamed, as unworthy of himself, and of the ob-
ject of his affection.—Thus resolved, he told the
game-keeper he meant to return back to the Hall,
in the hope of seeing Monimia for five minutes;
and that he should go to West Wolverton with his
horse and portmanteau, whither he would himself
follow in about two hours, as he should tell his fa-
ther, if he asked after him, on hearing or seeing
the horses arrive without him.
The man obeyed; and Orlando, making a cir-
cuit through the woods, in order to return to the
Hall by the least frequented way, and to have as
º


THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE. 335
little of the open part of the park to cross as pos-
sible, arrived once more at the mansion which he
had so lately quitted as for the last time.—He
walked very slowly on purpose; and his thoughts
were such as brought with them only dejection and
Sorro W.
He could not help recollecting with regret, those
hours, now gone for ever, when, in his early youth,
he traversed these paths—happy in the present,
and thoughtless of the future;—when he had no
passion to torment, no fears for its object to de-
press him; but went to Monimia with the same
simple eagerness as any of his sisters or his other
playfellows, and was unconscious that the rest of
their lives would be imbittered with anxiety and
disappointment—perhaps remorse.—Orlando al-
ready felt something like it: with the most candid
and ingenuous temper he had lived some time in
a course of deception—he had taught it to the in-
nocent, unsuspecting Monimia, and had sullied the
native candour and integrity of her character.
The sophistry by which he had formerly prevailed
upon her to consent to their clandestine meetings,
now seemed mean and contemptible; but perhaps
in thinking thus, Orlando was too much like other
transgressors, who repent because they can sin no
In Ore.,
He thought himself, however, firmly determined
that, had he staid at the Hall, he would, at what-
ever hazard, act with more openness; but as he
was now going from it, there could be no harm
in this last adieu. In writing to Monimia there
could be nothing wrong, especially as he meant
not to make a secret of it to his father and Selina,
nor indeed to any of his own family: while the pe-
culiarities of Mrs. Rayland, and the watchful ma-
lignity of Mrs. Lennard, seemed fully to justify his


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 337
it, and deposited at the door that book, which con-
tained a letter. He opened the book with trem-
bling hands, and found what he expected by the
seal; but to read it was impossible, where he had
no means of procuring light; he therefore put it
into his pocket as eagerly as if he was afraid some-
body would take it from #. and then ran towards
home; where, hardly feeling the ground as he
went, he arrived, in a state of mind so uneasy and
confused, that he no longer was capable of caution
or reserve; but hastening into the kitchen, where
he first perceived a light, he snatched up a candle
without speaking, and was hurrying with it to his
own room, when his father, who had been anxious-
ly watching his arrival, opened the door through
which he was preparing to pass up stairs; and see-
ing him pale and breathless, his eyes wild, and his
hair dishevelled, he concluded that something very
terrible had happened to his brother.—The rash,
unthinking, and vehement character of Philip,
his wild profusion, and unsettled principles, had of
late so harassed the imagination of his father, that
he now thought only of his committing suicide;
and the sudden appearance of Orlando, in such an
agitated state, struck him with the idea that this
fatal event had happened—Almighty God! cried
he, as he seized the arm of Orlando, who muttering
something, would have passed to his room—Al-
mighty God! what I have dreaded has happened.
—Orlando, who thought at that moment only of
Monimia, and was impatient at every interruption,
was, however, so struck with this exclamation, and
with the look of anguish that accompanied it, that
he stopped, and, with terror equal to that with
which he had been addressed, cried, What, my
dear Sir! for Heaven's sake what has happened?
My mother, my sisters! Oh your brotherſ inter-
VOL. XXXVI. G G


THE OLD MANOR fiOUSE, 339
I depend upon your integrity; I have never known
it deceive me. Go, therefore, now—and let me
not see to-morrow that wild and unsettled look,
that pale countenance, and so many symtoms of
suffering, which I, my son, see but too plainly,
and yet dare hardly say I pity, for fear I should
encourage what I ought to condemn. Then, with
a deep sigh, he added, Good night, dear Orlando!
I will go and endeavour to compose myself, or at
least conceal from your mother the uneasiness that
devours me.—Ah, my child ! many and many
nights I do not close my eyes: the sad image of
Philip, bringing ruin on himself, on my wife, and
on my poor girls, haunts me eternally; and then,
Orlando, when my expectation rests on you, when
I think that I have another son who will protect
and support them when I am gone—for I feel that
I shall not live long—then the apprehension of
some fatal entanglement that will ruin all our
hopes, comes over my heavy heart; and I see no-
thing for my wife, and my dear girls, but poverty
and despair.
Oh! this is too much, cried Orlando; I cannot
indeed bear it—What shall I say—what shall I
swear, to quiet these distracting apprehensions?--
Good God, Sir! what have I ever done, what selfish
actions have I ever been guilty of, which could
lead my father to suppose that, to gratify myself,
I would abandon my dear—my affectionate mother,
or forget the interest of my sweet sisters?—Nay,
Orlando, you never have given me reason for such
a supposition; but let us talk of it no more—once
more, good night! Orlando then kissed his father's
hand, and left him. Eagerly he tore open the
letter, which had already, from his excessive im-
patience, occasioned to him so much pain. It con-
tained these few words:—
G G 2


