UC-NRLF ^B IbD Dbb THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA ALUMNUS BOOK FUND THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST By ELIZABETH HELME. LONDON: PUBLISHED BY J. CLEMENTS, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, FOR THE PROPRIETORS OF THE ROMANCIST AND NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. 1841. ALUMNUS I ^45 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. CHAPTER I. Under an aged oak, that grew on a pleasant but lonely part of Inglewood Forest, one fine fiummer's evening, sat the venerable farmer Godwin, reading to his family, with a dignity that might have graced a more distinguished rank ; but it was a subject that ever raised his heart to the Most liigh, and made him feel that, however humble the state of probation, a life spent in innocence and integrity would one. day entitle him to a place where virtue alone claims pre-eminence. On his knee lay the Bible ; on his right hand sat his wife, who, though grey hairs shaded her temples, the beam of youthful affection was not extin- guished in her eye; on his left sat his sons, William and Edwin ; and at her mother's feet was placed their sister Emma, trimming a straw hat with pink ribbons for the ensuing fair. The lecture concluded, they adjourned to their humble mansion, which, thongh apper- taining to some rich and highly- cultivated land, was nothing more than a spacious, conve- nient farmhouse; yet to those to whom cleanliness and comfort constitute luxury, this' dwelling possessed every attribute. The frugal meal was soon prepared, and seasoned with; innocent mirth, and the happy cheerfulness of hearts unconscious of guile might have out- balanced in pleasure far more sumptuous entertainments ; for labour had given health, and; health appetite ; and for the corroding passions of envy, jealousy, pride, or malice, that so frequently embitter the feasts of the great, their hearts were too humble to entertain such overbearing intruders. The suppers removed, and the farmer's pipe, with a pitcher of ale, being placed on the table — "I wonder," said William, with a half-sigh, "whether Fanny Bernard is ye* re- turned home ?" — *• Suppose we step down the lane and inquire ?" replied Edwin ; " it is a fine night, and Emma can go with us ; we shall be back before my father has smoked his pipe." This motion was immediately adopted, as farmer Bernard's was only a quarter of a mile down a green lane, that was separated from a forest by a high-road crossing its entrance. It would hardly be possible to paint three more interesting figures than the brothers and sister tripping by a clear moonlight over the green. William had just attained his twenty - second year, his face and person forming a model from which a statuary might have envied to copy an Apollo, yet with a cast of reflection over his animated features, which to a common observer made them less striking than those of his brother Edwin, who was a year younger, and whose person, though less elegantly formed, was yet more fascinating, from the continual sprightliness that enlivened his features ; Eriima, innocent as the dove, playful as the lamb, and fair as Milton's Eve, holding of each a hand, and chatting a hundred little mimdias, to themselves only interesting. On reaching Bernard's farm, they entered without ceremony, the lifting of the latch alone announcing visiters. "Welcome, my lads," said the old man ; *' what, and my little girl too 1 are you there ? Hark ye, Agnes,** addressing bis daughter, " replenish the pitcher, and look what hast got in the cupboard," — " We have supped," replied William ; and looking anxiously round the room, " Fanny, I see, is not yet returned." — "No ; Agnes and I have been wishing for her — she will be back in a day or two, I suppose ; but, pies on't 1 I wondered what brought you here to-night — now the murder's out ; however, sorrow's dry ; here's to you, my boys, and may Fanny and Agnes make as good wives as their mother ; rWhy, Atues, I say there's no ale in the pitcher; 2 THE ROMANCIST AND NOVELIST'S LIBRARY. prithee draw some, and court afterwards, I think Edwin and you can't have much to whisper, for you had a plaguy long gossip to-day, when you carried the meat to the rea- pers." — " Lord, father, you are so odd !" answered Agnes, blushing ; " indeed the basket was very heavy, and Edwin carried it for me, for I was quite tired." — " Yes, yes," replied the old man, " I suppose so, for when I came up, you were sitting on the stile to rest. Never blush, girl— many a time thy mother has detained me, heaven rest her! and thou art but a chip of the old block." Agnes broke off the discourse by hastening to draw the ale ; during her absence—*' Indeed," said Emma, " as Fanny and Agnes are to be my sisters, I think the sooner the better. Why, Fanny's almost nineteen, and Agnes is two months older than me, and I was seventeen last Midsummer." — *• I care not how soon," replied Bernard ; " but where shall we find a husband for thee, Emma ? Why, William," shaking him heart- ily by the hand, " what art dull for, man? I dare be sworn Fanny is as anxious to see thee as thou be'st to see her — so drink about." The old clock, which stood in the corner of the kitchen, and on whose tall case were depicted the loves of Henry II., together with the death of Fair Rosamond, at that moment striking ten, the visiters rose to depart, Agnes ac- companying them to the gale. — "Goodnight, "said William, shaking hands withher. — "Good night," repeated Emma, saluting her — " and heaven bless thee l" concluded Edwin, kissing her ruby lips 1 " I shall see you before breakfast, as I go a-field." Such was the behaviour of these uncorrupted children of innocence, who acted as their pure minds dictated, being strangers to the refinement with which art and g ood-breeding conceal the emotions of the heart. They had just reached the end of the lane, when several voices struck them from the high-road: fear they were strangers to — it could only, they thought, be people returning from the market town to a village about three miles farther ; or it might be as William's heart prompted, Fanny under the care of a party of friends. With such ideas they advan- ced ; but instead of countrjrmen riding cheerfully homewards, found two domestics and a post- boy endeavouring to raise a chaise that had been overturned, and whose owners, a gentleman and lady, sat by the roadside ; the first in great pain, from a broken arm he had received in the fall ; and the latter heavily lamenting the accident. ** Thank heaven it is not Fanny I" said William, with a sigh. " But it is people in distress," replied Edwin, quickening his pace; "what can we do for them.'" "Assist them to the utmost of our abilities, ' returned William, in atone yet more animated than his brother's, at the same time hastening forward to execute his purpose. On their reaching the chaise they found one of the wheek broken, so that to proceed was impossible ; therefore, while William and Emma were aiding the strangers. Edwin ran home to inform bis father of the accident, and to entreat him, as there was no house of enterta'nment within four miles, to offer the stranger with the broken arm their spare bedi till he could be moved farther with safety. The virtues that warmed the heart of farmer Godwin would have dignified the bosom of a prince ; from his humble roof the wanderer ever departed satisfied, wishing that his means were as extensive as the charity of his heart. Edwin's request was therefore instantly granted, the good man himself accompanying his son to make the offer, while his dame, as he frequently called, her, with the assistance of her maid Margery, prepared the spare bed, in case the stranger should accept her husband's offer. On Godwin's reaching the spot where the disaster happened, he immediately went up to the sufferer, whose arm was now supported by the trembling Emma, William and the rest being still employed about the chaise, at the entreaty of the owner, who anxioubly wished to proceed — " My good sir," said Godwin, ** in your situation the distance to the village is too far ; therefore, if you will accept the offer of an apartment in a farmhouse, where we will endeavour to render you all the service in our power, we will lead you there instantly, while one of my sons shall ride to the next market-town for a surgeon. The lady we can also accommodate ; and for your domestics, after some refreshment, those you have no service for can proceed to get your carriage repaired, which in the mean time will b« perfectly safe here." The stranger immediately accepted the farmer's offer : for which tke lady also exj)rc88ed her thanks, and they proceeded towards Godwin's dwelling ; the lady, THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. who had not yet recovered her fright, leaning on Edwin's arm, and the gentleman assisted by Godwin and his son William. On reaching the farm, their arrival was announced by the furious barking of the great dog, whose noise was, however, soon silenced by the mu- sical voice of Emma, and the more commanding voice of his master. The stranger being immediately put to bed, and Edwin dispatched on horseback for the nearest surgeon, the lady began to recover her fright, Mrs. Godwin having prevailed on her to take a glass o^ currant wine, and conducted her to the parlour, which, though its furniture was as simple as the minds of the owners, yet also, like them, possessed that real utihty that strongly contrasted the folly of gaudy grandeur, which, while it bewitches the eye, is deficient in that general comfort which unadorned convenience ever bestows. Here was no fear of soiling the costly colours of the Persian carpet, though the white scoured floor far more plainly showed the mark of dirty footsteps ; no gilding to be injured by the touch, the chairs, tables, and even glass-frame, being of walnut-tree , which vied with the mirror in brightness. No pictures graced the walls ; but, in their stead, numberless odoriferous bouquets, in white earthen jars, placed on shelves round the apartment ; and to complete the whole, the glittering steel stove, with brass knobs, filled with large branches of the hawthorn and wild briar in blossom. "Wearied with travelling and the subsequent fright, Mrs. Delmer (for so was the lady called) looked round with a complacency and satisfaction which splendid drawing rooms had not always been able to inspire. — *' It is fairyland," thought she " and the ideas of my fifteenth year are realized in the inhabitants of this mansion." Mrs Delmer was a widow, about the age of twenty-eight, and possessed of a large inde- pendency, by the death of a husband she hated. She was now hastening to the capital with her brother, in order to enjoy those pleasures she had been debarred during the last ten years ; the greatest part of which time she had been confined to the country by her spouse, whose greatest pleasure had consisted in hunting and drinking. On her first entrance into public Ufe, her fine person had procured her the affluence she enjoyed ; and she had no doubt it would secure her a husband, calculated to make her happy, and repay her for the disgust she had entertained for his predecessor. Wealth had been her first incentive; but she found its inefficacy of giving happiness, and therefore determined to make love alone the motive of a second union. Her brother Mr. Whitmore, was about twenty-six, and had been some time married, but experienced little happiness in that state, having, like his sister, consulted convenience more than affection or even esteem, in the disposal of his hand. His lady was young, handsome, lively, and too fashionably educated not to return the coldness with which he treated her , and, as all the gay world admired her, thought the affection of a husband a mite in the great scale, and easily dispensed with. Her fortune being large her settlement was also liberal, and sufficiently enabled her to pursue her inclinations without control ; Mr. Whitmore was too well bred to interfere with her pleasures, while she was polite enough to be blind to his. Ever engaged in different pursuits, they seldom met above once or twice a-week at dinner, and then usually surrounded with company ; a matrimonial tete-a-tete was by both declared the most wearisome thing in the universe. Mr. Whitmore had been on a visit to his sister, who had passed the first six months of her widowhood at her country-seat in Cumberland ; and was returning with her to his own villa Bear London (where he had left his lady) when the accident happened, Whitmore was only son to a banker, who, at his death, had left him w4iat he thought a sufficiency to decline business. In his person he was handsome and graceful ; in his disposition generous and brave ; but born to affluence, and accustomed from his childhood to command his wishes without control, his passions knew no curb, his inclinations no law but gratification ; highly accomplished and insinuating in his address, he had been uncommonly successful in his amours, addressing indiscriminately both married and single that chanced to please him, or where he could flatter himself with success ; frequently declaring that both sexes were free agents and those only fulfilled the end of their creation who made the most of life, and enjoyed it to the utmost of their power, so they injured no man's purse or property— women, in his 4 THE ROMANCIST AND NOVELISTS' LIBRAKY. opinion, not coming under that denomination, being a kind of fair game, and their persons transferrable, as their affections, to him that pleased them most. Such were the new inmates at Godw-in's Fkrm, where every individual was busy in pre- paring for their ease and convenience until the return of Edwin with a surgeon, who having set Mr. Whitmore's arm, and assured them there was not the least danger, being only a simple fracture, the females retired to take a short repose, William and Edwin ta their morning occupations, day being already broke, and the venerable Godwin to watch by the side of WMtmore. CHAPTER II, WHiTMORE, afta* a slight repose, which was disturbed by the pain he experienced from his armr entered into conversation with liis host, expressing his thanks in the warmest terms ^ which subject, however, being only distressing to the farmer, who thought he had done nothing, more than what, in the same circumstances, almost every man would have done for hilai, he changed the discourse, and began to inquire about the vicinity. " The parish church." said Godwin, "is not more than two miles off, and almost close to it is a good house and extensive grounds, belonging to the lady who inherits great part of the land around. As yet she is a perfect stranger to us, havii^ always lived with an uncle near the capital who has left her heiress to his whole estate. The nearest market town is about four miles from hence, so tliat I regard the chance that threw my sons in your way as fortunate* for SMich a distance in your situation must have been dreadful, Whitmore was now again attempting to repeat his thanks. — " My good sir," interrupted the farmer, ** you see so trifling a service in too strong a light. In such a ir.isfortnne would not you have acted the same by me ?" — " Indeed I would," answered Whitmore, after a momentary pause, and then remained silent. To confess the truth, though he had answered Godwin's question in the aflSrtnative, yet there was a monitor within his own breast which, by knowing mankind better, was not so easily satisfied; he therefore said no more, but remaining quiet, could not avoid repeating to his own heart the question of the farmer — "Would you not have done the same by me?" — "I should, perhaps," replied he mentally, "have left him ia charge with my footman, and ordered hinat a surgeon ; or if the accident had happened in town, given liim a guinea had he wanted it, and sent him to the hospital; but to make him a bed in my own bouse, nay, tO' wait by his side, while all my family were employed in his service, I should never have done it." This idea gave transitory awk- wardness to the feelings of Whitmore ; but the pride of birth, and the complacency which superior wealth usually bestows on its possessors, soon dispersed the cloud, when they presented to his mind the difference of situation in life from that of Godwin's — the one a simple farmer, and the other possessed of three thousand a year, a place in the senate, and universally courted and admired. This coiasidered, there was no comparison in the case > lor though he felt that the bones of a gentleman. were as brittle as those of a peasant, and that he was as as vnlnerable to pain, yet he could ndt divest himself of the idea, that superior rank and fortane demanded particular cares, even from those persons whom he would have blushed to attend in the same situation. Mr. Whitmore's valet now entered ; he had been employed in moving the baggage out of tfce chaise, which was refitted in such a manner as to be removed to the next town to be thoroughly repared. Godwin, thus relieved, adjourned to his kitchen, where he found hia wife, Emm*, and the maid assembled,, all inquiring how Utfi stranger had rested Mrs. Godwin then ordered Margery to pick out the best baked cakes, while herself made the tea; and pouring out two breakfast-cups, sent one to Mrs. Delmer, who was not yet- risen, and took the other herself to Whitmore, entreating him to make free, and command whatt^ver their house afforded, with that characteristic goodness of heart which peculiarly distinguished her, and that had made her douWy amiable in )Outh„ and respectable in age Whitmore, after a proper return to her civility, said— May I not be permitted some time THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FORRST. 5 to-day, my dear madam, to see and thank ray young irieudu for tke services of last night ?" Mrs. Godwin assxired him her sons would not fail to wait on hira oa tlwir return from their morning avocation : then wishing hira speedily better, she returned to breakfast, wttere the party was soon augmented by William and Edwin, who, after a hasty meal, retired to pay their compliments to Whitraore, while Emma repaired to Mrs. Delmer^ whom she assisted to dress. Mrs. Delmer, in her manner, possessed much of her brother's affability, and by her good humour gained an almost immediate interest in the heart of Emma, who declared, when she afterwards joined her brothers, that she had never before seen so beautiful and engaging a ■woman. To this, however, both brothers dissented; the eider declaring she was not near SO handsome as Fanny Bernard ; and the younger, that was Agnes drewed the same, there ■^ould bono comparison between them. " As to dress,'' returned \\ illiam, "Fanny is always so exact and neat, that any alteration must be for the worse ; and I protest I should thinkher fine hair disfigured by powder and grease— then that hateful hut, with a great cockade and feather, gives an air of harshness and boidaess, which I cannot endure ; Fanny's straw bonnet, with the blue ribbon, is a thousand times more becoming." — ' No svujh thing, William," replied Emma, "for I tried it on and looked quite a dift'erent weature the feathers made me so tall, and look so well, that I am su'e I never liked myself so much before. Then her shoes— why I thought her feet were as little agiiin -as mine, yet it was only their make and the smart heels, for they are larger ; but the shoe-makers about here are so awkward, that they make one's feet quite clumsy! I declare I shall now have no patience with them." — " Yet your mother," said William, gravely, " who was reckoned one of the finest girls in the "whole country, was always satisfied with them."—" All that is very true," interrupted Edwin, "yet you cannot persuade me but Mr. Whitmore's clothes are more becoming than ours, even though I am perfectly satisfied with my situation in life, yet •was fortune, by any unforeseen event, to favour me, I should certainly think it no error to adopt my dress to the fashion." " Certainly not," replied Emma ; " but William is so grave, that I am sure had my grandfather (the rector) lived, and he might have made him a parson; nay, you know, my father says he is the very image of him," " I accept your compliment," answered William, with a smile ; "ibr surely it is one to be told I resemble a man who was a blessing to his neighbours, and an honour to his profession ; and, in return, Emma, I wish thy temper may resemble thy mother's as much as thy person." "'Thank you. my dear William," giving him an aff'ectionate kiss on liie cheek; "but, indeed, I fear I shall never be so handsome." "I rather fear you v/ill never be so unconscious of it," replied William ; "for, as to beauty, you have as great a share as I think you can be safely trusted with." "Oh! how ill-natured 1" exclaimed, Emma; •* I protest you grow worse and worse ; I will stay no longer — I promised to walk with Delmer, and must go this instant." With these words, away flew the sprightly girl to perform the promise; while her brothers returned to their usual occupation in the field, overlooking and occssionally assisting the labourers: calling, however, at Bernard's, where William had the -vexation to learn that Fanny had written to inform her father that she should for some time prolong her stay, as her aunt, whom she was visiting, still continued ill, and entreated her presence ; concluding with a modest but tender remembrance to her lover. William then perused the letter with a sigh ; and informing the farmer of the particulars of the last night's adventure, the brothers soon after took their leave. Emma had joined Mrs. Delmer, who, however, previous to her walk, called at her brother's apartment, where she had passed the morning ; and, finding him perfectly cheer- ful, and without fever, easily acquiesced in his desire of not sending for more assistance, which she had at first strongly pressed. In this visit she was accompanied by Emma, who Whitmore, in spite of his pain the night before, had thought the most lovely creature he 6 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. ever beheld, and who now, divested of the pallid hue and tremor occasioned by his accident appeared a thousand times more charming. "My dear brother," said Mrs. Delmer, " as you seem tolerably easy, and I do but disturb you, my young friend and myself are going to take a walk." *' Indeed," replied Whitmore, " though I prefer your recreation before my own, yet, in this case, I must truly confess I should be more easy, and less disturbed, by your company, than left to my own thoughts. However I wish you a pleasant walk, and regret that I cannot accompany you ; yet before you go, give me leave to thank Miss Godwin for the trouble I gave her last night, in supporting ray arm — a trouble,*' continued he with great softness, " that made even such a situation enviable." " Indeed, sir,'* answered Emma, " I trembled so much, that I could not hold it as steadily as William desired me; and though you did not complain, I am sure I must hurt you." "Good heaven ! hurt me ! Such support could alone enable me to bear the pain with becoming patience ; but I detain you ; yet, might I entreat a favour, it should be for half an hour of your company on your return. Charity, my dear sister, you know, is strongly recommended to us ; and can you show yours more effectually than on such a miserable invalid ?" Well, we will endeavour to exert it," replied Mrs. Delmer; "but for the present, adieu." Emma then conducted Mrs. Delmer, at her own desire, to their harvest-field, the first ob- jects that presented themselves were William and Edwin, divested of their coats, in shirts white as snow, foremost amongst the reapers. William respectfully moving his hat, continued his labour ; but Edwin, a deep blush covering his face, to be thus caught, hastily put on his coat, and joined Mrs. Delmer and Emma. " What a delightful scene !" said the lady, befor© he reached them. '* I know not how it happens, my dear girl, but in one day you have almost delighted me with rural life, which I ever before held in abhorrence ; but the reason is obvious — your family are so totally different from all I ever saw who reside constantly in the country, that the contrast became doubly striking." "If there is any difference," replied Emma, " we derive it from my father, who has had a very good education, being son to the rector of the parish, who, however, as my father declined pursuing his fortune in the church, had it only in his power to settle him on this farm, purchasing the house, and about 14 acres of the adjoining land. The remainder we hold on a long lease for a long term, and at an easy rent." Edwin at that moment joined them, and was received by Mrs. Delmer with a smile. After some cheerful conversation, she walked up to the reapers, and gave them a gumea to drink. Then turning to Edwin, she said — " We should intrude too much on your time to ask your company home ; but we shall see you in the evening in my brothers apartment, who has made us promise to pass an hour with him." Edwin bowed ; and Mrs. Delmer and Emma bidding him farewell, they returned home. In this manner passed the first day, and several succeeding ones, until Whitmore's arm began to unite, and he was able to sit up. The pillow which supported the fracture would indeed be frequently uneasy, and seldom could be rendered otherwise, but by Emma, who, he affirmed, ever placed it smoother than any one else, thanking her, with a glance from his expressive dark eyes, in a language which, though new, was intelligible to her unexpe- rienced heart. Twice, as she placed his arm, he had ventured to kiss her hand ; but the confusion this had occasioned, and the tremor with which she afterwards approached, him, determined him to desist, rather than give an alarm that might prove detrimental to his passion. 4- CHAPTER III. '.VHiTMoas gained strength daily ; and at length, with his arm in a sling, came down stairs, though the surgeon affirmed he must not yet venture the shaking of a carriage. On the THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 7 second day after he had left his chamber, finding himself at home with Godwin, after some conversation, in which he expressed his warmest thanks for the favours he had received, he took his hand, and with the ease of good breeding that particularly distinguished him. entreated his acceptance of a bank-note of a hundred pounds, as a small retribution towards the obligations he had received. ** My good sir," said the farmer, returning the note, " you are heartily welcome to the asylum your unhappy situation rendered necessary. To me it has been no inconvenience, but rather a gratification, as it has enabled me to fulfil one of the greatest duties commanded xis — 'Do unto others as you would they should do unto you.' Your own servant has taken the fatigue on himself, shall you then pay for your mere shelter and a little food in such a calamity ' Heaven fordid ! If any debt, not to me is it due, but to those in similar circumstance, and to whom, I doubt not, your own heart will lead you to pay it." Whit- more was abashed ; he felt all the dignity and force of virtue : he remembered Emma, and her heart smote him ; but recovering his confusion, and reflecting for a few moments, he replied — •** My dear sir, at least give me some way to show my gratitude. You have two sons, well- informed, sensible young men : permit me to take on myself to charge one of them. From my situation in life, I flatter myself that I can introduce him to the world with success having it in my power to place a person immediately as clerk in one of the public offices ; wliich situation, till we cam procure a better, will at least afford a genteel competency." Godwin returned his thanks for this offer, answering, that in a matter in which themselves were so materially concerned, he would certainly inform them of Mr. Whitmore's generosity. — " But for my own part," continued he, ** were I to consult only my wishes, I should rather they would settle in the spot where they first saw the light. Great towns, 1 have heard and read, are full of danger ; and though I depend much on the virtuous education I have given my sons, yet I should tremble to expose them to temptations which youth and constitution could ill withstand." The entrance of Mrs. Godwin with her sons here broke off the discourse, which, however, was soon renewed by the farmer's informing them of what had passed. The anxious mother, trembling with dread at the bare idea of being separated from her childien, was, at the same moment, elated with their probable success, and their future elevation in life ; she therefore remained silent, tears glistening in her eyes, which, fixed on the loved com- panion of her youth, appeared to wish to read his sentiments on the occasion ; but he simply repeated Mr. Whitmore's offbr, without expressing, even in the most distant manner, his own thoughts on the occasion. He had hardly concluded, when William, addressing Mr. Whitmore, replied — " I know no terms, sir, in the plain untutored language I have been accustomed to, that appear strong enough to express my thanks for your generosity; but for myself, must beg leave to decline it. My father's increasing years demand the assistance of a son, both as a comfort to his age, and to take from his hand the weight of business, trivial to youth, but fatiguing in advanced life. I am also affianced to a young woman, who, like myself, would, I am sure, prefer this cottage, labour, content, and peace, to all the bustle that grandeur or wealth could bestow ; and, lastly, unfit, from indisposition, for public life, I can but again express my thanks for your kindness, of which I shall ever retain the most grateful remembrance." Here William ceased. His father smiled with satisfaction, which sentiment was as instantly conveyed to the features of his mother whose heart, however hung doubtful on the answer of her younger son. Edwin was silent, and appeared lost in thought : the struggle was hard, and, for some moments, forbade utterence. Greatness and wealth for the first time appeared within his grasp ; but then to leave Agn^, though even for a short time, was distraction yet, perhaps, soon to return, and place her in a position in sosiety she was fitted to adorn, was enchanting, and, after a moments pause, mastered the first consideration. " I will be guided by my father, sir," at length hesitated Edwin : " he is the best judge of what is fitting for my welfare ; and whatever is his determination I shall submit to 8 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD' FOREST. ■witbout repugnance." — " My dear boy," replied Godwin, " by the agreement with Bernard,, yourself and your brother will equally share what we possess, except the tritile I have saved being transferred at your mother's death to Emma. You must therefore, in the present case, judge for yourself, and answer accordingly." Edwin again, after a pause, replied, that as he knew his father would not feel his loss, from the attention of William, with his permission he would think of it till the morrow, and then give a definitive answer. Whitmore approved of this resolution, as did also Godwin ; and being soon after joined by Mrs. Delmer and Emma, the conversation ceased ; William and his brother quitting them to go to farmer Bernard's. In their way thither, William remained silent until Edwin resumed the discourse respecting Mr. Whitmore's oflfer, which he spoke of with all the warmth and energy natural to youth — ** I am young," said he, "and perhaps maybe successful enough to acquire sufficient wealth to fix my Agnes in a state equal to my wishes — to assist my pacents and Emma — and place my beloved brother above labour. — What happiness. " I can know no greater," returned William, calmly, though with great affection, " than the prospect before me appears to promise, I am young, and able to labour ; Fanny Bernard will be my companion, and share with me the pleasing employ of soothing the declining years of our parents. With such a wife, and such relations, what can I wish for more ? The farm has ever been sufficient to gratify all our wants and wishes ; what then should we seek for, my dear brother ? Under the specious covering of wealth and grandeur, frequently lurks care ; and though I would not advise, yet I must confess I had hoped, that as our youth had passed together, our age might do the same. Virtue, justice, all the claims that distinguish manhood, unite you to Agnes, whom, if you forsake, fascinated by the delirium of grandeur, you are unworthy to live." — "Forsake Agnes 1" replied Edwin, recoiling with horror at the idea; "abandon Agnes! No, William, do not think so ill of me ; with her I would rather encounter all the calamities that fortune could inflict, than accept a throne vrithout her." This discourse brought them to Bernard's door, where they were met by Agnes. — " What is the matter, Edwin ?" said she, fixing her eyes on him with inquiring tenderness ; " you look unhappy ! — nay, and William too ! Tell me, are all well at home ?" William replied in the affirmatime ; then asking for her father, hastily passed into the house, leaving her alone with Edwin. " Agnes," said Edwin, hesitating, " will you walk with me into the orchard ? 1 have mudi to consult you upon." Agnes gave him her hand with silence, which he felt tremble witliin his own. " Why this alarm, my love?" said he, putting his arm round her waist. " What do you fear?" " Alas ! I know not what," replied she ; " but your features first gave me a shuck that I cannot account for, and which was increased by William's looks and behaviour. Well do I know his temper, Edwin : he is never moved by trifles — something very material must have happened to change him thus." — " Nothing material, my love, only Mr. Whitmore has been offering my father to take charge of either my biK>ther or myself,, and to settle us in some situation that may lead to make our fortune. William firsb repUed, and^ ' "Declined itl" scarcely articulated Agnes. "Yes, my dear girl ; nor have I accepted it. I wished to consult you, and shall abide by your determination. If you approve, and think it may be the means of our future welfare, by placing me above sharing our parent's property with William, I shall accept it with pleasure ; If otherwise, relinquish it : for you well know, my Agnes," continued he, kissmg off a tear that had fallea from her cheek, " that my greatest happiness consists in giving you pleasure. In a few mouths, perhaps, I might be settled to my satisfaction, and able to return to Inglewood, and fetch my betrothed wife. Would to heaven you had already borne that name 1 for as it is, I fear both our parents will object to our union until they find how I am placed. Oh, Agnes, they »ay we are too young to marry I How false that notion, when we are old. enough to love 1" Edwin' miglit haft continued for a mudt longer time rminterpupted, for the heart of der, she gave Edwin. " I yet, Agaes/' Jg 3uld glory to C :st iacentivjB ! ^ lirough life in - obbed Agnes, ,-; 1^ no desire for ^ • jssess : but go .ere men scoff ^ th unblushing <^ i I Go, there, ^ :red with silks U icrous Agnes ! £ , even though n, may I be 45 ursed by my ft ' interrupted • *?. d by thee !— C 11 decline Mr. ^ Not for my ^ -ST ur inclination ^ 2 5elffor having fe ^ th your father E fi aced they are ^ ^ les passed the fkt IS tenderness, in D ^ aver her eyes, rfS aken place in O ^ have informed ■** . o disapprove, X Q aaent — " It is, X B • d hastening to 3 r4 hen a moment g ^ .me. WiUiam •ri • 3n the neck of f^ ^ ing the name continuing her gft^ . as any of the 9 nO William ; and ** •^ }y my truth, I lould have had re : he used to be as Tikely a fellow as you Trotfld see on a summer's day," continued ne, 7}ointing to him ; " why, pies on the fellow, what a change has taken place ! a quarter of an hour ago his face was as long as ray leg, and his eyes as dead as a «tale mackerel's ; now, I protest, they look quite blight, and his cheeks plump ! Why thou must be a plaguy good doctor, Fanny, to make such a speedy cure!" — ^" She is the only one I ever intend to employ, if she will undertake the task," replied William : " but your cousin must be fatigued, and iieeds refreshment." — ^'* Good troth, you may as well be my cousin at once, for that will be the next witbout repi yourself an( saved being present case replied, that ■with his pen Whitmore aj Mrs, Delmei go to farmer In their respecting I natural to y acquire suffi patents and can know nc prospect befc will be my cc years of our The farm ha; we seek for, frequently lui as our youth claims that d by the deliri Edwin, recoil so ill of me ; than accept where they > her eyes on too ! Tell me for her father ^ » said Edwin, h you upou." Agnes gav€ this alarm, m " Alas ! I kn. cannot occoun I know his te have happenet has been offer us in some siti •' Declined it it. I wished i think it may b property with you well know, «^ gmni ii eo-ne, inasing off a tear that had faUaa from heir cheek» " that my greatest happiness consists in giving you pleasure* In a few months, i)erhaps, I might be settled to my satisfaction, and able to return to Inglewood, and fetch my betrothed wife. Would to heaven you had already borne that name I for as it is, I fear both our parents will object to our union until they find how I am placed. Oh, Agnes, they say we are too young to marry I How false that notion, when we are old. enough to lof c 1" £di^' nriglit have contmued for a much longer time uninterv«pted, for the heart of 'mE PARMER OF K^GLBWOOD FOREST. , ,9 Agnes iras too full for iitterance ; and, with her face reclined on his shoulder, she gave vent to the anguish that overwhelmed her *' I will not go then," continued Edwin. "I cannot see you thus. I will, with thanks, dedine Mr. Whitmore's offt r : yet, Agnes,*' added he, pressing her to his bosom, " to have placed thae in a state I should glory to view thee in, what would I not endure ! Heaven witness, that was my strongest incentive 1 but it is past — I renounce it ; it gives thee pain, Agnes, and I will reniain through lifeia the humble situation to which I was born."— "Not on my account, Edwin," sobbed Agnes, endeavouring to master her tears : " go where your wishes lead you— I have no desire for grandeur; Inglewood, with your company, contedned all I ever wished to possess: but go —go to that hateful city, whose vices I have trembled to hear repeated ; where men scoff at the ruin of innocent maids, and vile women walk the streets at noonday with unblushing cheeks ; where power overcomes right ; and where affection is bought and sold I Go, there, Edwin, and forsake all the rustics of Inglewood : but remember, that those covered with silks and embroidery do not always contain hearts so true as mine." — " Cruel, ungenerous Agnes ! what are their hearts to me ? Am I not thine ? and I will ever falsify that vow, even though we should be separated ? No ; I repeat it — should I become that villain, may I be abandoned _of God and man! may the weallh I seek become my bane! cursed by my parents, de ** and to suffer an elegant young man to%hrow away his Ufe in obscurity, at most the master of a farm 1" A blush, partly of anger, but more of shame, dyed the cheeks of Emma ; and, for the first time in her life, she felt it derogatory to be the daughter of a farmer. " Though I think he might be very happy in that state," said Emma, ** yet I cannot but wish he may be sensible of the favour you design him ; for though I shall be sincerely grieved at his departure, yet, when I consider it is for his future benefit, that idea will console me, as I hope it will Agnes." — " And to my sister's request you say nothing," replied Whitmore. " Yes, sir, I am truly sensible of your condescension ; and if my parents would permit* should be very happy to accept it for a short time." Mrs. Delmer replied in a manner that fully satisfied the unsuspecting Emma. Whjtmore, by a glance, only expressed his thanks . but that glance, more expressive than words, declared utterable things, and sunk at once into the heart against which it was directed. On their return to the farm, they foimd Mr. and Mrs. Godwin waiting supper; during which Mr. Whitmore's servant entered with a letter which he had brought from the market- town. A momentary suffusion crossed his cheek as he received it, and he was on the point of putting it in his pocket, had not Mrs. Delmer said — " From Mrs. Whitmore, I presume, brother?" — " I know not," replied he, after a moment's hesitation, "but will peruse it, after supper. My last letters say all our friends in town are well." Mr. Godwin, who had no idea that any one could be so careless about those he denominated his friends, entreated that pohteness might not deprive him of the satisfaction of reading his letter. Mr. "VMiitmore bowed his thanks, but again declmed it ; when Mrs. Delmer, as if actuated by a spirit of contradiction, seconded Mr. Godwin, by saying — "Do my dear brother, oblige me ; I long to hear what company you have at Twickenham." Mr. Whitmore, who now found that opposition would only make the affair worse, and at the same time as effectually disclose what he had wished to conceal, made a virtue of necessity; and breaking the seal, glanced his eyes carelessly over the contents, then reached it to his sister ; at that moment heartUy wishing her, in his own mind, in the bosom of her departed spouse. While she was reading Whitmore fixed his eyes on Emma, and saw, with secret satisfaction, an air of anxiety overspread her countenance ; but finding she observed him, immediately withdrew them. "There, take back your letter," said Mrs. Delmer; " Mrs. Whitmore, I find, is as gay and volatile as ever. This, I think, is the second you have been favoured with since your accident." — " Had she now," replied Whitmore, peevishly, " saved herself the trouble of reminding me of my misfortunes, I had been infinitely more obUged to her." — With these words he arose, and left the room in evident discomposure* though, at the same time, so apparently overwhelmed with melancholy, that the honest farmer and his wife were deeply concerned for him. Emma, during this discourse, had endeavoured to appear, nay, to persuade herself, that she was not interested in it ; but her heart beat, her hands trembled, and an involuntary sigh escaped her. " Bless me !" cried Mrs. Godwin, with much surprise, "I never entertained the most distant idea that Mr. Whitmore was married. I presume his lady was not acquainted with his misfortune till he was almost able to return home." — " Oh, yes," rephed Mrs. Delmer ; " one of the servants who attended us went off the day following ; but she is too gay to be easily alarmed. Indeed I never saw my brother so affected at her indifference before." 112 THE FARMER OP IJTGLEWOOD FOREST. ''' My good dame," replied the farmer, "thinks every one should posses a heart as •>«usceptible as her own. Had I broken my arm, I should have experienced more anxiety for her tenderness than from the pain, and been in continual apprehension of seeing her sink under the fcUigue of attending me." — ^William and Edwin at that moment entered, and apparently seemed to have changed characters ; the first being all gaity, the latter depressed and lost in thought. *' I think I might venture a good wager," said Mr. Godwin, " that Fanny Bernard is returned : is it not so, William ?" — " Yes, sir, she will call to see you in the morning ; she would have come to night, but I prevented her, as she must be fatigued." ** She will be welcome as thyself, my son, and Agnes too ; we shall see her more frequently . as Fanny is returned to share the domestic cares." ,Airs. Delmer changed the discourse, by addressing Edwin respecting his going to town. — '**I hope," said she, ** you will not give my brother the vexation of refusing his offer, as I am convinced he will exert his utmost interest for your promotion : nay, to his shall be added mine ; and as the late Mr. Delmer had powerful friends, I can entertain no doubt of your success." Edwin bowed his thanks ; after which Mrs. Delmer wished them a good V Bight, and retired with Emma. The farmer thus left alone with his wife and sons, Edwin's affairs were the sole topic, ** I can neither persuade you to accept nor decline it, my child," said the good man ; "you alone must judge what you think conducive to your happiness. Equal possessor with your brother, both of my affection and property, there is no need to seek a greater fortune, if you can be content in the state in which heaven has ever been pleased to keep me, without a desire to change it ; but if your wishes lead you to endeavour to gain wealth, make the attempt, and if you fail, my son, rrfurn; — under this humble roof you shall find welcome, and a parent's arms open to receive you : but, my Edwin, if you determine in favour of the turmoils of the great world, beware of the intoxication of pride and pleasure, which inevitably destroy the seeds of virtue ; beware of being too suddenly elated, or too soon depressed ; the first shows a weak head , the second a pusillanimous heart , seek reputation and honour openly and boldly ; but flatter no man's vices or foibles to gain them. Let truth be the invariable guide of all your actions. Give no promise without deliberation; but when onee given, hold it sacred ; and finally, remember God, and in the hour of need he will not forget you."—" Oh, my father !" cried Edwin, sinking on his knee ; — " but Agnes, my beloved, Agnes " •' Is your betrothed wife — a tie sacred, my son, in the sight of that Power who records all our vows and actions. I have wished to delay your marriage on account of your youth ; but if you determine for a country life, I am willing to retract my opinion, and press Bernard to join your hands at the same time that Fanny and WiUiam are united : but if you resolve on a journey to London, such a step would be the height of imprudence, as the care of a young, handsome, and inexperienced female, in a great city, must naturally take up more time in your first pursuits than you could prudently spare ; in that case, it is my opinion, that you leave her with her father until you are properly settled ; for if you love her, you cannot wish her to partake of those difficulties you may necessarily meet on your introduction." The offer of an immediate union with Agnes, for some moments appeared to preponderate the scale in the mind of Edwin, and determine him in favour of a country life ; yet, when reflection presented the resigning almost certain wealth to live for ever in obscurity, nay, to condemn Xgnes to such a state when he might raise her to aflluence, he paused, and determined to struggle with his passion, and rather relinquish for a few months the rapture of calHiig her his, than do both himself and her so material an injury. — " My dear father," ■aid be, after some hesitation, " I think, that is, if you approve, I will at least try my sacoeM ; chance appears to have thrown this opportunity in my way, which it might be folly to neglect. Bless me, then, my respected parents; I feel I shall be successful, and soon, very soon, tmst to return and claim .