The old MANOR Hous E. 341
apprehensions about Monimia, and his fears of not
seeing her, were appeased, the scene he had just
passed through with his father recurred with more
acute pain to his mind: he had promised to reveal
the secret which was already suspected; but, though
he firmly adhered to this resolution, surely his
father would not insist upon his promise to give
up all thoughts of Monimia—That he felt to be a
promise which he could not make—his whole heart
recoiled from it. Ah! why was it thus impossible
to reconcile his duty and his love; and why should
his attachment to Monimia be inconsistent with the
attention his family would have a right to—if-if
his father should die?—The very idea of his father's
death was insupportable; and yet he was going
from him, and could not watch his health, or
contribute to his comfort. Thus wretched Orlando
tried in vain to sleep—his blood throbbed tumul-
tuously in his veins; his heart seemed too big for
his bosom; by carrying his thoughts to the dreadful
parting of the next day, he was rendered incapable
of tasting any present repose; and day appeared
before his troubled thoughts had so wearied his
frame as to allow him to fall into unquiet slumber.
Even in his short and disturbed sleep, tormenting
visions assailed him—he saw the funeral of his
father, who yet appeared living, or at least appear-
ing to him, though dead—and pointing with one
hand to his mother and his sisters, while with the
other he waved him away from Monimia, who, at
a distance, seemed to sit dejected and alone, in a
wild and dreary scene, where birds of prey scream-
ed around her—from which she endeavoured to
escape towards Orlando, and held out her hands to
him for help in vain. A repetition of these un-
formed horrors took away all inclination to sleep.
At seven o'clock Orlando left his bed, more de-
G G 3


THE OLD MANOR HOUSE. 345
because, at the hours when these recreations were
offered him, he had opportunities of sitting with
Monimia, who was employed by her aunt to pick
cowslips from their stalks, to collect rose leaves, or
dry flowers and herbs in the housekeeper's room.
He concealed nothing from his father that happen-
ed in the progress of his love; and as his timidity
gradually vanished, he spoke of her with all the en-
thusiasm and all the tenderness of passion. His
father sighed more deeply than he did as he pro-
ceeded in his story; when he ceased speaking, re-
mained a moment silent; and then, with another
long-drawn sigh, he said, I have always suspected
something of this sort; but my conjectures were
short of the truth. If I had known, Orlando, that
the Hall contained so dangerous an inmate, not all
the hopes that have been raised by Mrs. Rayland's
partiality to you, should have induced me to have
suffered your residence there.
Good God! Sir, exclaimed the young man, can
you call an angel dangerous? Oh say rather that
my Monimia will prove to me a guardian seraph 2
In thinking of her, I find my mind elevated, and
purified—I live only for her—I wish only to live
worthy of her. -
Just now, Orlando, you talked of living only for
your family—for your mother—for your sisters:
and now this angel is the only object of your future
life . An angel ! every idle boy that reads ballads
or writes them, every scribbler that sends his
rhymes to a magazine, calls the nymph who inspires
him an angel; and such an angelis this Monimia of
yours 1 and from such sort of reading you have
learned to fancy yourself in love with her. The
niece of º is the last person in the world
whom I would wish you to elect, and . . . .
And why the niece of Lennard, Sir? said Orlan-