\gnes." — " Mayst thou be blessed, my son I yet let me conjure thee not to be too sanguine ; hope fi*eqnently leads us to flatter ourselves with fallacious expectations, whiob re4o«Ue itatfrnigKii disappointment. Nothing is certain THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 1» ja this transitory state. Even I, who have been blessed above the common lot of mortals, far from the bustle of the world, nappy in a partner to share my joys and cares, and children, whose duty can only be equalled by their affection, yet even I have met with sorrow ; think th,en, on the turbilent sea of pubUc life, how much greater must be the trials. I mean net to depress, but :he night is far spent — let us retire ; and heaven resolve thee for the best !" Mrs. Godwin had not spoken durinij; V,his discourse, though at the conclusion would alaa have blessed him ; but pressing him in her arms, slie followed her husband to his chamber* William remained silent while they were preparing to go to rest. The conduct of Edwin had astonished him, for he had not the most distant idea but that every scheme would have been relinquished for an immediate union with Agnes : what then was his disappointment when he heard him resign it ! He could scarcely credit the evidence of his senses, nor could he even yet arrange his thoughts : but bidding his brother good night, in apparent tineasinesa, he ejaculated — " Unhappy Agnes ! Ah, Edwin! thou hast either less love or more philosophy than me I" CHAPTER V. The next morning farmer Bernard, on William and Edwin's calling there, renewed the discourse of the preceding evening. His heart was equally honest as that of Godwin ; but his understanding being inferior, he was more fascinated by the offers made to Edwin, whom he warmly pressed to accept them, priding himself in the idea that he should hereafter look np to a son-in-law who would not only constitute the happiness of his beloved daughter, but also be the wealthiest man in either family. Under this persuasion he rallied his daughters on their dislike to his departure ; for Fanny more openly expressed her disapprobation than Agnes, who declared, though tears falsified her words, that she was perfectly content to acquiesce in whatever Edwin might think would conduce to his advantage. Edwin, though wounded by Agnes's tears, was notwithstanding so strongly borne away by the infatuation of acquiring wealth, that it mastered every other consideration ; and rein- forced in this opinion by Bernard, after tenderly repeating h^ vows to Agnes, it was deter- mined he should declare his acceptance of Whitmore's proffer in the afternoon. — This business settled, Fanny, who had not yet seen the elder Godwin, proposed a walk thither to< Agnes, who readily agreed to accompany her. If Agnes had passed a disagreeable night, that of Emma had not been more pleasant ; she could not forget, even for a moment that Whitmore was married. '' Yet what is it to me ?" said she. " I shall never see him more, without my parents give me leave to visit Mrs. Delmer ; and indeed I have scarcely any wish they should : yet, to be sure, Mr. Whitmore's being married is no reason to prevent me. Poor man ! he appears very unhappy ; he seems deserving of being beloved. So sensible,^ good-tempered, and handsome, his wife must be a strange character not to endeavour to conciliate his affections ; nay, her neglect of him, when she knew his arm was broken, shows she must have an unfeeling heart ; for, had he been my husband," concluded Emma, *' I would even have walked twice the distance that separated them, sooner than any others should have taken those cares that properly belonged to me." In the morning, Whitmore was the first in the parlour, where he was soon joined by Mr. an^ Mrs. Godwin. ** My friends," said he, " I know not how to apologize for my behaviour of last night ; yet, if you knew my unhappiness, I think I should be excused, though in truth »y misfortunes have no right, even for a moment, to cast a gloom on our happiness ; yet, when I contemplate the bliss possible to be enjoyed in the marriage state, and compare it vsdth my own misery, I cannot forbear accusing Fortune of unkindness." — " My dear sir,*' 14 THE FARMER OP INGLEWOOD FOREST. interrupted Godwin, " I entreat you not to mention it : and am extremely sorry you do not enjoy that happiness you appear so well to merit." Whitmore replied only by a sigh : — he thought the pique he could not avoid showing the night before, required some apology, and therefore had determined to persuade the good farmer that his matrimonial discontents totally originated in his lady — a circumstance which ^ he thought would excuse his conduct to the family, and perhaps inspire the gentle breast of Emma, to whom he judged it would de repeated, with pity — a sentiment he had no doubt. Some time or other, to improve into feeling more congenial to his wishes. The entrance of Mrs. Delmer and Emma prevented more conversation on Mr. Whitmore's family discontents ; but he saw with secret exultation that the lively features of Emma were overspread with an uncommon cast of seriousness : a circumstance that not a little flattered him with succes s in the plan meditated, in recompense for the hospitality he had received. Indeed, in this case, he conceived that no injury could accrue ; for could he gain Emma's heart, the obligation would be mutual ; she should share his fortune, and, from the prejudices of a country life and narrow education, be raised at once to be the envy of the woman, and the desire of the men. Had her brothers been affluent, they might have been expected to resent such an insult ; but Whitmore feared no man — his sword was ever to defend the viccg of its owner ; and in this case the anger of two simple youths, the curses of an aged father^ or the anguish of his innocent partner, never intruded on his imagination. Slave to his passions, they bore him like a rapid torrent against all impediment, redoubling by obstruction and difficulty ; so that when once resolved on any purpose, the vivacity of his temper, and the errors of his education, represented the pursuit he was engaged in as dependent on his honour to be accomplished. Breakfast was hardly over before "William and Edwin entered, accompanie d by Fannyand Agnes, unconscious of beauty though fair " As op'ning flow'rs untamed yet vrith wind." Fanny, with a frankness that peculiarly distinguished her, regardless of the strangers, flew to salute Mrs. Godwin, then threw her arms around the venerable father of her lover ** Bless the, my child !" exclaimed the good man, kissing her with the affection of a parent ; •* may heaven hereafter reward thy duty and innocence with children faultless in mind and form as thyself 1" — "Amen," involuntarily articulated William, viewing his father and intended wife with a rapture that gave redoubled animation to his fine dark eyes. A momentary blush suffused the face of Fanny ; but silently thanking Mr. Godwin with a kiss^ she hastened to testify her affection to Emma, while Agnes, equally lovely, but more timid, replaced her in the arms of the respectable pair. " What a scene !" said Whitmore, in a low voice to his sister, who had withdrawn towards the window ; "what enchanting women !'* '' Passable," replied Mrs. Delmer, carelessly viewing Agnes with scrutinizing attention, in vain endeavouring to discover defects in a face and form that envy itself must have pronounced faultless. The family congratulations over, Wliitmore advanced with his natural ease and good breeding, and joined in the conversation. Emma, an hour before, he had thought a finished model of innocent beauty ; but now, though he could not allow her eclipsed, he saw her at least equalled ; and had there been the smallest room for hope of gaining an interest in the bosom of the fair sisters, his heart wo\ild have cherished passion ; but, as it was, each fortified by an affection that precluded his flattering himself with success, he contemplated only Emma as equally lovely and doubly desirable, as her heart was not prepossessed, or if otherwise, only partial to himself. Mrs. Delmer, who, in spite of pride or wealth, found a strong inclination to love Edwin, was not quite so secure. In Agnes she beheld a beloved and much to be dreaded rival ; and though she could boast affluence, accomplishments, and a person generally allowed handsome, she was by no means certain whether the weak prejudices of Edwin might not lead him to prefer the humble village maid, unadorned but by nature, and rich only in worth and innocence. She, indeed, flattered herself that the partiality she felt for the THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 15 handsome rustic, was merely the effect of being immured in the country, where no pleasing objects had been presented : yet a number of circumstances might hate proved to a curious observer, that Edwin, however unintentionally, had a firmer hold of her affections ; she had been satisfied, nay, apparently liappy while at Inglewood, though deprived of all those fashionable amusements and gratifications that she had considered during the life of her husband so essential to her felicity, and which she had been in haste to partake as soon as etiquette would permit. The idea once started of Edwin's going with tliem to town, she warmly espoused it and anxiously wished to see him placed in a manner she considered more respectable, without examining her own heart for the real motive. Whitmore was not blind to this partiality, though it was far from being suspected by any one else ; now and then it gave him awkward sensations, but which were quickly vanquished by his favourite tenets — that all were free agents, and passions were given to be gratified ; and so his sister preserved the respect of the world and her rank in Society, for he had not the most distant idea of her sinking it in an ill-suited marriage, he cared little about a transitory amour, though, had aiiy one reflected on his sister's chastity, he would have defended it with his life ; yet not from any affection of her person or virtue, but merely because custom demonded such conduct in a man oi honour. In short, affluence, and the concomitant evils of having it in his power to gratify all his foibies and vices, had perverted a soul naturally noble and brave, to render him merely a modern man of fashion. After a stay of two hours, Fanny and Agnes took leave of the family, and returned, accompanied by their lovers. Mr. Godwin withdrew to his fields, his wife to superintend her dairy, Mr. Whitmore to his apartment, and, soon after, Mrs. Delmer to hers, complaining of a slight indisposition ; though, in reality, her only sickness was the beauty of Agnes, and the fear of supplanting so dangerous a rival. Emma, thus left alone, for some time indulged a thousand melancholy thoughts she had formerly been a stranger to, and all which had only existence since the introduction of Whitmore at the Forest. At length, weary with unprofitable thinking, and in no humour to resume the little domestic cares that used to amuse hei, she carelessly took up a book that Mrs. Delmer had accidently left on the table. It was an elegantly written fiction, in which the hero, tmable to combat his passion for a married woman, had terminated his existence. Emma's heart was not formed of unfeeling materials, and the catastrophe cost her many tears. The heroine was represented virtuous, yet she apparently loved the suicide— circumstances that Emma had thought incompatible, for how, had ever before whispered her innocent heart, can a sood woman love any man but her husband ? The hapless lover, too, was mentioned with pity and tenderness — sentiments in which the humanity of Emma coincided ; but no one deplored what she had ever been taught to believe, that suicide was everlasting perdition ; nor was she displeased at the omission of this circumstance — the tenderness of her disposition leading her to sympathize with the sufferer, and pity those errors her education had taught her to abhor. Thus did the dangerous elegance of the pathetic tale at once undermine " all that the priest and nurse had taught," and which her father had never contradicted ; leaving those ideas implanted on the mind which he thought might tend to the general good ; or otherwise, trusting to time and reason to develope in the breasts of his children sentiments which he found inexplicable, consonant with the philanthropy whic h actuated all his thoughts and actions ; for his heart, like uncle Toby's, would not have damned the devil himself to all eternity, much less the errors of fallible mortality. Weak- ness and folly he considered with pity, and, when in his power, he endeavoured to reclaim . but vice and cruelty he saw with an abhorrence that made its perpetrators ever shunned by him. Whitmore, who had loitered from, his apartment to the garden, passed the window, and perceiving Emma alone, pushed by the woodbines that almost obscured it, and entered into conversation with her. — * Good heaven 1" cried he, with insinuating tenderness, *' you have 16 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. been weeping my'lovely friend I Pardon my intrusion ; but surely, after the kindness I have experienced, I may be allowed to feel an interest in the sorrows of one whom numberless circumstances have contributed to render dear to me." — ''Indeed," replied Empaa, "I believe few people have less real cause for them than myself, blest as I am with kind and affectionate relatives ; but to confess the truth, this book of Mrs. Delmer's has aiFected me greatly, though I suppose it is not true ; nay, I hope not, for toe idea is dreadful ; and though our curate says there is no pardon for suicide, I trust he is mistaken." — " Can you doubt it ?" replied Whitmore. " God is too merciful to punish errors which fatal necessity obliges us to commit : priests' indeed, of all ages, have promulgated doctrines to keep weak minds in awe; but can you, gentle Emma, for a moment suppose that sentiments, which are the result of reflection and reason, culpable? surely not. The unhappy suicide there represented loved, it is true, a married woman, but one whom a number of untoward circumstances had made such, without her heart being consulted, and in which situation she might, perhaps, have remained passably content during life, had not that inpreceptrble attraction, which unites some hearts, convinced her of her mistake, and her lover of his misery, for nothing to hope," added he, with a sigh, " an insuperable bar being placed between him and the object of his dearest wishes, who can condemn him for throwing off a load which he found insupportable ? Believe me, there are situations which demand more fortitude to sustain than falls to the share of weak mortality. You, my fair friend, who are made to be only seen and for ever idolized, can form no idea of the torments of despairing affection." — The entrance of the old servant to lay the cloth, here broke off the discourse, and Whitmore withdrew from the window, to join the hospitable party at dinner. The cloth was no sooner removed than Whitmore, who could not possibly frame any excuse for a longer stay, mentioned his intention of quitting Inglewood in two days, expressing his wishes that Edwin would accompany him. The young man accepted his offer with modest thanks, saying — "As he had his father's permission, he would attend him, and endeavourto deserve his kindness." Mrs. Delmer's eyes at this reply sparkled with plea- sure ; while Whitmore expressed his satisfaction in the -warmest terms, declaring — *' That how- ever successful he might be in attempts to serve Edwin, yet the obligation must ever remain on his side. CHAPTER VI. f Nothing material passed intervening Whitmore's departure, the whole family being much I can never do enough for thee," Then making his obesience to Mrs. Palmer, again repeated his thanks, and with his son.in-law returned to Godwin. As they walked, the old man's heart seemed full. At length, " William," said he, '•Agnes and I lead but a dull life since thou hast taken Fanny from us ; the foolish girl does nothing but sigh, and her eyes are ever red witbcrying after Edwin, though she knows,, and I am for ever telling her, it is all for his good ; now, if thou and Fanny were with us, we should be as happy as the day is long." William replied, •' It was a case in which he should be entirely guided by the joint agreement of himself and Mr. Godwin ; that he truly confessed he should be much grieved to leave his father, and equally so to refuse the parent of his wife what would give him such apparent satisfaction." This conversation brought them home; where neither Bernard nor William appeared in haste to disclose the manoeu- vre at the Hall, until Bernard, after dinner, ventured to- inform them what he had done, and which, to his great vexation he found all disapproved, except Agnes. Godwin, indeed, consented that William should reside with Bfernard; but the gloom which overspread his venerable features, on the idea of his son forsaking his paternal roof, plainly showed how reluctantly the permission was given. Emma had sat for some time a silent observer, when starting up with great liveliness, she cried — •' Though no one has asked my opinion, I shall give it notwithstanding; I hate this division of families : we all love one another, why then cannot we all live together ? Our house is far larger than Mr. Bernard's, and here is plenty of room for us all." Bernard made no reply, but fixing his eyes on Mr. Godwin, appeared to wait his opinion with anxiety.— " IntJeed Emma," replied Godwin, " I know but few things that would give me greater satisfaction than the constant company of my friend Bernard, if — '* "If what? interrupted the farmer. "Why, if you and your good dam© lilie oH't, it's a bargain ; for I lead but a moping life yonder. With you I shall be as happy as a prince. We can smoke a pipe, and drink a jug of ale, and envy no one under the suw. Old age will steal on me unperceived, and I shall die surrounded by those I love bestt.'* Among a party so determined to act in unison, an agreement was soon made, and Emma wa* embraced and cai essed as the author of the present happiness; for though it w»s apparent to all how much satisfaction the proposal had given, yet, had not bet vivacity started it, in all probability it had never taken place " Nay, nay, Fanny," exclaimed Emma, *• don't kiss me ; you only do it to conceal youi tears. Here, William, pray comfort her, I have other business to mind," throwing her arms round Bernard's neck, and saluting him the with affection of a daughter — " You are a good-natured man, and I love you dearly," Here the scjnd of the postman's horn at the gate, broke off theix mutual greetings ; and William hastening out, soon returned with a letter 26 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. addressed to his father. All equally eager to hear from Edwin, Godwin began to read the contents aloud, but had no sooner communicated th intelligence of Edwin gaining a com-' mission, than Agnes fell from her seat, deprived of sense or motion. Every other idea was now lost in her situation, until at length slowly reviving, she was led, to Emma's chamber, and laid on her bed; wheie, after some time, she entreated to be left alone, which being complied with, and the party again assembled, Godwin concluded the letter, and each gare their respective opinions. Bernard was in raptures ; Edwin was already a gentleman ; for his part, he had no patience with Agnes, who could suffer herself to be depressed by what ought to give her the highest pleasure. \ ♦* Yet when you consider, my dear father," interrupted Fanny, " that Edwin, by this step and in all probability Agnes, will be for ever estranged and distant from us, yourself will not see it in so flattering a point of view. Should we not have been happier, think you, altogether in our original destination ?" " True, true, girl, I can't say but it would have been very comfortable ; but then only think, when he comes to fetch Agnes, how the whole country will stare — how I shall enjoy it ! besides every man has not the same luck ; and many men, many minds; Edwin was born for a gentleman, and William for a farmer." " So truly do I feel what you advance," answered William, *' and so thoroughly sensible am I of the blessings I enjoy, that were it in my power to choose my situation, I would rejeet a change. Nature, in giving me a constitution able, and a heart willing to labour, has done her part; and, never in my person, shall the active farmer degenerate into the useless gen- tleman. Edwin has chosen a more distinguished part in the business of life— a defender of his country, and a minister of its vengeance. Oh I may equity guide him, and success and lionour attend him ! For me, no aspiring thoughts find place in my bosom ; let kings defend their possessions and treasure— sufficient to me is the defence of mine to shield those I love from care, to cultivate my lands, to guard my flocks, and to shelter them from the wintry blast. Thus let me live and die ; too humble to excite envy, and too happy to envy one. Can riches give more ? or rather can they give so much ? my heart says no ; I am peculiarly blest, and can look down with pity on kings, and the painful, uncertain splendour that surrounds them." ' ** Ah! would to heaven," exclaimed Mrs. Godwin, weeping, "that my beloved boy had never left us, to fall perhaps in a foreign laud ! no careful mother to soothe his dying hours, no tender father to see him laid in the earth t Miserable woman that I am, why did I con- sent to his departure ?" ' " Be comforted dear friend of my youth," said the venerable Godwin, taking his wife by the hand ; " never can my heart know peace while thou art sad; neither can it be completely overwhelmed while thou art spared to bless me. Look," continued he, affectionately viewing his family, " consider the blessings that surround thee, and canst thou repine ' Like thyself, I could have wished Edwin's destination otherwise ; but as it is, heaven speed him in the just cause j and God's will be done 1" " My dear mother," said Emma, drying her tears, " our Edwin will I hope be safe from danger, and an honour to us. I think I already see him so elegant and handsome in his fine scarlet clothes, his hair powdered, and his sword by his side I Oh! I am sure I shall love him a thousand times batter than ever." •' I pray ye Fanny," said William, smiling, and wishing to enliven the disoourse, " if thef old tailor should call when I am absent, bespeak rae a scarlet coat ; and when you go into the cheese-chamber, bring down the rusty cutlass, it shall no longer be employed against the rats, but hung to my side; for I am determined that Emma shall love me a thousand times more than ever, since her affection is so easily obtained." •* You may say what you please," replied Emma, •' but he will look delightfully. Oh ! how pleased I shall be whea he comes back ! the very first Sunday he shall go with Agnes and me to church I Lord ! not one of the girls, I'll be bound, will know the text." " I fear," answered Godwin, ** that you judge of others by yourself, Emma; but, for the present, drop the subject, and go to Agnes, whose unassuming heart, like my own, I fancy, would prefer a russet frock to a scarlet coat and cockade." Emma obeyed: and, during her absence, it was agreed that, as THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 27 ;he subject apparently gave so much uneasiness to Agnea, it should be touched upon as little IB possible, and that the whole party should appear to view the change in Edwin's affairs in I promising light. The next day Godwin took the opportunity of being alone, to write to his son ; never before had he found the task so painful. He wished not to lessen the pleasure Edwin ap- peared to experience from his success, yet could not congratulate him upon what overwhelmed his heart with sorrow. "Merciful Creator 1" exclaimed he, laying down his pen, "what irords can I use ? my son a soldier I a man licensed to shed blood— the blood of those who never wronged him 1 —nay, perhaps, to lose his own in quarrels in which his heart has no share! — a heart so tender, kind, and dutiful, to become at once so hardened as to triumph in the destruction of his fellow creatures. Congratulate him ! — ah 1 no it is impossible : I will simply tell him that I am glad he is satisfied, but that for myself I should have preferred any other situation. Fascinated as he appears, I will not openly show my digust, but by lenient methods endeavour to awaken his real disposition, which for some time has appeared clouded by ambition, or he had never left his family and betrothed bride to follow a vain and empty shadow." Godwin's letter was, as he expressed, mild, yet energetic. He did not command his son's return, but introduced subjects which he thought might encourage it; as the happiness of William — the kindness of Mrs. Palmer— uneasiness ofAgnes— the new arrangement between the families — and, finally, if he did not find a very particular attachment to the new pro- fession he was engaged in, Bernard's farm was entirely at his command, as William only held it in trust for Agnes, and would rejoice to relinquish it^ The letter concluded, he showed it to no one, that incase he was disappointed, they might not judge of his vexation, nor yet too harshly of Edwin ; he then joined Bernard, who was seated with his jug of ale before him. Filling a bumper, he drank to Edwin's health, concluding with a wish that ** he might live to be a general." *' Heaven forbid I" involuntarily ejaculated Godwin; for how much carnage must he wade through before he could arrive at that height!" CHAPTER XI. Edwin's letter had reached the family at Inglewood as they were in the midst of innocent joy and friendship. Godwin's answer was also received by Edwin in a moment of exulta- tion, for he had entered upon and assumed the dress of his new profession— gaudy distin- guished scarlet. Strange, that the ministers of a business so replete with horror as that of war, should wear so triumphant and gay a habit, while those of religion are clothed in mournful black, which appears to denote their profession gloomy, mysterious, and sad ! Hateful prevarication I True religion is simple, clear, and open as truth, and needs n» nabit of assumed gravity to implant it on the human heart. ".Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste, as in the city full ; And where He vital spreads there must be joy." Whitmore had introduced Edwin in his new decoration to his lady, saying— *• There, madam, what do you think of my pupil ? I don't believe there is a handsomer fellow in^ the regiment." To confess the truth, Edwin's natural good person showed to advantage in his military accoutrements, and which may be easily surmised by the answer of the lady, who viewing him from head to foot, with more than unusual kindness, coincided in her husband's opinion ; as did also Mrs. Delmer, who soon after joined the party. Thus treated with uncommon kindness by Mrs. Whitmore, and encouraged by general approbatioB, Edwin felt a self-satisfaction that he had never before experienced ; and afterwards, when alone, as he passed the large glass in the drawing-room, could not avoid stealing a glanee at his own figure, which appeared both new and delightful to him. At this moment kie 2g THE FARMER OF IXGLEWOO0 FOREST. her tftert f8t1i«r*8 etter was presented to him ; its csntents at once gave botkpleasiire'Bud pain; hk rejoiced at tbeir happiness and success, bat grieved at tb« uneaainesa of Agnea, tendernea* and gratitude for a moment obliterating ambition. " I will leave all," said he, "to shoi* my affection — ^I will relinquish my aspiring hopes, and once more sink into a plain and / humble farmer." As he spoke he raised his eyes from the letter to the mirror, and vanity again resumed her sway. " Fool that I was to leave th& country ! unless I had courage toi pursue my fortune, it is but to taste of the cup of prosperity^ and then to dash it from my ""^^ lip* I With what pleasure could I resume my labour, when I recallected how dear it cost me, to drudge through the day in a course' clumsy habit, and at night to return to a mete cottage, compared to the elegant mansions I am now accustomed to I Agnes cannot require such a sacrifice, — it would involve herself in the conaequences of my folly. No; rather let me redouble my efforts for advancement, which, once obtained, I will fty to claim her, make her partaker of my happiness, and force her to confess I took the most effectual means to show my affection." With such a resolutiott, it may easilv be conjectured what answer he returned to his father: it was affectionate and grateful, but at the same time expressed, in the warmest terms, his satisfaction at his change of fortune, his sanguine hopes of perferment ; and finally, entreating him to console his beloved Agnes, and to assure her of his unalterable fidelity. For the farm, he denied all present or future claim to it ; adding, •' he hoped to gain both honour and fortune, without intruding on the little property so justly his bro- ther's.'* Such was the purport of Edwin's answer; after which he joined the family at dinner, Whitmore was t?iat evening particularly engaged immediately after, and conse- quently the young ensign was left with his lady and Mrs. Delmer. The behaviour of the for- mer was striking, the utmost distance i,ndJtaitteur were now changed into polite and attentive ktndness; and being that evening engaged to accompany Mrs. Delmer to the play, after the removal of coffee, she said — "What say you, sister, shall we take this young soldier with us." Mrs. Delmer acquiesced with pleasure ; and Edwin, at once astonished and delighted at such uncommon condescension, which he cotrtd^nnly account for, by attributing it to the favourable alteration his person had undergone, bowed his thanks, and accompanied them with the highest pleasure. Mrs. Whitmore was too much the ton for her party to pass unnoticed; her new cicisbeo attracted universal attention; nor was his vanity a little gratified by some whispers he heard addressed to the ladies respecting his fine person. The question of "Who is he?" was by no means so flattering, and gave him great embarrassment, until he heard Mrs. Whitmore reply— " A young gentleman, whose friends residing constantly in the country, have entrusted his introduction into life to Mr. Whitmore." After the play, they adjourned to Mrs. Delmer's, where they supped ; and soon after Mrs. Whitmore and Edwin returned home. Whitmore was yet absent ; and his lady, ap- parently in no haste to retire, proposed a game at piquet. Edwin was overwhelmed with «hame : he simply knew it was a game at carda ; but waa totally unacquainted with that as any other, save a little at whist, and that he had sometimes humoured farmer Bernard, by suffering him to beat him at cribbage or all-fours. Mortifying as it was, he was forced to confess his ignorance ; at which Mrs. Whitmore laughing heartly, said — ** Well, I must teach you then ; but hew, in the name of wonder, did you contrive to stupify your evenings in the country? Oh I now I remember, Mr. Whitmore told me you had a true love, so I auppos* you spent them with her, vowing eternal constancy, setting old age and ugliness at d«ftance, then trudging honre at «lne o'clock, you drank a glass of ale, asked your mother's Itttaakig; and bid adieu till five next morning ! Nay, never blush, Edwin, I am sure I have §■••■•* "gbt ; bat times are changed ; what might do very well for Edwin Godwin, farmer, wou'td be highly improper for a young officer, whose fortune depends on his person and hia •vord; but enough, take your cards, we will play for nothing to night; next time I shall IM« let yott off M easily.?' Fn)orrow receive four hundred pounds more, which makes the whole of my winnings two thousand four hundred. You shall accompany me when I go again, and try your fortune." Edwia congratulated his patron on his success, who soon after rotire* herself, as ambition had made him of every sacred and moral tie ; and a mutual promise waa * exchanged to be married the first opportunity, the lady stipulating that the marriage should ■ be kept secret until his promotion took place. This resolution was too agreeable for Edwin ^ to contend it i he renewed his vows ; and by agreement it was at length resolved, that he •hould, even that very day, apply for a license, and that their hands should be joined on ^ the morrow. Whitmore waa by no means apprised of this manoeuvre, as he might endea- k THE FARMER OP INGLEWOOD FOREST. 31 rour to prevent it ; which, though not in his power, might give trouble. A momentary ;hought struck Edwin that this concealment bore the appearance of ingratitude ; but his jonscience had become daily more accommodating ; and when he reflected that he should ioon have it in his power to repay all pecuniary obligations, he presently stifled the idea. The family at Inglewood gave him more pain. " I will see them once more," said he, * before my marriage is announced ; after which I will hasten abroad, until they are re- lonciled to the step I have taken, and Agnes is perhaps married. D n is in that bought, why did it interfere ? I would sooner see her dead than in the arms of another, ilvery thing being prepared, on the appointed mornuig Mrs. Delmer ordered her carriage to he Green Park, where she dismissed it with the servants, ordering them to return in a ouple ofJiours. Here she, as appointed, met Edwin, who led her to a hackney coach, in ^hich they soon reached the church, where she plighted him her true fiiith, for which he etumed her a counterfeit, the real not being in his power to give. The ceremony over, hey separated ; and she returned to her coach, where she found Edwin already waiting for er. Tlie morning was passed in forming plans for the future. Mrs. Delmer was half in- lined, in defiance of her first resolution^ to declare her marriage immediately, that she light no more be separated from a man she tenderly loved ; but Edwin was by no means greeable to this alteration, for, though it would have gratified his prid©to have proclaimed is alliance without delay to the world in general, yet he wished to protract the discovery jr some time from inglewood ; therefore, calling hypocrisy to his aid, he declared that, hough to be perpetually with her was the first of his wishes, yet, for her honour, which as dearer than his own happiness, he determined to relinquish it, until his promotion took lace, which would render her condescension the less conspicuous ; that in the mean time e should see her daily, and pass every hour with her he could steal from her brother. But will not your constant visits," replied she, ** give more disagreeable room for conjec- ire than even a public avowal ? There is, indeed, one way : if your father would permit our sister Emma to pass some time with me, the visit then might be attributed to her. uppose you write, and request it, informing your father of our marriage, and our reason )r concealing it some short time ?" ** My father," replied he, " is so great an enemy to all concealment, that he would never Dnsent to keep our secret, but immediately accuse me of deceit to Mr. Whitmore, and dis- ose it to him. As to Emma," continued he, ** if you condescend to receive her, the best ay will be for me to fetch her, as I am certain he will not otherwise suffer her to come." his plan was by no means agreeable to Mrs. Delmer ; she knew she had a beloved rival at iglewood ; and though Edwin had given her a proof that Agnes had lost her power over s heart, yet she feared, though he was irrevocably her own, to throw him in the way of so mgerous an object , she therefore dissented from this proposal ; but Edwin, who ardently ished to see his friends once more while he could appear before them with the semblance probity, pressed the business so strenuously, and declared himself so totally devoted her, at length he obtained her hard-wrung permission provided he remained at the jrest no longer than two days. Whitmore was at that moment announced. " Where the vil, Edwin," said he, " did you hide yoxirself all day yesterday ? I sought you half over the jjiwn." Edwin, who was now become an adept in falsehood, replied, that he had been en- (ij ged the day before with the army- agent, and likewise that morning ; and calling on his |g turn on Mrs. Delmer, she had detained him by a kind proposal of sending for Emma to jl ss a few months with her. Few subjects could have given W hitmore so much satisfac- jd >n. He applauded his sister, and was on the point of offering to accompany Edwin ; but jj udence soon pointed out the folly of such a step, as it would only tend to awaken suspicion ; therefore simply congratulated him on the approaching meeting with his friends, adding, th a significant glance at his sister, " A-propos, you may, I think, as well wed Agnes, and J, Lng her to town with you ; there is no doubt but you will soon gain promotion ; I have patience to see you at liberty while I am fettered." " Surely," replied Edwin, colour- 32 THE FARMER OF INGLEV700D FOREST. ing deeply, " it woiJd be highly imprudent for me to marry. I — I have no such intention." " Well said, prudence," returned Whitmore, laughing ; " and to confess the truth, though the girl is devilishly handsome, she has such an air of melancholy, that it is enough to give one the ague." A sigh involuntarily escaped Edwin. — " Agnes," said he, "used to be reckoned a very cheerful girl." " Perhaps so," replied Whitmore ; but when I saw her, you know she was on the point of being separated from her lover. Fanny now is more to my taste, though perhaps not so critically beautiful ; but your sister Emma is certainly much handsomer than either." " Impossible that you should think so !" interrupted Edwin ; ** Agnes, past all dispute, is — " Not so handsome as Emma," exclaimed Mrs. Delmer, hastily ; there is no comparison between them." Edwin quickly saw his mistake : and gulping a provoking sigh that had nearly escaped him, he said — " We seldom can judge so perfectly of our relatives as those who have not been so accustomed to their features." Whitmore now proposed to depart ; and Edwin, as he left the apartment, followed him ; but pretending to have left his glove, he returned, whispered a soft adieu to his bride, and promised to see her again as soon as he got rid of Whitmore. During the day Edwin was thoughtful and absent, y^hitmore observed it, and inquired the cause. He complained of the headache, making it a pretence for retiring early ; leaving Whitmore engaged at play, while himself kept hi: appointment with Mrs. Delmer. At this meeting the subject of his intended journey tof Inglewood was renewed, and fixed to take place in two days. Mrs. Delmer gently whis- pered her fears that his attachment to Agnes was not totally effaced. He vowed to the contrary on her lips : in short he strove to deceive ; and she loved him too well hot to believe an asseveration so congenial to her wishes. He left her early, that no surmises might take place ; but before his departure she presented him with a pocket-book, desiring him to peruse it at his leisure. On his return he retired immediately to his apartment, to ex* amine the contents, and on the first leaf found the following words : "By the will of the late Mr. Delmer, I cannot alienate any part of my jointure, which at my death retni-ns to his family. The ready money I possess is near sixteen thousand pounds in the funds, and may at pleasure be transferred. Enclosed are bills for one thousand, with which, my Edwin discharge any obligation you may have contracted, All I ask in return is an undivided heart, and an affection as sincere as my own." Edwin was transported : for some moments he thought himself perfectly happy, until " busy meddling memory " presented the disclosure of his marriage at Inglewood. This idea put all his happiness to flight ; and replacing the notes, with a sigh he retired to bed. He was so totally engaged the next day with Wliit- more, that he found it difficult to see his bride until evening, when he firamed an excuse, that as he meant to set off early, he would sleep at an iim, that he might not disturb the family. He accordingly bid Mr. Whitmore adieu about nine o'clock, bearing with him a thousand remembrances to his parents, and receiving a strict charge to return in the course of the ensuing week. From Whitmore he hastened to Mrs. Delmer, who received him with unfeigned satisfaction. With her he passed the remainder of the evening ; then re- tired — not to rest, as he told her, but to a chaise which he had in waiting, and in which he immediately set out on his journey. CHAPTER XIII. Edwin was too impatient to reach the Forest to spare either money or horses, and accor ingly arrived on the third evening after he left London. As his friends were unacquainted with his journey, he promised himself great pleasure in taking them by surprise ; therefore letrfaif the chaise at some distance, walked up to the house, Edwin's courage and spirits he approached appeared to forsake him : his legs could scarcely support his weight. — * THE FARMEE OF IN^LEWOOD FOREST. dg feel," cried he, with anguish, " tliat I am a villaia ! a mean, perjured villaiu ! and shall but contaminate by ray presence this scat of innocence and vjxtuc ; yet they know it not, they think me honest as themselves ; let me than, once more, enjoy the pleasure of their artlesg caresses." He had reached the kitchen window, and over the shutter saw the family sitting round the table, supper having just been removed, and replaced by a jug of ale. Agnes sat opposite where he stood. He contemplated her with keen self-reproach — her pale and altered features. He heard Bernard drink his health, and saw the expressive blue cyos of liis daughter raised in silence, as if entreating the same of heaven. He could bear no more^ lie forgot all but the present scene before him ; and rushing into the house stood before ^them. For a moment all gazed in silent wonder ; but the next all was rapture and confu- sion ; the mugs and glasses were overset, the chairs thrown down, and sm-rounded on all sides, tears, congratulations, and embraces bespoke his welcome. Agnes, fixed mherx;bair, ^ appeared unabled either to speak or weep . Tearing himself from the circling embraces of William and Fanny, he flew to her, and pressing her to his bosom, forgot every other object in the creation.—** Speak, my beloved Agnes," exclaimed he, " speak, and bless me with thy voice : I am but half welcome till I hear it from thee!" "Ay, do, my girl," cried hJBernard, " bid the good lad welcome; I'll wager he's come to claim thee for his own.'' tj This simple speech affected the guilty Edwin hke a stroke of hghtning, and at once awoke him from his transport ; his strength forsook him, and unable to support the almost faint* ing Agnes, he was obliged to reseat her in her chair, for some moments remaining to much confused to reply. The general joy was however so great, that his disorder passed unnoticed, Agnes also began to recover her surprise, and at length tranquility resumed her place in the mansion. Behold him now seated at his paternal board, between his venerable mother and Agnes, holding a hand of each, and alternately pressing them to his lips, Emma Leaning over his chair, with one arm encircling his neck, while Godwin, Bernard, William, and Fanny, sat round contemplating the change a few months had made in his person. ** Zooks I" exclaimed Bernard, " how the boy is altered I I scalrcely knew him when he came in ! If I did not wonder what fine gentleman we had got ; I thought to be sure he came from the Hall ; but egad find me a likeher, come from where he will ! What say you, Fanny ? To be sure he is rather pale, but that don't signify." " I think," repUed Fanny, *' that Edwin looks very well, though not better than I have seen him. If ever in my eyes he looked particularly so, it was on Whitsuntide twelvemonth, on the day our parents gave their consent he should address Agnes, and promised in a year or two to unite them.— Never shall I forget his appearance when he came to tell her ! we were seated under the great Walnut tree ; he leaped the gate, flew to her, the utmost animation enlivening his features, hair in disorder, curhng round his face ; he caught her in his arms, breathless wth haste, wliile his eyes told his success before his speech returned." " Pshaw," cried the old man, ** thou wert always a fool, Fanny. As to his curls, when did you ever see a gentle- man wear natural curls, except here and there a parson ? Why,hi s head 's powdered now and pinched ; and as to his eyes, for aught I see, they are just the same as ever ; eyes may do very well for girls to understand, but plain English for me. But, Agnes, what sayest thou? dost not like him better than before." "No, sir," answered Agnes, timidly; " Edwin, as a farmer, or a prince, will be equally dear to me ; dress can make no difference, I love him for himself, not for his Clothes." " Did ever man see such foolish jades ? Why, the wenches have no more pride than my grandmother's cat ; but prithee, Emma, what think you ?" " Think ?" repeated she, " why I think what I told you before, that I low him a thousand times better than ever, though he has not got hi^ red coat on. I declare it was very ill-natured not to come in it." Edwin now produced the picture he had brought for Asrnes, who received it with a pleasure that found vent in tears ; all admired it even Godwin applauded the gallantry of his son. " Why, to be sure," said Bernard, " it is very- pretty, and very Uke ; but I'll lay you five shillings to fivepence, that Fanny will show you one, ten times more natural, of Wilham, in tlie course of a month or two." Fanny's blushes 34 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. immediately discovered the secret to Edwin. — " I thought, brother," said Godwin, with a smile, *' you had promised me never to mention that subject." " Why, no more I ever will among strangers, nor among friends neither, if it vexes her. God bless it I boy or girl, how I long to see it ! Egad, I shall think I am grown a young man again as I dandle it in my arms." Godwin, put a stop to the discourse, began to question his son respecting his expectan- cies. Ed»nn painted them in a most advantageous light, representing his promotion as cer- tain in a short time. Mrs. Delmer he spoke of with the highest respect, saying that her Interest had been employed equally with her brother's ; and that his present journey was principally at her instigation, to entreat that Emma might be permitted to pass a short time with her in London ; that himself would see her daily ; and accompany ber into the coun- try on her return, which he meant to do as soon as his promotion took place. " Ah! that's right, my lad," replied Bernard, " kill two birds with one stone ; bring down Emma, and take back Agnes. Is it not so, Edwin ?" " Agnes is dearer to me than life l" exclaimed Edwin ; " and I can never know happiness without her ; but say, my dear sir, do you grant Mr. Delmer's request in respect to Emma ?" " I cannot spare her, indeed I cannot," cried Mrs. Godwin ; " to part with any more of my children would kill me." Emma could not restrain her tears ; she had long since given up all hopes of Mrs. Delmer's promised invitation, and indeed she had almost forgotten it ; but now, to find she remembered her, and that it only depended on her parents' consent, she knew not how to bear the disappoint- ment, particularly when she contemplated the improvement that (in her eyes) had taken place in Edwin, and had no doubt but her own might be equally successful. William looked at her reproachfully, and apparently was on the point of expressing his thoughts on the occasion, had not a beseeching look from Fanny at once checked his design, and softened his features into a smile. " Emma," said her father, " do you grieve because your mother loves you too well to part with you ? Is that a requital for her tenderness ?" " No, sir," replied she, weeping ; " I love my mother and yourself beyond the whole world ; but my aflFection for Edwin for a moment overcame every other consideration, and I wished to ac- company him." This conciliating speech reconciled all parties ; and they continued con- versing far beyond the usual hour. Edwin was already too deeply plunged in guilt to extri- cate himself ; he therefore determined to enjoy the present hour at all events, though it was not to be done without additional hypocrisy and falsehood ; he had therefore recourse to both ; and his father, who observed he had given no direct answer^in regard to Agnes, again pressed the subject, he replied, with assume boldness—" On my promotion I will return and make her all my own." ? In the morning, William, who was obliged to go out on business, asked Edwin to accom- pany him. If possible, he would have excused himself for he dreaded both the penetration and affection of his brother ; he could not however deny, and determined to be doubly on his guard. — " Edwin," said William, " I cannot express the pain I have felt on your account ; my father, too, I am sure, has been equally unhappy ; though I carefully con- cealed whatever I thought would increase it. Your entrance into the army was I am con- vinced, totally repugnant both to his feelings and principles. I had once hopes, my brother, that you would have been sickened of grandeur and folly, and returned to the bosom of your family, for you appeared dissatisfied; whence then this alteration? are your new friends changed, or are you so ?" " Whatever change may have taken place," replied Edwin, " at least my affection for my family has undergone no variation. When I first went, unaccustomed to the world, I perhaps judged too harshly ; at present I view things through a different me- dium: to live with the world, it is, in some measure, necessary to give into its manners." '• It may be necessary," returned William ; " but, believe me, I would prefer the meanest rituation, with liberty of word and action, to affluent slavery, however dignified. I once thought your opinions the same ; but say, Edwin in adopting there manners, it is not also frequently necessttry to adopt their vices, or at least countenance them ?" •* We certainly THE FARMER OP INGLEWOOD FOREST. 