346 Th E OLD MANOR HOUSE.
do somewhat impatiently—surely my father is too
liberal to confound their merits. Poor Monimia |
She is indeed the niece of Lennard; but, believe
me, she does not in any instance resemble her—
And what is her birth 2 does it render her less
amiable, less lovely?
Oh, softly: cried Somerive, interrupting him in
his turn, I have not the least doubt, Orlando, but
that you could prove in a moment that this seraphic
damsel is not only the most perfect of human be-
ings, but the better for belonging to a woman who
has always stood between me and the countenance
of my relation; a woman, who, in all probability,
will finally rob me of my birth-right. Unhappy ill-
starred boy I Do you not see that, by this misplac-
ed attachment, you have put it into the power of
Mrs. Lennard to destroy all the hopes you have
been cherishing? Do you not see that you have
put yourself upon her mercy? that, under pretence
of not knowing of this clandestine love, she has suf-
fered it to go on 2 secure of being able to ruin you
at any time with her lady by discovering it, and
making a merit of her own disinterested conduct.
Orlando felt that there was too much truth in
this observation; but the greater those hazards
were that he incurred for Monimia, the dearer she
became to him.
Well, Sir, said he, and if Mrs. Rayland's favour
can be held only by the sacrifice of every honest
affection, I will disclaim it. Why should she dis-
card me for loving an amiable, beautiful girl,
who—?
Nay, nay ! cried his father impatiently—Why
has she invincible pride, and obstinate prejudice?
Why has she always held me at a distance, because
my father, though her only relation, was the son of
a man who could distinctly count no more than two


348 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
Engaged, Sir!
Aye, Orlando—engaged 2
If I give you no more trouble, Sir, said Orlando
dejectedly, with what you are pleased to term my
romantic passion, I must be forgiven if I answer no
questions as to my future conduct; it shall not be
such as shall disgrace my family, or give you any
reasonable cause of uneasiness.
The emphasis laid on the word reasonable did
not at all please Mr. Somerive—You must give me
leave, Sir, said he rather sternly, to judge of the
reasonableness of my feelings myself: you evade
my question, after all your professions of sincerity.
Good God! what a fate is mine ! One of my sons
is lost to me: the other is going to throw himself
away, if not as unworthily, at least more irrecover-
ably:—your brother may be reclaimed by time and
affection; but an unfortunate marriage, contracted
so early in life, is certainly ruin.
This speech was ill calculated to appease the
concern and impatience with which Orlando found
that his father, generally so considerate and indul-
gent, suffered his dislike to Mrs. Lennard to stifle
every generous and liberal sentiment of his heart;
and he was on the point of answering with more
warmth than he ever in his life ventured to use,
when fortunately, to save him from repentance,
which would instantly have followed if he had given
his father greater pain, the General joined them,
and, after a few common compliments, they were
met, as they walked towards the house, by Mrs.
Somerive with a summons to breakfast. Though
the interposition of the General had a little relieved
both, the inquiring eyes of Mrs. Somerive were
not easily evaded or deceived: she saw, and trem-
bled to see the emotions that shook the soul of
her husband; while, on the expressive features of


THE OLD MAN OR HOUSE, 349
Orlando, disquiet and anguish, mingled with some-
thing of disappointment and resentment, were too
visibly to be traced by paternal solicitude. The
presence of the General, however, and of the three
#. prevented her speaking of what so much af-
ected her; by degrees the clouds upon her hus-
band's brow seemed less heavy; but Orlando was
pensive and silent: the attempts he evidently made
to shake off his concern, were quite ineffectual; and
as soon as his hasty breakfast was over, he took his
hat, and, turning to his mother, inquired whether
the dinner hour was as usual (for on Sundays the
family were sometimes accustomed to dine earlier):
she answered that it was ; and Orlando, then
slightly bowing to the rest, was leaving the room,
when his father cried, I thought you were to pass
this last day of your stay in the country with us,
Orlando!—I shall be back to dinner, Sir, replied he
as he shut the door.—Somerive, who, in the dread
of his losing Mrs. Rayland's favour, and in his ha-
tred to Mrs. Lennard, had spoken of Monimia with
more asperity than he felt, was now convinced that
harshness would have little influence on the warm
impetuous spirit of his son; that he would have
done better to have trusted to mildness and persua-
sion, and to have treated him in this instance, as he
had hitherto always done, rather with the gentle-
ness of a friend, than the authority of a parent.
Stung with regret, anguish, and disappointment,
Orlando wandered away from the house, hardly
knowing why, or whither he was going. Instead of
obtaining for Monimia his father's protection, and
the countenance of his family during his absence,
with which he had fondly flattered himself, he had
heard what almost amounted to a prohibition against
thinking of her any more; and his own candour and
sincerity, to which he had been taught so religiously
VOL. XXXVI. H. H.