35 are not obliged to adopt them. People, William, accustomed to the gnreat world, have un- doubtedly a fewer prejudices than those secluded from it, yet may possess both probity and honour." " From a long continuation of giving into manners, we insensibly imbibe them ; and if those manners are not pure, may I not tremble for my brother's morals ? Sacred to me are even the prejudices that tend to the general good. You, perhaps, Edwin are divested of your former prejudices ; but are you the happier or more virtuous ?" Edwin could not repress a sigh. "As we are alone," continued William, "I frankly speak my fears and wishes, though, except to yourself, they shall ever be buried in my own bosom. Nothing is wanting to complete my felicity but your company ; yet not for myself alone, but for your sake, do I wish you could relinquish these hateful hopes of wealth that have lately possessed you. Oh! Edwin, you know not the bliss of possessing a tender, gentle com* panion, in whose bosom you can repose all your joys and sorrows, or you would not hesitate to give.up all, take Agnes to your arms, and fix your future home at Inglewood, where surroimded by your family in your youth, and in your age by your children, you would live respected and die beloved, after experiencing as much happiness as falls to the lot of mentals. Do not, my dear brother, decline — it may hereafter be impossible." " It is impossible 4" exclaimed Edwin, involuntarily. *• Impossible!" repeated William, starting; " impossible, Edwin !" " Yes, impossible!" replied Edwin, recovering himself. *• Would you have me return Mr. Whitinore's favours with ingratitude ; and when I have almost succeeded to the height of my wishes, relinquish them ? No, William, it is indeed impos- sible, Had I, perhaps, never left the country, it had been as well ; but as it is, I am de- termined to pursue my fortune." William signed, and withdrew his suit, walking some short way in silence, until they were joined by Mr. Godwin, when Edwin's task was renewed by the parental admonitions of his father. Thus, more and more in need of hypocrisy, he plunged deeper into falsehood ; and though his heart stung him as he proceeded, his face was become so accommodating as not to have disgraced an adept. While the male part of the family was absent, Emma was endeavouring to influence Agnes to second her views, in persuading her mother to permit her to accompany Edwin to town ; nor was the proposal at all ungrateful to Agnes ; she loved Emma, and would have done any thing to give her pleasure. In this case she had also another incen- tive ; her beloved Edwin would have an affectionate sister near him, and herself a friend, ever mindful of their mutual interests. Agnes proposed consulting Fanny, who was the darling of her mother-in-law; but Emma declined it. — "No," said she; "William, I know, is against it, and she has no will but his. I saw him frown last night ; he was never like other young people, and therefore can be no judge of their feelings." "Nay, now you speak too petulantly," replied Agnes ; " William, I am convinced, possesses a most susceptible heart ; and though I love all our family equally, yet I look up to him with an esteem and reverence I know not how to express, and which I feel for no one else, except your father." Mrs. Godwin at that moment entered ; and, after some little conversation, Agnes, to oblige her friend, said — " Indeed, my dear madam, I could have wished that our Emma had obtjoned your permission to have accompanied Edwin to town. He must, I am sure, pass many heavy hours, which Emma's company would help to beguile him of. He will, doubtless, come when Fanny gives us a little one, and she could then have returned with him ; in the mean time, I would have been doubly assiduous that you might not miss her. Besides, Edwin looked as if it would greatly oblige him ; perhaps he fears Mrs. Delmer may think us ungrateful" " My good girl," replied Mrs. Godwin, " Emma well knows it pains me to refiise any thing that gives her satisfaction. Edwin's absence has caused me constant uneasiness ; yet, as she is so earnest, I know not ; I will consider — I will consult her father." "Thanks, thanks, my dear mother." cried Emma, in a transport ; " I only ask until Edwin returns," "Your thanks are too warm on this subject to be pleasing, Emma," replied Mrs. Godwin, gravely ; " I flatter myself, neither Fanny or Agnes would express so much joy on the thoughts of leaving me." With these words Mrs. Godwin ge THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. quitted the apartment, before either her daughter or Agnes could reply. " How cruel !" cried Emma ; " I protest I don't think I'll go now, though even she should give me leave." *' I caimot advise you," replied Agnes ; "it distresses me to see her uneasy ; and vrere she my mother, I would not go to London on such conditions, though my heart was disengaged, and I was sure to be made a queen when I arrived there." " Oh, heaven, what an idea I" exclaimed Emma, the seriousness va ni shing from her features in an instant. " Consider in such a case how soon you could make her amends — power, grandeur, wealth." " They T?ould not all compensate," said Agnes, " for my breach of duty, nor yet call back the tears she had shed for my absence." Fanny here joined them, and the conversation ceased. At dinner, Edwin informed them how extremely he was limited in point of time ; promis- ing, however, to return at the period Agnes had before mentioned, and again renewing his entreaty concerning Emma. In the afternoon he found himself alone vdth Agnes ; and, though it was what he ardently wished, yet, when obtained, conscious duplicity for some moments rendered him unable to articxilate a syllable. At length, regardless of all but the present, he renewed his vows of everlasting truth, forgetting as he sealed them on her lips, that he had prostituted them at the altar. The guileless lamb is but ill prepared to with- stand the subtilty of the serpent. Agnes's words were the pure dictates of uncorrupted innocence ; she vowed her affection, and promised to follow the unworthy object, in wealth or poverty, throughout the world. His expected promotion, and the advice of Mr, Whit- more, were the excuses fabricated to delay his marriage. He affected to deplore them ; nay. at that moment, he perhaps did deplore the fatal bar his pride and avarice had ever- lastingly placed between him and Agnes, as he contemplated her beauty and innocence, and reflected that he might with honour have possessed them, respected by his friends, and applauded by his own heart. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Godwin had consulted with her husband respecting Emma. He by no means approved of her going to London ; but the subject had been so warmly pressed by Edwin, and so earnestlv desired by Emma, that at length he gave his consent, on con- dition she should return at the appointed time. The next morning Edwin and Emma pre- pared to depart ; the good farmer first drawing his son aside, and strongly recommending him to be careful of his sister : he then drew out his pocket-book, and presenting him with some notes, said — " My dear boy, your obligations to Mr. Whitmore are great, as he has assiduously endeavoured to serve you according to your own ideas of happiness ; your pecuniary obUgation must however be painful ; he advanced you a hundred pounds — -mth these repay it ; the money I can well spare, I have reserved it for this purpose, thereforeno words, receive it as freely as I give it." Edwin would fain have declined this present, but could by no means without declaring the truth ; he therefore was necessitated to put it in his pocket, though with no very pleasurable sensations, every fresh instance of affection he received from his deluded family adding a pang to his bosom. "Accursed wealth!" exclaimed he, as his father left him, ' ' that first induced me to forsake the paths of rectitude ; and doubly accursed pride, that tempted me to sacrifice both probity and happiness ! — Ah, Agnes ! thou wilt be sufficiently revenged ; misery must be my portion if I lose thee, yet how shall I obtain thee, without plunging still further in deceit and villany 1" William at that moment entered. Among a thousand kind wishes, he recommended him to watch carefully over his sister Emma. — "I fear for her," said he, ** because her heart is disengaged, and her natural thoughtlessness may lead her to fix it on some unworthy object." AH was now prepared, and the travellers departed, bearing with them the ardent wishes of their friends for their speedy return. CHAPTER XIV. Emma «oon dried the tears she shed at pardng from her parents, and would here entered > THE FARMER OP INGLEWOOD FOREST. JlT into conversation with her brother ; but he, lost in thought, was not sufficiently collected to amuse or yet be amused. He had planted the seeds of discontent and remorse in his own bosom and they every moment gained fresh strength ; the sight of \gnes had revived his half- extinguished passion, and made him determined to possess her, though at the loss of that wealth for which he ^ad sacrificed all those ties which rendered life desirable. His mar- riage, he well knew, could not be long concealed ; it was therefore necessary that on what- ever he determined he should be speedy, as that once declared, he, in all probability, must take an eternal farewell of his native home. Fearful that Emma might divulge any thing relative to his promise of returnmg to Inglewood to espouse Agnes, he entreated her to be silent on the subject, as it must, at least, be kept secret some time ; both Mr. Whitraore and his sister having dissuaded him from such a step, though he had foreborne to mention it, fearful of giving Agnes uneasiness. On the third day they reached Barnet, where, to their great surprise, they found Mr. Whitmore and his sister waiting for them. How flat- tering this compliment to the unexperienced heart of Emma ! Whitmore could not conceal his pleasure, it was expressed in every word and action, and sparkled in his eyes. Mrs, Delmer's satisfaction was scarcely inferior, though obliged to dissemble her tenderness ; she however endeavour to make herself amends, by representing to herself the pleasure Edwin would doubtless experience at this proof of her affection and attention ; but she in vain sought to find it expressed either in his eyes or words ; the first were averted from her; the latter cold, distant, and merely complimentary, love had stifled gratitude in his bosom, and he now regarded her as one who had deprived him for ever of his dearest hopes. The party reached town in Mr. Whitmore's carriage, and were set down at Mrs. Delmer's, where an excellent supper was provided. Emma had never before seen any thing so com- pletely elegant; for though since Mrs. Palmer had fixed her residence among them, Emma, with her parents, had frequently dined there, yet her table, though plentiful, was remarka- bly simple, and though served with peculiar neatness, was totally devoid of show and parade : the repository of her silver was not the side-board, but the pockets of the poor ; the former, therefore, was but thinly furnished, while the latter were frequently replenished auflSciently to procure all the necessaries of life. Emma, naturally volatile, was chanted with all around her; no cloud, save one, obscured her satisfaction. Whitmore was married ; that indeed cost her a sigh, and she dreaded, she knew not why, the sight of his wife. Edwin also became more cheerful ; he contemplated all around as his own, when he should please to acknowledge his right, and ambition once more began to resume her seat in his bosom. In short, before evening closed, all parties appeared perfectly satisfied. Mrs. Delmer's view in sending for Emma to town, was to ensure herself, without scandal, the company of her beloved Edwin ; but, although gratified in that point, it by no means answered her expectation, as Whitmore ever accompanied him ; at home he was of the party, and abroad their constant escort, ever ready by the side of Emma to render those nameless attentions which insensibly steal on the female heart. Emma, though she had at the forest been always accustomed to be perfectly neat and well dressed, yet had never possessed any of those useless appendages that distinguished weU-dressed women in great towns, but with all of which Mrs. Delmer soon supplied her; for as she now, in some measure, considered her as a sister, she would have been gratified to see her elegibly married, and wastherefore anxious to make her appearance as i-espectable as possible. Emma had always been partial to Mrs. Delmer, but this kindness reboubled that sensation, and in a letter which she wrote to Agnes, and sent inclosed in one of Edwin's, she said, after expressing the highest satisfaction at her situation — " Indeed, my dear girl, it is impossible to describe to you the kindness of Mrs. Delmer ; I am equally well-dressed as herself, and accompany her to every public place, where I cannot frequently avoid hear- ing compliments on my person, enough to make me vain. Last night I heard a gentleman at the opera say to his companion, that my complexion was too glowing for a blonde and too fair for a brunettej but a happy mixture of both. You may be sure I did not rightly com- 38 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. prehend this, until Mrs. Delmer, who likewise overheard it, explained it to me. I am con- yinced myself I look much better ; for dress, Agnes, makes a great alteration : my feet in silk shoes are not like the same ; they appear almost too small to bear me ; and my arms seem quite a different shape, from the addition of a beautiful pair of bracelets, which Mr. Whitmore presented me. Edwin is equally favoured as myself ; and I can assure you, when in his regimentals, I think I scarcely ever saw so handsome a man ! I have been introduced to Mrs. Whitmore ; but indeed, Agnes, I can't love her ; she is very handsome; but 80 hatefully proud, that I am uncomfortable whenever we meet ; for she stares at me with such contemptuous expression on her countenance, that I am ready to sink. Oh, Agnes, how I pity Mr. Whitmore ! how happy might his wife be were she so inclined ! for he is really one of the most amiable men I ever saw; but he is so unhappy at home, that he is almost perpetually with his sister. Not a word of this, my dear Agnes, to any one, not even to your sister Fanny : you know my parents and William would say I should be ruined with pride and hateful vanity, and perhaps send for me immediately home, and that, before the promised time, would break the heart of your "Emma Godwin." Emma had, on her arrival, as she informed Agnes, been introduced to Mrs. Whitmore ; but that lady had treated her with the most forbidding distance ; nay, even Edwin appeared lately to have lost the ground he had formerly gained in her good graces ; to confess the truth, the lady had felt herself piqued at the particular attention he had lately paid to Mrs. Delmer, and had been at some pains to learn how frequent his visits were ; and that he often staid to a very late hour ; not, however of a temper for such trifles to give uneasiness, she immediately transferred the transient spark of inclination she had felt for Edwin to a captain in the guards, called Darleville. Notwithstanding the charges Edwin had received, both from his father and William, to be careful of Emma, he was too much employed in his own pursuits, and divising means to get Agnes in his power, to pay her any particular attention : to the gallantry of Whitmore he was too much accustomed to think any thing particular ; and as long as his sister was under the protection of Mrs. Delmer, he had not the most distant idea of danger. One evening Whitmore joined them in apparent disorder ; his wife, regardless as he was of her, had forced him to notice her conduct, as it became public enough to be censured in a para- graph in the newspaper. Mrs. Delmer endeavoured to palliate it; while Emma in her heart reprobated her conduct, and dropped a tear on the vexation Whitmore experienced from being so unhappily married. At that instant Mrs. Delmer 's lawyer was announced : he came on business relative to a suit she had lately gained, and to pay into her hands a flionsiderable sum. ** For heaven's sake !" cried Whitmore, " do not bring him here ; I cannot at present bear the loquacity of thelaw ; besides, it is the old rascal that drew my '^femal marriage-articles Prithee, my dear sister, see him below." Mrs. Delmer readily acquiesced, and leaving her brother with Emma, attended her lawyer. Both remained for some time silent : at length Whttmore said — " you pity me, enchanting Emma ; yon feel for your unhappy friend ; ah ! why did we not meet when I might with honour have offered you my hand and fortune ? nay, turn not from me, I cannot bear your displeasure, tied as I am to one whom my soul justly abhors, and doomed to love where I can never hope a return I yet you wept for me, Emma," continued he, sinking at her feet; "you do not hate me — you will I know pardon even the frenzy of this moment." ** For heaven's sake, sir, rise — nay, Mr. Whitmore, T entreat — consider, should Mrs. Delmer, or my brother, surprise you in this posture " What if they should ?" replied he warmly ; " they will not hear me disavow my love ; no, they shall hear me proclaim it — glory in it. Mrs. Whitmore's conduct will entitled me to a divorce ; then say, Emma you will not refuse me, when in my power to lay my fortune at your feet ?" *' I cannot bear this I" replied Emma, weeping ; " I will return immediately to luglewood." " Go, then," said he, " leave me to despair ; yet Emma, you may hereafter repeat not having spoken comfort to a man who THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST, 39 idolizes you 1" ** Alas l" replied Emma, " what comfort can I speak ? If my good wishes could make you happy, you would have no reason to complain." " Charming angel I" exclaimed he, rising and kissing her hand. " I will no more alarm you, but conceal my suflferings in my own breast ; time and fortune may perhaps relieve them." ♦' For heaven's salserving the attention which Whitmore paid to Emma; but totally employed by her own passion for Edwin, and, naturally unsuspicious, the idea of seduction never entered her imagination ; attributing his behaviour, therefore, merely to his usual gallantry, she thought it not necessary to be noticed ; for as Emma was perfectly apprized of his situation, she could not think her in danger ; and, to mention the subject to Edwin, would be only awakening suspicions that had perhaps no real foundation, and the cause of which would naturally cease as soon as Emma was removed. Edwin, at the appointed time, set off for Inglewood ; and on his arrival there, was received with the utmost pleasure by the whole family ; William presenting him his infant son, with as mudb exultation as if he had been heir to a diadem. The absence of Emma at first greatly dis- please 1 her parents ; but Edwin's excuses of Mrs. Delmer's ill liealth were so adroitly fa- bricated, chat they could not fail being admitted. The venerable Mrs. Godwin at length observing that, though it would have increased her satisfaction for Emma to have been present on so joyful an occasion, yet she should have been so sorry for her to have quitted Mrs. Delmer under such circumstances. Thus situated were the innocent family at Inglewood, seated round the social board, re- counting old tales of past pleasures, and looking forward in happy expectancy of new ones. Edwin was alone an exception : he looked back with disgust, and forward with horror ; but he had gone too far to recede, ^nd therefore boldly determined not to be half a villain. " I think," said Godwin, looking round him, " that I want nothing but the presence of Emma to call myself perfectly happy — we shall miss her cheerful humour at our christening. Mrs. Palmer being absent too is another misfortune ; however, many are the blessings we enjoy, to repine at what we have not, is to be unworthy those we possess." The discourse then turned on Mrs. Palmer, who had for some time past been at Bristol on business rela- tive to her late uncle ; all joined in her praise, wishing they had been favoured with her presence, as she was, by her own desire, to be godmother to the young stranger. Three day« after, began the preparations for the ceremony; the relations and friends were invited, and, as some lived too far distant to return the same evening, Bernard's house was aired, and the beds prepared for reception. Geese, fowls, turkeys, and pigs, were slaughtered, pies and plum-puddings prepared, the ale and made-wines tapped '. and, in short, all that could contribute to the festivity of the day, which was fixed for the Sunday following, the month of Fanny's lying-in being then complete, and herself thought able to accompany them to church. CHAPTER XV. , WfliLE all parties at Inglewood were busy in preparing for the christening, Whitmore's mind was equally, though less innocently employed ; he had now an opportunity, such as, in all probability, lie might never again obtain to address Emma ; her brother was absent, and Mrs. Delmer, for some reason which he did not give himself the trouble to endeavour to develope, was frequently engaged for several hours. At another time, it might have ex- cited his curiosity, as she had, to his knowledge, sold out a considerable sum, which she had in the funds, the very day after Edwin's departure; but his mind was too much occupied about Emma for any other subject to engage him. Mrs. Whitmore's conduct, too, became more glaringly abandoned, and he was endeavouring to procure a legal separation ; for as to a divorce, whatever he said to Emma, he had no wish for it, could he avoid it with honor, as her fortune was very large, and would greatly straiten his finances to repay ; besides, it certainly was m the lady's power to recriminate, in which case all his attempts would prove fruitless. In the meantime, he profited by the opportunities his sister's absence gave him wkh Emma ; he was for ever ofTeading, and as frequently begging pardon ; yet constantly ending with vowing to be only hers, that the conduct of his wife had broken every tie be- THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 41 tween them, that the law wmild soon prrononnce it void, and he should be the happiest of men. The unthinking Emma had suffered tliis tale to be so frequently repeated, that it insensibly became less offensive to her ear ; and, as she really loved Whitmore, could not avoid wishing the event he appeared to desire so ardently, might speedily take place. One afternoon, after Whitmore had passed the whole morning with Emma, Mrs. Delmer came home in particular high spirits, and, after dinner, sat down and wTote a letter, which was addressed, to Emma's great amazement, to her brother Edwin at Inglewood. Emma was at that moment alone with Mrs Delnier, who, perceiving marks of curiosity on her fea- tures, said — '• I have been writing to your brother, Emma, on a subject that at present I cannot disclose, but which, I am convinced, will give you pleasure. I shall send my letter by this night's post, and, on his answer, which, by the way, I expect he will bring himself, shaU be able to treat you with a surprise." Without farther explanation she rang for a servant — delivered the letter to be put in the post — and ordered tea. Whitmore had left them soon after Mrs. Delmer's return, with a promise to join them early in the evening ; it was now, however far beyond his usual time, but Mrs. Delmer was too much accustomed to sflcU disappointments for them to give her any great surprise. Emma, on the contrary, felt uneasy though she endeavoured to con- ceal it. — Whitmore had that morning, when alone with her, promised to pass the whole evening there, and in such promises he had ever before been Strictly punctual. It was near eleven before he joined them, and then apparently discomposed. He pressed Emma's hand between his, and turning suddenly to Mrs. Delmer, said—" Is it true, madam, that you are married to Edwin ?" For an instant the lady was too confused to reply. At length she answered — " Suppose it is so, sir, who has a right to control me ?" " Not I, by my soul," replied he, " nor would I if I could ; but surely I might have been trusted ; it had better have been disclosed by you, than by my wife's gallant, Darleville, in a public coffee-house." "Merciful