350 THE OLD MANOR HOUSE.
to adhere, had apparently done him more mischief
than the hints which his brother had thrown out,
who had (as he lately learned from Selina) never
ceased attempting, during his last visit at home, to
impress his father and mother with a notion, that
Orlando had not only a correspondence, but a cor-
respondence of the most criminal nature, with Mrs.
Lennard's niece. Mrs. Somerive, always unwilling
to see the faults of one son, or to hear of the sup-
posed faults of another, had sometimes evaded, and
appeared, when she was forced to hear it, quite in-
different to this information; while Somerive, what-
ever credit he might give to the existence of what
he thought such a foolish and boyish inclination,
discouraged this invidious disposition in his eldest
son; and though he sometimes felt a good deal
alarmed about Orlando, he thought so contemptibly
of Mrs. Lennard, because he had learned early in
life to despise and dislike her, that he could hardly
imagine it possible for a relation of hers to make a
lasting impression on a young man of so much taste
and spirit. He was however often uneasy, and par-
ticularly after the dinner party at Stockton's, on
this subject; but, upon inquiry, he could not find
that Monimia was a girl likely long to captivate his
son, or to engage him in a serious attachment. Some
persons told him, indeed, that she was a pretty girl;
others, that she was a handsome girl; but more,
that there was not anything very extraordinary in
her: while from other quarters he heard that her
aunt treated her like a common servant, except that
she never sat in the kitchen or the servants' hall;
and that she hardly ever was seen by any of the
family, being employed in attending Mrs. Rayland
only when she was sick, and at other times in wait-
ing upon or working for Mrs. Lennard in her own
room. Somerive therefore thought, that whatever


352 THE OLD MANOR House.
pleasure it occasioned to his father and his family,
whatever might be their conjectures and remarks,
he must either fail returning to dine with them, or
break away perhaps before the removal of the table-
cloth; to do the former would have been less uneasy
to himself, but he feared it would be more offensive
to his family. Resolutely determined to see Moni-
mia at all events, he fixed upon the latter; but as
he could bear no more of his father's displeasure
than what he was sure (he thought) of hearing when
he returned from his last dear interview, he could
not resolve to go back to the house, but continued
walking, almost mechanically, towards Rayland
Hall, forgetting, in the extreme agitation of his
spirits, how very material it was that he should not
be seen after he had taken his last leave of Mrs.
Rayland, and she believed him gone out of the
country.
This never occurred to him till, under a hollow
sand cliff that bounded one side of the great pond,
near the mill, on the verge of the park, he suddenly
heard the rattle of a carriage, and, looking behind
him, saw Mrs. Rayland's coach stopping at the gate,
within two hundred yards of him. He then recol-
lected the contemptible figure he should make, and
the irreparable injury it would do him with her, if
he were detected in a falsehood, accompanied too
with apparent ingratitude; but it was almost too
late to escape, for on one side was the water, and
on the other a high and almost perpendicular bank,
that in some places hung over the road:—he had
not, however, a moment's time to deliberate; but,
seizing one of the roots that grew out of the sides,
he sprang up, not without some hazard of pulling
the crumbling loose soil, of which the bank was
formed, upon him:-two steps brought him to the
top, where, however, he would have been in a more


The old MAN or House. 353
exposed situation than below, if the holly, hazle,
broom, and branches of pollard oaks that clothed
the top of the eminence, had not afforded him a
friendly concealment:--he threw himself among
them; and then, perfectly sure that he could not be
seen, he peeped among the withered leaves of the
oak and the thicker green of the holly, and saw
very distinctly the carriage approach, in which,
with a palpitating heart, he perceived Monimia sit-
ting backwards with her aunt, while Mrs. Rayland
alone occupied the opposite seat. He then recol-
lected, that this was the day on which Mrs. Rayland
usually went in state to the church of a neighbour-
ing parish; a ceremony that was performed four
times a year, when the weather did not forbid it.
He was amazed at his own thoughtless indiscretion;
and saw that he owed his escape from its conse-
3. to a mere accident. On these occasions a
ootman went behind, and Mr. Pattenson rode in
great form by the coach side. It happened that
the man behind the coach had been ordered by his
lady, at the church door, to call with a message
upon her tenant the miller, whom not being imme-
diately able to find, he staid while he was inquired
for; and Pattenson was under the necessity of dis-
mounting to open the gate, which, as he was ex-
tremely unwieldy, and rode a spirited and well fed
horse, was by no means the work of a moment.
Orlando, after his apprehensions were at an end,
found in this little incident something from which
he drew a favourable omen; he was pleased to see
that, in consequence of his supposed absence, Moni-
mia was indulged with a greater degree of liberty,
and appeared much in favour with Mrs. Rayland and
her aunt: and it seemed as if destiny, however re-
motely, was determined to favour him; for, in this
last, as well as in innumerable preceding instances,








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