God I my brother Edwin married!" exclaimed Emma. "I have neither acted by Edwin or you, madam," said Whitmore, ** in a manner to make secrecy needful. Yon are the undoubted mistress of yourself and fortune ; but Edwin, methinks, should have consulted his friends." " Agnes will die with grief." sobbed Emma ; ** he has treated her cruelly." " At least, Emma, ' interrupted Mrs. Delmer, " I expected your approbation. Do you think your brother could have married better ? I first procured him the commission, and have by purchase now got him promoted ; that has been the business which lately has so totally employed me, and that will be completed to morrow. W^e agreed to keep our marriage secret till that event took place, and I have this night writ- ten to inform him that all restraint is removed." ** You cannot but be sensible," replied Emma, "that I rejoice in my brother's good fortune ; and must indeed myself be unworthy your kindness, did I not feel both affection and gratitude for you ; yet, when I reflect on the confusion this will occasion at Inglewood, I protest it frightens me ; I fear they will think I was in the secret." " Suppose you were," answered Mrs. Delmer. " Your father will surely be satisfied with the prudence of his son's choice.'" "My father, you well know, madam, is extremely partial to Bernard's daughters, and though he will undoubtedly be sensible of the honor you have done us wiU resent the insult offered to Agnes." " Far- mers are plentiful enough in your country," replied Mrs. Delmer, " she will soon supply her loss. For the present, however, let the business rest ; I am perfectly satisfied with what I have done, and trust Edwin is the same." Vexed as Whitmore really felt, he was too politic to quarrel with his sister at a moment he regarded so critical in his success with Emma ; he therefore only replied — " You say well, let it rest: I again repeat, I do not blame you, except for your want of confidence in me, however, let even that pass, I will lay the fault to love, and excuse it, for, perhaps, in that same case I might have been equally blameable. Mrs, Delmer was astonished at her brother's moderation, while Emma was charmed with his goodness in thus calmly bearing so unequal a marriage in respect to fortune ; and 42 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. though in her heart she could not avoid lamenting the falsehood of Edwin to Agnes, yet her pride was gratified to find herself so greatly allied. Edwin's behaviour, wheu last at Inglewood, confounded her; that he was married at that time she could hardly believe ; yet she had been almost constantly with Mrs. Delmer since she returned to town with him, and had no reason to imagine their union had taken place since that period. In short, the more she thought on the subject, the more she was bewildered ; and soon after Whitmore retired, withdrew to her apartment. Mrs. Delmer was engaged early the next morning to couclude the business she had before mentioned ; therefore, after taking a hasty breakfast •with Emma, during which little discourse passed, she left her. Edwin's marriage now en- tirely employed Emma's thoughts. His reason for desiring her not to mention to Mrs. Delmer what had been proposed at the Forest, was now accounted for ; her heart revolted at his duplicity, while she pitied and wept for Agnes. " Yet, after all," said she mentally, •' the temptation was indeed hard to resist — grandeur, wealth, and pleasure. — Heigho I I myself once thought Inglewood the finest place in the world, at present how different ! I know it to be only a mean, inconsiderable spot, with a few scattered houses, for the most part covered with thatch, and am almost ashamed to say I was bom there ! I am sure I shall never be able to endure it now ; therefore how can I so much wonder at Edwin ? Poor fellow, he is at once to be condemned and pitied ! " These deliberations were broken upon by the sudden entrance of Whitmore, whose whole appearance announced that some extraordinary event had taken place. He threw himself in a chair, and after some moments silence, his eyes fixed on the astonished Emma, he said, taking her hand — " I have sometimes flattered myself that you regarded me with kindness, Emma ; now is the time to prove it. I have this morning fought with Darleville, who, not content with the injury done with that infamous woman who bears my name, but whom I despise too much to seek revenge, he last night dared to speak disrespectfully of my sister and yourself ; but his life will pay the insult — I have left him past hope. The friend who accompanied me already think me on my way to Calais, where he wishes me to stay till I learn the event , but I cannot go ; 1 will sooner await the worst than leave you." *' Great God 1" exclaimed Emma, trembling, " let me conjure you to fly this instant ; every moment encreases your danger. Would to heaven yon had never known us ! My brother's imprudence has, I fear, involved you in this trouble." " My proofs are, no fear, strong enough to procure a divorce ; pardon, then, Emma, a proposal which nothing but the necessity of the moment should force me to make. Would you," continued he, throwing himself at her feet, *' nobly show yourself above vulgar prejudices, and condescend to accom- pany me, I will go when and where you please, and the first moment in my power make you mine for ever ; but I cannot, will not, quit you, though death itself should be the conse- quence. I ask no return to my affection but what modesty may grant, until I have a legal right. Oh ! then, my beloved girl, for once step over those narrow bounds of cold pru- dence, and show your friendship ; your brother already is the husband of my sister, md you are the chosen of my heart. Speak, then, my love ! shall I owe my life to your kind- ness, or will you suffer me to be taken at your feet?" " Oh 1 Mr. Whitmore, what do you ask ?" replied Emma, weeping : •' consider my parents — my brother." " Your brother Edwin, however, cannot blame you ; it is in his quarrel, unkindly as he has treated me, that I have incurred this misfortune ; and for your parents, when I present myself as their son, all animosities will cease : resolve, then, my Emma, and let me owe a debt to love, which cold duty never yet formed an idea of." At this moment a loud knock at the door alarmed Emma. *• Oh I hasten, hasten !" she cried ; " perhaps you may be sought for even here ! fly, or my apprehensions for you will kill me." The cause of Emma's alarm was Whit- more's valeL He came to press his master's departure ; he said he had a chaise in waiting, and had just heard that Darleville could not survive the day. " Begone," replied Whit- more, " I care not; I am not ready; I am prepared to meet the worst." The man ap- peared surprised, and would have ventured to expostulate ; but Whitmore interrupted him, THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 43 again commanded his absence, in a voice that demanded obedience. Whitmore still per- sisted in pressing the alarmed and half-wavering Emma to accompany him. For sometime she only finswered with her tears ; at length she said, " Let us consult Mrs. Delmer ; I will be guided by her." Whitmore, who dreaded nothing more than the return of Mrs. Del- mer, however replied, taking out his watch — " Well, be it so ; but what time do you ex- pect her?" " Oh 1 — no — no !" exclaimed Emma, " it is impossible ; she will not return till near dinner-time, and your safety demands that you depart this instant." " My safety, or even my life, is to me of no value. Independent of you, Emma, therefere, I will wait the return of my sister ; yet has she not show, by the choice of your brother, that she thinks a small share of the world's opinion is worth sacrificing to obtain happiness ?" "Ah I" sighed Emma, but she is married!" " Well, my love, and shall we not also be married as suon as possible ? Even with all the bigotry that country education has im- planted in your mind, you must allow, that a woman who has acted so shamefully as Mrs. Whitmore, is no longer in the eyes of Heaven, or the world, my wife. My marriage with her was merely a joining of hands ; ours, Emma, will be a union of hearts. To ease your delicate scruples, am I not content to wait for all the formalities of law and the jargon of priestcraft ? though neither, Emma, can make me more securely yours, let me only, my love, have to boast hereafter, that you nobly showed your affection in the hour of my dan- ger, and accompanied in his exile a man who would glory to place you on a throne." Emma, weak and irresolute, knew not how to consent, yet feared to deny ; she loved WTiitmore too well for his safety not to be dear to her : duty for awhile, indeed, struggled with passion ; but Emma's mind was too feeble to bear the conflict. "WTiitmore saw his advantage, and pressing his suit with redoubled ardour, prevailed in an unhappy moment, on the infatuated Emma to demolish the fair structure of virtue her parents had so many years been endeavouring to rear in her heart, by weakly yielding to accompany him. De- lighted with his success, he hurried her instantly to the chaise which he had in waiting, ordering the postboy to use the utmost speed. Had Whitmore given Emma time to reflect, it is probable she might have escaped the destruction that awaited hei ; but her sensibility awakened for the safety , of the man she loved — no friend near to advise, or snatch her from the impending ruin, she forgot all but his danger, regardless of the dagger she was striking into the bosom of her parents, or the never-dying anguish she was implanting in her own ! They had hardly reached the end of the first stage, when, even though supported by the encircling arm of Whitmore, his vows still sounding in her ears, that silent, but never-failing monitor. Conscience, awoke, and at once presented the reverse of the fascinating picture that for awhile had intoxicated her senses. "Oh! my dear parents," exclaimed she, in an agony of grief, "must I then never see you more ! — the lost, the abandoned Emma has forsaken all, and for whom ? — Great God ! a married man ! Oh ! Mr. Whitmore, if you really love me, let me return : it will be the strongest proof of my afiection, and never shall it be forgotten." " Well, then," replied he, reproacli fully, " let us return, for I cannot see you thus ; I will resign myself, and wait the event of Darleville's wounds ; at least, you shall not accuse me, Emma, of want of affection." ** Ah, no !" returned Emma, weeping, " let me return alone. Have I not shown how dear I hold your safety ?" " And after such a proof, think you it is pos- sible to tear myself from you ? No, Emma, any thing else I may be able to accomplish : but by all my hopes of happiness, we will not part 1 If you insist, I will accompany you home, let life or death be the consequence." Emma again became irresolute ; — again, for awhile, love overcame reason. In the meantime the chaise proceeded swiftly, and momen- tarily made her return less possible — Whitmore alarming her feelings, and soothing her by turns, until at length they reached Dover ; where, the wind proving fair, a packet was irruaaediately -procured, and all return entirely cut off for the lost Emma. To divert her thoughts from dwelling on subjects he wished her to forget, Whitmore related the cause of his quarrel with Darleville : he had in the public coffee-room declared, that if Mrs. Delmer 44 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. •was not married to Ensign Godwin, they had a perfect good understanding ; as he was fre- quently with her at very unseasonable hours (information he had received from Mrs. Whit- more) ; as was also Mr. Whitmore tete-a-tete with Emma. Whitmore on his entrance had been jested with on the business, and congratulated on his good fortune with the fair rustic ; but not being naturally of a temper to hear the character of any one he professed to esteem treated lightly, he immediately took fire, and insisted on the author of the scandal being declared ; which proved to be Darleville, he determined to quarrel ; and walking up to him with assumed coldness, he said — " I hear, sir, you have taken the liberty to speak very freely this evening of my sister and Miss Godwin ; I must therefore advise you in future to be more cautious, or your want of prudence may put your valour to the hazard — a circum- stance that will perhaps prove inconvenient, as the reality of courage, as well as the reputa- tion of gallantry, is necessary for a soldier." TMs affront, given in a coffee-room, was too gross to let pass unnoticed ; an appointment was therefore instantly made ; after which Whitmore supped at Mrs. Delmer's, when he questioned her on her marriage, though he avoided particulars. The next morning he met his opponent, whom, on the first fire, he shot in the side, and left with his friend, who had acted as second, while himself hastened to Emma, determined, as he had such a favourable pretence, to make a bold essay to get her into his power, and in which he unhappily succeeded. Such was the real state of the quarrel, and its subse- quent consequences ; but which were alternately heightened or softened on Whitmore 's relation to Emma, as might best suit his purpose. So great had been Emma's confusion, that she had not even thought of clothes ; but Whitmore, on their arrival at Calais, soon removed that inconvenience ; and they continued their route to Paris, where he supplied her with a profusion and elegance that marked the power he supposed show to have over the female heart. Emma unfortunately was not insensible to it. In contemplating the splen- dour that surrounded her, sorrow gradually decreased, and her gratitude to the donor aug- mented, until at length, in an hour of unguarded folly, she bartered her honour for the gaudy and useless trappings, of pride and vice. Mrs. Delmer, on her return home on the day of the duel, wondered at Emma's absence, or for what purpose she could have accom- panied her brother ; yet had no idea until late in the evening of the real truth. She feared Edwin would blame her, and knew not what measure to pursue, but determined to give him immediate intelligence, and accordingly wrote that night, expressing her vexation at what had happened, and entreating his immediate return CHAPTER XVI. While the unthinking Emma was flying from her friends, and sacrificing her honour to gratify the licentious wishes of her betrayer, all was joy and festivity at Inglewood. The young stranger was baptized by the name of Reuben, after his grandfather, and the subse- quent entertainment having lasted until late on the second day, the guests had taking leave and returned home. Had it not been for the tormenting pangs of conscience, Edwin would have felt himself perfectly happy ; for though he could some times forget every thing but love and Agnes, yet reflection was sure to return with redoubled violence, He was a con- stant witness to the happiness of William and Fanny, and, like a fiend iufemel, their inno- cent pleasures increased his torments, for in them be contemplated what himself might have possessed. The venerable Godwin sometimes suspected that his son was not happy, but attributed it to his being necessitated to quit Agnes, and therefore wished there union to take place as goon as possible ; it indeed gave him some surprise that Edwin himself did not press it more warmly ; but waiting for the expected promotion was the reason given, and readily believed by Godwin ; for his heart was too guileless of him to suppose his son a THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 45 lam. After the departure of the guests, as the family were sitting in cheerful conversation, e post-boy's horn p:ave notice he brought letters; and a moment after, Margery entered and livered one to Edwin, whose eye had, however, no sooner glanced over the direction (which IS Mrs Dehner's) than the blood for a moment forsook his cheeks, but as instantaneously ain returned, and suffused them with crimson. Without knowing what he was about, he was stinctively jroing to put it in his pocket, had not his eyes met those of his brother William, in aose face he saw, in legible traits, the strongest marks of surprise. This discovery at once called him to recollection ; he endeavoured to conceal his confusion, jd opened the letter ; but h«ul scarely read two lines, when it again visibly increased ; for it as Mrs Delmer's first letter, in which she began by informing him that all restraint was now •moved, and that their marriage might be declared, as she had obtained the promotion for him. The joy Edwin experienced at this news in some measure overbalanced his confusion. *' I n preferred,'' exclaimed he, in rapture, "and have a prospect ofyet farther advancement.'* He icn continued reading the remainder of his letter, which he had no sooner concluded, than he ut it in his pocket, and simply relating what he thought necessary of the contents to his friends. And from whence comes it, Edwin?" said William, looking on him fixedly. Comes — why — why, from Mr Wliitmore, to be sure," replied Edwin, hesitating, and his owncast eye avoiding the scrutinizing gaze of his brother; "you know I long expected this vent, yet it came so suddenly that it quite overcame me." William, unwilling to make a reply that might awaken suspicion against his brother, and /hich, perhaps, in truth might be groundless, remained silent ; while Edwin received the con- ratuiations of the family, but particularly of Bernard, who now thought his hopes of Edwin's ecoming a General halt' verified. When Edwin had recovered his first surprise, he informed them he should be obliged to eave them almost immediately, as the business required his immediate presence. . Pies on that luck !" interrupted Bernard, " I thought you would have staid to take Agnes vith you ; and though I should be sorry to lose her, yet, 4s you seem never happy apart, I am illing to consent when you please ; on condition, however, that you let me have my girl with ne two or three months every summer." " Alas !" said Edwin, with a hypocritical sigh, " I would to heaven I could now stay, or that [ had known ray advancement was so near ; but it is in vain to wish, for I must inevitably lepart, cither to-morrow night, or the morning following ; yet there is one way, though I fear :o propose it, if my beloved Agnes and our parents would consent." Consent ! why to be sure we will," answered Bernard. It is," replied Edwin, hesitating, " if I might be permitted to take Agnes to town with me, we might there be married without delay. I have made Mr Whitmore a sort of promise that he should be present at the ceremony ; and as Emma is already there, she would have a female friend to accompany her." It may be easily surmised that Edwin had no design to conduct Agnes to his sister ; he simply wished to get her from her parents, as he had then no doubt but he should be able to deceive one so innocent of guile, and in a short time bring her to his wishes. My brother Godwin shall determine the business," returned Bernard. *' Then I by no means approve it," said Godwin. " Had Emma been here to accompany her, the objection might have been less ; but even then the step would have been imprudent — what say you, William ?" " I am astonished that Edwin could ask it," replied William ; " he surely did not eousider the impropriety of Agnes's leaving the country with him unmarried. I think Fanny is, and ever was, as dear to me as her sister can be to Edwin ; yet passion should never trans- port me so far as to suffer her to take a step that might subject her even to a temporary humiliation. Edwin surely cfliU again get leave of absence ; and, if Mr Whitmore wishes to be present at the ceremony, he has nothing to detain him." "I did not request your permission, nor yet your advice, William," said Edwin, with an emotion of anger which he could not con- ceal. '• The permission is alone in her father's power to grant," replied William. •' As to ray opinion, my father asked it ; and it coinciding with his own, I freely gave it — nay, had it not, in this case I should not have scrupled to differ from him. Agnes has no brother but myself. 46 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. and I hold her fame too dear to suffer it to be sullied, however unmeritedly." " It is enough,' ^ cried Edwin ; " if frustrating my happiness gives you pleastire, you have accomplished youi ^'" end." " Nay, nay," interrupted Bernard, " do not speak so harshly. William is a good lad .; '"" whatever he says is for the best. I do not know how it is, but he always brings me over to his '^ opinion, and it is generally right." " I am sorry, in this instance, that he has such power witl °'' you," replied Edwin, sulkily. " And why so, my brother ?" said William ; " on calm reflection 'f your own reason will applaud me ; and now, to prove how dear I hold your happiness, 1 ^' have a medium to propose. If you should find it inconvenient to return, prepare all for Agnes'i "' reception, and Mr Bernard and myself will accompany her to town. I think he would take ^ such a journey to oblige you ; and I can assure you I would, though I should leave my hearf at Inglewood with this witch and little sorcerer," patting his j'oung son on the cheek as he lay '^ at his mother's breast. " There, there, now !'* exclaimed Bernard, exultingly ; " I told you he "i' would bring you round ; his is the best plan after all, though I do not much like your long '" journeys; however, for once I do not care. Come, then, do not look so glum, all is settled ; "1 you know, if the mountain cannot come to us, why we must go to the mountain, as the folks * say." '* I hope to spare you that trouble," replied Edwin, after a short pause, during which '^ he endeavoured to collect himself; " I trust I shall be able to return. I certainly did not wish "' to be again separated from Agnes; but I must submit." Mr and Mrs Godwin now declared themselves of William's opinion, as did also Fann3% who added — " Though, like my father, I do not approve of long journeys, yet, in such a case as this, "" I shall willingly spare you." The conversation now took a livelier turn with all but Edwin ; his scheme frustrated of^^ getting Agnes in his power, he knew not what measures to pursue ; the intelligence of his promotion had been unexpected, and when the conditions annexed were reflected upon* unwelcome ; to declare his marriage was to lose Agnes for ever. His uneasiness was too visible to be overlooked ; all tried to enliven him, and particularly Agnes, who, by a thousand little artless caresses, endeavoured to make him forget his vexation ; but in vain ; the soothing of Agnes, like oil on a flame, served but to increase the distraction that overwhelmed him. At length the family retired to their apartments for the night, and undisturbed by guilt or sorrow, the greater part soon fell asleep. Edwin, however, felt he could not rest ; the attempt he knew would be fruitless, and for some time he sat in all the gloom of despair. '* Is it not possible to see Agnes again this night V* exclaimed he ; " at least I shall take her unprepared ; it is my last resource, and if I succeed, William and Virtue, I laugh at ye— I can hereafter make my own conditions ; if otherwise, at all events, it can but hasten my departure a few hours from the Forest, of which I must take an everlasting farewell." This resolution once formed, he determined to endeavour to accomplish it ; and leaving his own room, advanced to that of Agnes with the cautious soft step of a night-robber. At the door he paused— a momentary pang of remorse seized him. ** Monster !" said he, mentally, *' what"villany art thou about to perpetrate ? Art thou not already sufficiently guilty ? Thou wilt next be capable of murdering the innocent as they sleep, that neither their power nor persuasion should defeat thy purpose." As he spoke, his feet involuntarily turned from the door. *• And can I,'* resumed he, " give her up for ever? Have I it not in my power to make her amends for this one deviation from rectitude? My fortune— my life— all— all are hers; then let me not weakly abandon an opportunity which can never be recalled." With these ideas he determined to proceed in his purpose, and gently opening the door of her apartment, fearful of alarming her, lest she should awake the family, he said in a soft voice — " Be not surprised, nor displeased, my beloved Agnes ; I have a few words to say to you, which I wish to repeat without witness ; for William, I see, is willing to protract my happiness OS long as possible." CHAPTER XVII. AoKBs had retired with a mind too much disturbed by the visible uneasiness of Edwin to fall asleep, and immediately started at his entrance ; for she heard him not until he opened the THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 47 lamber door and addressed her, so cautiously had he stepped along the little passage that parated her room from the other apartments. For a moment she felt displeased at his intru- on, but her heart was too guileless to suspect his purpose, and affection and pity mastering revy other sentiment, she replied to his address—" Retire, I entreat you, Edwin. Were you Dt so visibly uneasy I could not forbear to chide you ; we will speak more fully to-morrow, ou arc displeased at William without cause ; he is at once a kind brother, and a prudent and sinterested friend. Banish, then, these thoughts that disturb you ; all, I doubt not, will bo the best." Edwin, who was charmed to meet wit!i so gentle a rebuk^, replied, *' And can you, Agnes easily adopt his unfeeling maxims? But why do I ask, when I see you do ? Absence has eakened your affections for me, and it costs you no pang to doom mc to misery l" " Cruel, ijust surmise !" replied Agnes, ready to burst into tears ; '* had your affections been as great ; mine, you had never, Edwin, sought a change. No preferment, no greatness, should have mpted me to quit you ; but I am wrong to speak in a manner you may construe upbraidingly. our mind, my Edwin, is disturbed. Retire, I again conjure you, to your rest ; this is no place, i the morning you shall be convinced that you are offended without cause." " And will you 3t, Agnes," replied he, " allow me a single half hour's conversation alone this last evening I ive to remain with you ? Will you suffer me to depart, overpowered as I am with anguish ?" Good heaven ! what would you request ? You know, Edwin, your uneasiness distresses mo ore than mycown; but go down, if you desire it, I will rise and join you in a few minutes." No," replied he, ♦' we shall but awaken the family, which will prevent me from disclosing hat I wish to say to you alone. Can you not, my love, suffer me for a few minutes to con- rse with you here? You were not wont to distrust your Edwin ; have I, Agnes, deserved ispicion ?" '• No, heaven forbid !" replied the unsuspecting victim. ♦' Withdraw, while I dress, e can converse for a short time at the window." Edwin, though he scarcely knew how to command himself, immediately obeyed by retiring to the passage, where he remained some minutes, then joined her at the window of her own Dartment. Persuaded it was his last resource, he redoubled his former vows, until he thought 3r heart sufficiently softened to his purpose, then entreated her, though with some cautious eliminaries, to prove her affection by accompanying him to town. *' Why will you ask me what you know is impossible ?" replied she. " Do not our parents link it wrong ? and you, as well as me, Edwin, used to be satisfied with their decision : but Du are grown strangely impetuous. A little time cannot surely make much difference, and len it will be my duty, as well as inclination, to accompany you wherever you go." " Ah gnes." replied he, " if you loved me, you would not thus calmly speak of a separation, though /en for a short time. My first leaving the Forest was, I can truly swear, to procure you iditional happiness as well as myself. Our hearts, my beloved girl, have long been united • ou can neither doubt my honour nor my love. Consent, then, to go with me to town, and let s never more be separated." " How can you press what you know is impracticable ? Has not been expressly denied ?*' " But — but," hesitated he, " could we not, my beloved, find jji-lteans to go without their permission ! It surely, Agnes, would be a very venial trespass. We ould be married immediately, and you cannot doubt but we shall be forgiven." And do you think I would be guilty of so cruel and despicable an act?" replied she in- ignantly, endeavouring to withdraw her hand. •* No, Edwin, my love for you, I confess, is iterwoven with my life, but neither love nor life itself shall make me so ungrateful and un- orthy of the best of friends and parents, for yours, Edwin, are already mine ; and shall I oud their venerable features with sorrow, and wound their worthy hearts ? No— you are ot yourself, or you could not have proposed it." Though Edwin found his scheme completely frustrated by this reply, yet he determined ,jj5 jDt to relinquish his purpose, and summoning all his arts, by soothing and protestations, he at ngth removed the uneasiness his proposal had given, and his pardon was sealed on her lips. " And now, Edwin" said she, '* retire ; forget all vexation, and believe me entire yours." •' Yet a moment," replied he ; " in what haste you are to banish me j are you not my wife tbe I all but the name ? Suffer me then, my love, to place this ring upon your finger,"— drawing ■r 4g THE FARMER OF INGLE WOOD FOREST. one from his own, which had been presented him by Mrs Delmer, and putting it en hers—"** n Bwear, Agnes, you will never give yourself to another." •• Alas ! " said Agnes, •' 1 know not what strange idea has possessed you ! Have I not fr qucntly given you that assurance, and can an oath be more binding? Surely not. I nev repeated one in my life, and have frequently wished you not, for they ever leave an uneaj sensation on my heart." •' You refuse rae then, Agnes," replied he, striking his forehead with his hand ; *'and I sh; — accursed thought ! lose you for ever." " Good heaven, how you terrify me !" said Agnes, trembling at his agitation; "bovircj you doubt me 1 But dictate what I am to say, and I will repeat it, if that will restore you ■calmness." Edwin now proposed the oath, and the gentle Agnes, Einking on her knees, exclaime •** Heaven forgive me for an act against which my heart recoils! but here I call God to wi ness, never to have another love, and if you are not ray husband, to die unmarried !" '• Enoug enough 1" cried Edwin exultingly ; " my heart is now satisfied — you are my wife, and fro Ibis hour I claim you as my own." Her gentle spirits were overpowered with the scene that bad taken place, her head sui on Edwin's bosom, and she could scarcely preserve herself from fainting. In that fatal m ment the guardian angel of virtue and innocence for a short time feft the unhappy and t{ susceptible Agnes, and the villain Edwin succeeded in his infernal purpose. Daughters chastity, condemn not — but pity ! May example warn you that secrecy i^nd temptation €ver to be avoided. The triumphant miscreant bad now no doubt but that all his desires would be comp] with ; he therefore again pressed her to accompany him unknown to her parents, but in vai ** No !" cried she, weeping bitterly. *' It is true you have rendered me unworthy of o friends and yourself, yet will I not add ingratitude to vice. Begone, Edwin, nor tempt n further : am 1 not already sunk enough in your opinion ? — hateful folly—despicable weaknes Would to heaven I had died yesterday— innocent and happy !" Edwin exerted all his art and influence to calm her, spirits; and disappointed in his viev of persuading her to accompany him clandestinely, changed his plan, sparing no vows to coi vince her of his fixed intention to return iu the course of a month and espouse her, beir determined, if possible, to keep his marriage for that time private, and in the interim fix < some scheme to get her into his power. His repeated promises in some measure calmed her agitation; but she still pressed his ai sence, with an earnestness that all his arts could not overcome ; and he was at length necesj tated, though sorely against his will, to return to bis chamber, as the only means to keep h sorrow within bounds, for be dreaded lest it should be heard by the family. The remainder of the night was passed by the unhappy Agnes in self-reproaches and tear her heart weakly endeavouring to exculpate her betrayer. For the first time the dawn morning was displeasing to her ; she shuddered to appear before her friends, and dreadc every eye, lest her conscious face should disclose the weakness she had been guilty of. In the morning her disorder and confusion were visible to the whole family ; but all attr buted it to the same motive, — the approaching departure of Edwin, and endeavoured to coi sole and cheer her, but in vain; she felt herself unworthy of tlieir caresses, and shrunk fro them. Nor was Edwin more calm, though actuated by very different motives ; triumphal villany, it is true, sat enthroned within his heart ; but yet he was uncertain whether he mig! not for ever lose Agnes, of whom he was now more passionately enamoured than ever. Edwin, though he ardently wished to assume his new honours, could hardly determine ' tear himself away, and therefore determined to protract his stay until the following niornin, in order to exert his utmost endeavours in reassuring Agnes, whom, as he found he could I no means persuade her to leave the Forest clandestinely, determined to return himself speedily as possible, seduce her to some distance, then carry her off in spite of oppositioi trusting to her affection to plead his excuse. In the evening arrived Mrs Delmer's second letter, containing the intelligence of Emma elopement with Whitmore. This was delivered to Edwin when he chanced to be alone wit THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 49 'illiam. Astonished at receiving anotlier so speedily, be hastily broiie it open, but had no oner "lanced over the contents, than art, and its attendant dissimulation, for a moment for- ok him. " Damnation seize the villain !" exclaimed he, aloud, regardless of William, and al- ost insensible he was present; " 1 will pursue him to the verge of hell ; am I thus to bo miodiatcly punished?" "Good heaven, Edwin ?" replied William, starting, what do you can ? What has happened ? Speak, brother ; why are your features thus disturbed with iu'-^lcd rage and anguish? Are we not both the fruit of one kindly shrub ? Why will you ,en unkindly have a separate interest ? for surely witholding your thoughts must be thus terproted. My whole heart is yours ; read it, it is open as my speech to a beloved brother." Alas, William!" replied Edwin, shrinking within himself, " what do you ask? I — I — I have sccreis, or if I had what could it answer to rack your bosom ?" " If you are so insensible the consoUitions of fiiendship," returned William, '• to prize them so lightly, I will endeavour, iou<;h reluctantly, to withdraw my claim ; my heart has hitherto forced me to be an intruder our interest; I will, however, hereafter strive not to hold it so inseparable with my own, jtil, at least, you are cured of this delirium of folly and grandeur; then, my brother, will I rget your unkindness, and again open my arms and heart to receive you. Only one thing, dwin, would I wish to ask ; if you have a subject for unhappiness, is London a place for imma? Can she be prudently left there alone?" "D her 1" involuntarily replied dwin. William made no answer ; he was unequal to any : he cast an eye of anguish on his bro- ler, and dropped on a chair in silence. At that instant entered Godwin, with his wife and Fanny, when both brothers endeavoured , conceal their uneasiness, though from different motives ; Edwin to hide his own villany, id William to prevent their hearts being agonized with he knew not what, and what he ished, but dreaded to hear. Edwin was a far better dissembler than his orother, and first overcame his confusion, mplv informing his friends that he had received another letter pressing his immediate return ; "' it that he hoped to see them again in the space of a month at farthest ; that he would now ke one of their horses to the next market ti)wn, from whence he could immediately procure conveyance. Kis venerable parents would have questioned him respecting his repeated and peremptory Jl ; but Edwin appeared so inclosed in reserve and caution, that the good man, with a sigh, ithdrew his suit, and observing his son's impatience to be gone , told him to take any of the jrses he approved ; and fearing his uneasiness might proceed from want of money, pressed m with a supply, which, however, Edwin declined, even to obstinacy. He then left the irtv, and hastened to take leave of Agnes, who was locked in her chamber, for the first time, jrhaps, in her life ; but she wished now to conceal herself from herself; but her conscience, jublv poignant from sensibility and wounded virtue, had fixed a barbed arrow in her bo- im, which she could never withdraw, nor whose anguish she could palliate. Edwin calling, she however replied — " I will attend to you directly below ;" and opening le door with a sigh, passed him and descended the stairs, he in vain attempting to detain her. By this time he had entirely recovered his confusion ; and renewing his promises, he- ^'TJccivcd their affectionate farewell, departing in two hours after the receipt of his last letter. CHAPTER XVni. ^^ DWIN was no sooner departed, than William, drawing his father aside, with caution informed ■^ m of Edwin's discomposure at receiving the letter. " Believe me, my dear sir," said he, I should not have mentioned it, had I not thought it for his happiness. Edwin's good nature, '^.' \d, if I may call it so, constitutional cheerfulness, may, I doubt not, have drawn him into '^■'^ me difficulty, from which he cannot extricate himself. I almost fear to speak my wishcg, it why should I hesitate? You have frequently honoured me by calling me your represen- ','tive; would you condescend to make me such now, I would go to London, and examine '"*" to the immediate situation of Edwin ; if he has any pecuniary difficulties, remove thern ; and, fJly, bring down Emma, whom I well know you wish returned." Godwin for a moment regarded his son, unable to reply, tears falling down his cheeks. At gth, embracing him, he said, " My son, my son, surely thou art the favourite gift of God ; aO THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. thou anticipatest noy words, but not my wishes. I am not blind to the cloud that hangs ove ^t Edwin, but for thy offer should have suffered in silence, unable to develope it ; let us, ther. jjti form some excuse for thy absence to thy mother, Fanny, and her gentle sister ; as for Bei ^jj nard, I will tell him our intention ; and, I doubt not, he will applaud our honest deceit." Bernard entering in the height of the conversation, was informed of the whole, und^ „ promise, however, of not revealing it to either of his daughters, which he firmly promised ; i: the meantime good-naturedly endeavouring to laugh them out of their fears, observing, " h was sure Edwin was both a good and a prudent lad ; and for any difference in his behaviour they should consider his change of situation, and that gentlemen had frequently more t ruffle their thoughts than farmers, though they might choose to keep it to themselves." William, with his father's approbation, determined to depart on the following morning, am join his father in London ; and accordingly, at supper, Bernard, by agreement, asked him i "^ he could contrive to set off on the next day to York, as he had a relation there who was sicki. and that he was unable to ride so far on horseback himself? WiHiam immediately expressed his willingness, and the affair was soon concluded, unsu! pected by cither Mrs Godwin or Agnes ; but the keen and attentive eye of tenderness wa not so easily deceived ; Fanny read the unusual gloom in her William's features, thougl determined to conceal her suspicions. On their retiring to rest, William could not avoid observing Fanny was unhappy. Sh was silent, and appeared to press the young Reuben with redoubled affection to her bosom while a tear would now and then escape her eye, and fall on his dimpled cheek. " What the matter, my love, my wife ?" said William ; "you are unhappy, and I have a right to clair a share." "Forgive me," replied she, weeping, "but you are not, I think, going to York. " Suppose I am not, where can I go that the remembrance of your tenderness and virtue wi not cheer me ? Dry your tears, love, and you shall hear my destination, for I know you wii not disclose it to my mother or Agnes, whom I fear to alarm." He then informed her of hi determination of hastening to London, as he was rather uneasy at the behaviour of Edwir and yet more concerned at the protracted stay of Emma. Fanny entirely coincided in the prudence of his journey, while she grieved at its necessit} yet hoped all his fears were groundless ; then promised to conceal her own uneasiness for th< sake of his mother and Agnes ; and, finally, entreated him, in such a great and hateful cit} (as she had heard it represented) to be careful of his own safety, and by no means to hurr back on her account, until his heart was fully satisfied in respect to his brother, " as," conclude she, " an inconsiderate haste might leave you still unhappy, and uninformed in respect of him In the meantime, I will doubly caress Reuben, trace your features in the lineaments of I little visage, talk to him of your absence, of your return, while the unfeeling little varlet," con eluded she, fondly kissing her babe, "will smile at both." William caught her in his arms, alternately embracing her and the infant, then he retire with her to rest, happy as the first created pair, before guilt had banished peace from thei bosoms. William rose at the dawn of the day, and having taken an early breakfast with his famih departed on horseback for the metropolis, which he reached five days after his brother, wh rode post the whole journey. Edwin, on his arrival in town, had immediately gone to Mrs Delmer's, who confirmed th vexatious tidings she had before sent him. At first «his rage knew no bounds ; he execrate Whitmorc, Emma, and himself, nor did he spare Mrs Delmer in his passion ; then rushin frotn the house, hastened to Whitmore's, where, however, he could hear nothing more than h already knew respecting their departure, but was presented by one of the domestics with letter which had arrived three days before, and which bore a foreign post-mark. On openin it, he found it came from Whitmorc, and contained these words : — " Dkak Edwin, — You have stolon my sister; and, as 1 hate to be undone, 1 have stole yours — but it is a mere exchange ; yet I wish to act generously, and must confess that I hav the best of the bargain ; you are welcome to my wife to make up the deficiency. In the mear time, I wish you all the happiness attendant on the marriage state. You pleased yourself, have I; and I trust you have too much sense and knowledge of the world to be angry at th step I have taken, particularly when I assure you, that your sister i8 dearer to me than lif< THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 51 •^ d that her happiness shall be my particular care. I presume you have heard of my affair ■" th Darleville. I was too much of a philosopher to notice his amour with my wife ; but to 3ak disrespectfully of my sister and my beloved Emma, was too much even for philosophy bear. Adieu ! I shall make the tour of Fiance and Italy before I return, but if settled in V place for a time, you shall hear from me. • i^ Calais. "Whitmore." Edwin's rage was redoubled by this epistle, with which, open in his hand, he flew to Mrs hitmore's apartment, expecting, that although the lady was faulty, she would, in this case, as outrageous as himself; but he was disappointed— she only laughed at his emotion, liculinf him for being so vehemently exasperated at an occurrence which was so common in ;, and that, if he had had the least penetration, must have foreseen. " But what, in the me of wonder, does he say ?" added she. " Does he congratulate you on your marriage? »r my part, I knew of it a week after it took place, though I did not mention it to him, and ve von credit for an apt scholar, a pupil worthy your preceptor. But tell me, does the ter contain any secret ; or may I see it ?" " Take it," replied Edwin, sullenly, " the letter least is worthy the writer." ^ Mrs Whitmore received it, but had not proceeded far when she began laughing immode- Lely. " By my life," said she, *• Whitmore is a delightful fellow, notwithstanding he treats } so cavalierly ; were he not my husband, I should certainly be in love with him. Take my vice, Edwin, and do not, when you meet, quarrel about trifles. Believe me, you have, latever he may say to the contrarj', the best of the bargain, have not only the woman but e fortune, he the woman only. Which, I pray then, in the eye of common sense, has the vantage, even though I should not be thrown in to make up the deficiency ?" •' But ''" ppose," replied Edwin, half rallied from his vexation, " I should refuse anything short of the ^^^ 1 compensation ?" " Why, in that case," returned she smiling, " I should say you were an aricious wretch, and as bad as your patron." ''" This discourse was for some time pursued with the same degree of spirit, until the subject came so far realized, that Edwin at length departed, impressed with the idea that he was ''J ly revenged on Whitmore. ''" On Edwin's return, he found the domestics at Mrs Delmcr's (who hereafter must be called ''J )dwin) prepared to receive him as their master, the lady having declared her marriage. '^^ lough his promotion and this distinction would at any other time have gratified his pride, '^^ d overbalanced every other idea, yet he now accepted their attentions with coldness. His ''■" art was torn with contending passions, which even wished-for wealth could not alleviate ^ 2 departure of Emma, which almost drove him to despair, and the distempered frenzy of "^^ Bire (which he called love) for Agnes. To pursue Emma without any certain route he knew mid be in vain ; besides, his marriage in the meantime might reach Inglevvood, and Agnes be ™ t for ever. This idea soon banished all thoughts of following Emma, whose absence he, ^ wrever, determined to keep secret as long as possible, at least until he got Agnes in hig wer. ^''j Thus resolved, he endeavoured to conceal his discontent under the specious guise of ™ easiness for his sister, his unsuspecting w>fe viewing him with too partial an eye to suspect ( dissimulation. '" Five days after, as before mentioned, arrived William, who repaired immediately to the '^'* use he thought Mrs Delmer's, intending first to visit his sister, supposing Edwin still resided "'"I Whitmore's. Though a stranger in London, as his direction was clear, he had not much '"' ficulty to find it; and, tying his horse to the rails, knocked at the door, and inquired for '''l i lady. William's good person and natural affability was with every one a powerful letter of "'"sl'nmmendation ; and the domestics immediately showed him into an apartment, and sted his name. " William Godwin," replied he, "tell her, from Inglewood, and that ,v.miest to pay her my respects." '^^'IWhen the servants announced this unexpected visitor, Mrs Godwin was alone ; she was -"' "^zed, as she was certain Edwin knew not of his journey. He had told her that he had >>ed his marriage to his father and William only, who were to declare it on his departure, he had no wish to distress Agnes, who, he said, he feared was yet rather attached to him. 1 52 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST As for the elopement of Emma, that he informed her he could not resolve to niention, until j least he heard more of the business. The parties were thus in mutual ignorance when they met, Mrs Godwin shuddering that fell to her lot to disclose the flight of his sister, particularly as it was with Whitmore. Mrs Godwin met him at the door, and holding out her hand, bade him welcome, and ej pressing her sorrow that Edwin was gone out. This declaration struck William as nothin uncommon, as Edwin, he surmised, might just have paid her a visit. Having returned h compliments, his eyes wandered round the room in search of Emma. " And my^sister, madam said he, " has long intruded on your kindness ; I am charged with the thanks of my parent: and mean to take her home with me. At some future period, perhaps, you will condescen to honour us with a visit, as you pass to your seat." Mrs Godwin bowed; she felt awkwar that William did not congratulate her on her marriage, and knew not how to reply to him re Specting Emma. " You are silent, madarii," said William, with an emotion he could n( entirely suppress, observing she made no answer. " May I not see my sister?" Thus urge she could not avoid a reply. " For pity's sake, Mr Godwin," said she, " do not press the sul jeet until Edwin's return ; I expect him momentarily. You may believe me, whatever hupper to disturb your family is distressing to me." "If anything has happened to my sister, fc Heaven's sake disclose it instantly ; my soul cannot bear suspense on a subject so near us al I truly confess I suspected something on Edwin's receiving the last letter, and could not re satisfied until I hastened to town. Speak, madafn, my distress is not immaterial ; is Emnf^ sick — dead? I can hear of either as becomes a man — what I dread far more, disgraced herse and family?" Mrs Godwin still hesitated, until again pressed with an earnestness that alrmo: shocked her, she replied, " Indeed, my dear Mr Godwin, this unhappy business you ma believe has greatly distressed me, particularly as the aggressor is my brother." " Enougl madam," interrupted William, impatiently; "I have heard enough to plunge my unhapp parents into an untimely grave." *' My husband," resumed Mrs Godwin, " would instanti have pursued them, but his absence, and the uncertainty of their route, made such a ste fruitless; they can be traced no farther than Abbeville." "Abandoned, deluded girl exclaimed William, his voice choked with contending passions ; " is this the return you mak for eighteen years' watchful tenderness— parents who never regarded you but with a smile Ungrateful wretch ! I will, however, if possible, find you ; and if a spark of virtue remain in your bosom, endeavour to revive it. Pardon me, madam, I scarcely know what to say : think that you kindly mentioned that your husband would have pursued them—excuse me, did not know you were married ; but why is Edwin supine in this cruel business ?" William's answer increased Mrs Godwin's perplexity ; he expressed bis ignorance of he marnage, and spoke of her husband and Edwin as separate persons. " You — you are, I feai Mr Godwin," replied she, " under some mistake." " For Heaven's sake, then, madam, con descend to set me right; if you can lessen my tortures, I will bless you; at least," conclude be, " I am sure you cannot increase them." " 1 would it were in nay power to remove them ! replied she. " What I have to say will not, however, augment them. I surely misunderstoo Edwin when he informed me that he had divulged his marriage to his father and yourself. "His marriage 1" said William; "his marriage!" repeated he again, after a moment's pause *' whose marriage ?— not surely ray brother Edwin's ?" " Yes, sir, Edwin is my husband : w have been married these three months." " Your husband! then you are married to a villain ! exclaimed he, throwing himself into a chair from whence he had just risen. ** Great God how blind is man ! I thought my miseries incapable of increase, and they are now fallen four fold on me. Parents— Agnes— Fanny— all— all will sink beneath this cruel stroke !" " Surelj sir," interrupted Mrs Godwin haughtily, " Edwin's marriage with me cannot have inerease< your unhappiness ?" " You, perhaps, did not know of his engagements to Agnes ; yet thought you had. Excuse me, madam, I cannot stay ; my mind is too much torn with anguish Favour me with all you know respecting my unhappy sister; I would, if possible, seek her but fear my labour would be vain. We will, if you please, banish all other subjects." Mrs Godwin then briefly related all she knew respecting the elopement of Emma witi Whitmore; saying the advantage was taken unsuspected by her, and in her absence; am finally, that to pursue them would be useless, as their route was uoknown. THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 63 When «he concluded, William rose, and was about to take his leave, saying he ihould set Rf^gain immediately for the Forest, being uncertain what step to pursue until he hud con- ilted with his father, as he dared uot trust to writing, knowii^ the stroke would f&U so heavy 5 to need all his precaution and care in divulging it. You will not, sure," said Mrs Godwin, "depart until Edwin's return? Let me entreat our stay — he cannot be long, and would, I am convinced, blame mo for suflcring you to leave s so hastily." " No, madam, he would rather thank you, had you even pressed ray absence ; ut I must be gone," continued he, advancing towards the door, "and wish you more happi- ess than I have now to expect." With these words, in spite of her entreaties, he left her, and lounted his horse, first requesting the servant to direct him to Mr Whitraore's. " I will call lerc," said he, mentally, as he rode forward ; " perhaps the villain belied his wife ; from his onduct, it is more than probable he did. Edwin, too, confirmed his assertions ; but what are le words of such men ? I will go, and doubt not to find their character of her false I Per- Japs she was too virtuous to countenance their viliany, and possibly from thence arose th^ir islike of her." Impressed with this idea, he rode to her house, determined to procure from tlie lady more ertain information, not doubting but he should find her overwhelmed with sorrow ; and ;j rmly persuaded that all he had before heard to her disadvantage would prove false. On his rrival, fearing she should refuse to see him, from his consanguinity to Emma, he simply de- rod the servant to inform her, a person on particular business desired to speak to her. The man led the way into an apartment, and desired him to be seated ; then proceeded to onounce him in the adjoining room, and presently returning, informed him his mistress would ait on him presently. William, now left alone, was, for some moments, lost in thought, 'he partition between the rooms being, however, slight, his meditations were soon interrupted two voices, one of whom was singing — ad *' Come, come, bid adieu to fear, Love and Harmony live here ! No dume.ttic jenloud jaiii, BuzzIdk slanders, wordy wars. In my presence will appear ; Love and Harmony reign here!" But I will neither sing nor say any more till I havedi^atched my visitor," continued the ime voice. " By his nameless modesty, it is, I suppose, one of Mr Whitmore's crcditorB, itli a bill as long as my arm ; but I shall dispatch him in an instant." With these words, the lady opened the door, and assuming more gravity, said, " If you lease, sir, I will now attend to your business." William, more overpowered than before with vexation to find he had called on so des- 'M icable a wretch, yet determined to advance and question her ; but had no sooner entered (ia 10 room, than he became fixed as a statue, with surprise and horror ; for on a sofa, lolliog, is brother Edwin, apparently quite at his ease. "Amazement !" exclaimed Edwin, starting o« om his seat, hardly less astonished than William. " Is it possij^le — my brother !" " No, ou mistake," replied WiUiara, putting him back with bis hand, for he had advanced towards ini ; " you have no brother ; you lost him when you became a villain !'* The first idea that Jtruck Edwin was, that his seduction of Agnes was discovered, and that he should lose her ial )r ever ; anger and distraction at this thought mastered every other consideration ; and uniiliated to be thus treated before the haughty Mrs Whitmore by his rustic brother — " A )iiilfllain," echoed he, seizing William by the arm ; " dare not to repeat it, lest I indeed forget elj ur relationship." " Yes," replied William, with equal heat, " a false and most despicable illain, destitute of honour and honesty ! Nay, unhand me," continued he, shaking Edwin ft', who appeared almost ready to strike him, " lest I should be tempted to chastise you on tie spot." Mrs Whitmore, by this altercation, discovering her mistake in respect to the stranger, nd fearing some mischief, screamed aloud, and violently pulled the bell ; on which three ser- ants rushed into the room, and in some measure calmed the impetuosity of both bro- Jhers. '* Edwin needs no protection," said William, " he is beneath my resentment. I came o inquire of my unhappy sister, whose fault is already lessened when I see what dangers ler inexperience has been exposed to." 54 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. Mrs Whitraore would, if possible, have adopted her usual haughtiness, but her behavioi like an arrow drawn against an impenetrable target, only rebounded without injury to t object. He did not, it is true, return scorn for scorn, but appeared to feel her efforts !' little as doth a giant those of a pigmy. Edwin, too, after the first exertion of passiol seemed sunk, within himself, and blushing in spite of all his pride, to appear to owe his safe to the domestics, entreated Mrs Whitmore to command their absence ; which being at lengr complied with, unable to bear the presence of his brother, he rushed out of the room. William, who was anxious to gain some intelligence of his sister, on Edwin's leaving tl apartment, made a cold apology to the lady for what had passed, and began the discour ° nearest his heart; but finding he could procure no information, soon left her, and remoun ing his horse, with a heavy heart took his way towards Inglewood. CHAPTER XIX. When Edwin left bis brother, he hastened home, where he was soon informed of all that hj passed in the interview between William and Mrs Godwin, the lady not sparing her reproach *' for his duplicity. Edwin was not in a temper to bear, much less to palliate, and high words consequence ensued. To a charge of ingratitude he replied with a thousand curses again *' his own folly, until at length the lady retired highly displeased. Edwin neither endeavourir to detain nor soothe her. No sooner was he alone, than he gave way to the mingled passions that overwhelmed hinl^ " It is now complete !" exclaimed he ; "I have gained the points on which I fixed my happ '^ ness—weaUh, and the possession of Agnes, and yet am plunged in the depth of misery— misei "^ too great for human nature to bear, for have I not lost all that made life desirable ? Paren '1 — Agnes — brother — that brother whose friendship was once so necessary to my happiness ; 1 * spurned me — despised me ; that temper I never before saw ruffled with passion, was now ui governable ! By hell, vice has made me a coward ! Had he even struck me, I think I shoui not have returned it. My sister dishonoured too ! Accursed Whitmore, thou shalt pay f( all, for thou art the original cause ; the tempter that first seduced me from home, happine: love, and virtue — that first taught me to laugh at vows, and gratify my passions at the expen of innocence and honour, mayest thou be accursed as I ! then annihilation will be mercy ; y had I but Agnes to soothe my cares, I could yet be comparatively happy !— happy !" continue he, after a pause ; " by Heaven, I will ! they already hate, despise, and curse me — they ca do no more ; and such a prize is worth a bold effort." Towards evening he returned to Mrs Whitmore, as he was curious to hear how his br( ther's visit had concluded, having no doubt but that he had immediately set out on his retur for the country ; he likewise wished, if possible, to escape from himself, and Mrs Whitmore levity was the most speedy palliative he could think of. As for his wife, now she began, as Y surmised, to suspect his villany, she became almost hateful to him ; so true it is, that not ur frequently the aggressor finds it most difficult to pardon. Mrs Whitmore rallied him on the whole transaction ; his brother's behaviour she construe to proceed from his displeasure respecting Emma, and a supposition that Edwin had not bee sufficiently attentive to her, for anger at his marriage she had not the most distant idea o nay, she was astonished that the satisfaction she supposed he must feel from that circumstanc had not obliterated all other ideas. " I think," said she, "he might, at least, have bchav with more politeness before me ; but what, in the name of wonder, would the handsome rust have had you done; — keep a duenna to guard her? — cry your mercy, she had one, thoug confess, not sufficiently vigilant, for she was engaged in her own affairs ; — or did he wish yo now the mischief is done, to set off, like another Quixote, in search of the ravisher, and rescii the damsel? Nay, never look serious. Have 1 not equal cause, when I have lost my dc. spouse, yet bear it with patience? Why did not you answer your brother in the script ur language he is accustomed to, making/ree with the words of Cain — ' Am I my sister's keeper?' ** Damnation, madam !" replied Edwin, " you go too far !" then throwing himself on a sofa, h muttered between his closed teeth, " I am indeed Cam, cursed of God and man." Edwin's compunction was, however, far from being permanent; before the night c1osc( the company of Mrs Whitmore had greatly alleviated it, though reflection, when he was al(»n returned with redoubled poignancy. He certainly did not love her; but she was a voluptuai in pleasure, and fascinated his senses at the expense of hi^ reason. Her passions were THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 55 turc violent, and, untaught by education to subdue them, they had gained fresh strength the neglect of Whiiinore, whom she had long regarded with indifference, and amused her- fas best suited her inclinations; but as, until very lately, she had been cautious in her out- ird conduct, was universally well received. The aftair with Darleville had been the most blii^ probably from his vanity ; for she certainly felt no particular affection for him, having nipsed him before the duel took place, expressed no uneasiness when she heard he was .unded, nor pleasure when informed he was out of danger. While Edwin was endeavouring to dissipate his merited uneasiness, William, as he ad- nced on his journey, was forming a thousand different plans to lessen the weight of the news had to communicate to his friends, while his own heart was distracted with grief and vex- on. lie had made the journey to town on his own horse, but found that unequal to the ced with which he wished to return, and therefore left it to be brought down by the wag- ner, and returned post. William, by this means, reached the Forest much sooner than either his fatner or wife, who ew his real destination, could expect ; for Mrs Godwin and Agnes had no suspicion of the ath. As he advanced towards home, the tidings he had to communicate became so painful, lij at he slackened his|pace; and the pleasure he would have otherwise felt at the idea of embracing 5 dear wife, smiling babe, and family, was lost in the agonizing thought, that it should fall his lot to disclose events, whose effects, he much feared, would have a fatal tendency. It liilis the close of day when be reached home. Never before had he thought it painful to cross J threshold ; he reflected with vexation on the speed he had used on his journey. " It is," id he, "as if I was in haste to distress them as deeply as myself." He then, not meeting y one, turned his horse into the stable, and with an irresolute step advanced towards the or ; when in the kitchen, he heard Fanny, whose voice was wild music, singing to her fanl, — " There's nae luck about the hocse, There's nae luck at a' ; There's nae luck about the bouse. When our gude man's awa. , Sae sweet bis voice, sae smooth his tonjue. His breath like caller air, His very tread has music in't. As he comes up the stair. '• There's nae luck, &c." *' Oh, it is too much," exclaimed William. " Inhuman, barbarous monster ! for I cannot ill him brother who rends asunder such ties, and agonizes thjose he is bound, by every senti- ent of honour and gratitude, to protect. Alas ! I have now no brother— no sister ! would . heaven I never had, or that they had died in infancy — innocent and happy !" He now entered, and found his parents and Fanny seated together ,• all leaped up to receive m : Fanny depositing her charge in the cradle, and flying into his arms, Mrs Godwin unsus- ciously inquiring after Bernard's friend, while Godwin fixed his eyes in silence on the altered id pale face of his son, and already shuddered at the expectation of what he had to repeat. " — : His brow's the title pa^e |,;il That speaks the natiue of a tragic voaime. Thou tremblest, and the whiteness of thy cheek Is apter than thy tongue to tell thy errand. E'en such a man, so faint, so spiritlesH, So dull, so dead in look, so woe begone, Drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night. And would have told him half his Troy was burnt; But Priam found the fire ere be his tongue." William gave an evasive answer to his mother's question, and, having returned his wife's ^^ iresses, anxiously cast around his eyes, and inquired after Bernard and Agnes. My father," replied Fanny, •* is out, and our dear Agnes has been very indifferent ever nee you went away, and is now retired to bed ;— but how pule you are, William ! indeed you e sadly altered — I am sure you are ill. Perhaps you have hurried too much. I did not cpect you yet." Mrs Godwin expressed the same idea respecting his appearance, while the venerable father ■^Imained silent and lost in thought; for William's speedy return without Emma confirmed all s fears. At that moment entered Bernard, singing, blithe as a hale constitution and an "bright mind could make him. Uiti 5» THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. " What, William !" cried he, "art come, my lad ? Nothing but good news, I know. M; '""'■ kinsman is got well, I hope?" winking significantly, "and thou art satisfied." William sighed ^ and wrung his hands in silence. "Why, what ails? art tired or sick? — thee lookest quitB ill! And what poor horse is't in the stable?— 'tis miserable thin, and as weary as a dog ! thee used to have more mercy on a dumb beast. I looked in as I came round, and could no *' think whose half-faraished creature it was." ^ Before William could reply, Mr Godwin took his wife by the hand, and said, " My belovei "^' friend, we have been married these six and thirty years, in all which time I never used deceit ^^' and perhaps it is, even in this instance, unjustifiable. William, my love, has been to Lori *f' don, and I am amazed at his speedy return ; he appears ill, too. I myself fear all is not ther '' as we could wish ; but we are Christians, and will endeavour to receive the evil as become "" us in this transitory state." Mrs Godwin made no reply ; maternal tenderness swelled in he '"^ bosom, and was too poignant to be relieved by words. •' Speak then, William," continue ^ Godwin ; " we are prepared— certainty cannot be more horrible than this suspense." ^ William, though thus pressed, appeared in no haste to reply ; even Bernard's features wer ^ marked with alarm; while Fanny, as if William's affection could secure her from sorrow*^ drew her chair closer to his, and pressed one of his hands between both hers. '"" *' Oh my father!" at length hesitated William, his voice hardly articulate, "pardon you son for being the messenger of tidings which must wound you even more deeply than the have done me. Edwin, anxious for independence and wealth, has — " — " Gained it at the ex ^ pense of honour and rectitude ! " interrupted Godwin. William's affirmative was a sigh ^ ** No, no !" exclaimed Mrs Godwin, hastily ; " it is a mistake : you believe too easily — Wil ^' liam is misinformed. Edwin is young and lively, and may err, but not grossly." *' Ay, ay, said Bernard, " it is only so : William is so good himself, he cannot make proper allowanc for common frailties. I am glad, however, Agnes is not here. He has made a trip I supposff —some girl, I doubt. Never mind, we must keep it a secret ; but what has that to do wit wealth and independence ? '' "I will not believe it," replied Mrs Godwin ; " he loves Ague too well to be guilty in the manner you allude. But where is Emma — my child — why is sh not returned with you ? She will next be scandalized — suspected ; not the world shall no\ keep her from her mother." " Alas, where shall she find her?" cried William involuntarily " Find her ! " screamed Mrs Godwin ; " is she dead ? — for, living, who shall hide her from me ? — " None but herself, my mother," replied Wiiliam ; " alas ! she is unworthy of you— she ha fled with a vile betrayer." A friendly insensibility for some moments deprived the wretched mother of her sens of anguish, and all remained silent ; but recovering, by the aid of Fanny, tears, in som measure, eased her overcharged heart. " And what remains, William," said she, " fear no now to speak — the blow is struck. What of Edwin — is he, too, lost? I charge you, b your love and duty to me, speak. I will know the worst, and pray for Datience to suppor it." Godwin repeated the command. William, thus pressed, with the utmost agitation, related all he knew respecting Emma concluding with the marriage of Edwin to Mrs Delmer, but suppressing his finding him Mrs Whitmore's. All remained, for some time, lost in astonishment, until at length Godwii exclaimed — " Cruel, deceitful boy I Is this the return for my anxious care for your happi ness ? — alas ! I feared even to refuse what my heart could not approve, and, by a falsi ndulgence, have undone you.' Miserable man that I am, how shall I bear this stroke, o comfort this unhappy sufferer," looking with anguish on his wife, " when I cannot mysel support it? Oh, God of mercy !" exclaimed he, raising his clasped hands, "how did I prnj for my children, and in thy anger thou gavest them." Fanny dropped on her knees at his feet *' Oh my father," replied she, looking tenderly at William, " all your children arc not the gifts of anger." "No, my daughter," replied the old man ; " William and thyself, nay, anc roy Agnes too, have virtues to overbalance the other's errors, for ye are all mine ; and fron; this hour, if my heart is capable of distinction, Agnes must claim it; for who shall comforl her? William, I doubt not, will endeavour to requite thee, for his love is sincere, and worth) its object." As he spoke he raised his weeping daughter-in-law, and pressed her to his bosom, while she hung round his neck, and watered his grey hairs with her tears. " Oh, Bernard ! " cried Godwin, " let not this divide our friendship — condemn not all for the errors of one."— Bernard held out his hand and grasped that of Godvtin, exclaiming, while sorrow THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. ST most choked his speech, ** Condemn you I may heaven condemn me if I do ! No, my 3art bleeds for you. Ah, William, thou wast right when thou blamest me for applauding his )ing to town." *' 1 will retire," said Mrs Godwin, rising, but sinking again in her chair; I am not well, my head is giddy, and my heart is cold. Give me your hand, Fanny, and ad me to bed. Oh, my children !~my children !** Fanny and William led their unhappy mother to her chamber, where the former insisted 1 attending her for the night, but was refused by Mrs Godwin. " No," said she, " you wiU reafter, my child, I fear, have to attend your suffering sister ; surely she already suspects imething, for her health droops daily." Fanny again pressed to stay. " Will not ray loved husband be with me ?" replied Mrs Godwin ; •' we will pray and comfort each other, ow often have we passed the hours in exultation over the growing virtues of our childreu— , night we will weep over their vices ! " P'anny retired and joined tiie unhappy father and William, who were devising means how'to sclose Edwin's perfidy to Agnes ; Godwin at length taking the task on himself. The parties len withdrew to their respective chambers, not to sleep, but to deplore the depravity that id banished happiness from their bosoms and converted the mansion of peace into a house of ourning. CHAPTER XX. the morning all met at breakfast but Mrs Godwin, wtio appeared too much indisposed to ave her bed. Agnes, apparently lost in melanch^y, was not, however, insensible to the stress that hung on every face, and with a fearful energy entreated to know the cause. Godwin at length informed her of Emma's flight, adding, as he concluded, while tears reamed down his venerable cheeks, *' But I will endeavour to tear her from my heart, thou, gnes, shalt supply her place, and become doubly dear to me." "Oh, my beloved, my ihappy Emma," cried Agnes, weeping, " how sincerely do I feel for you ! She has beea ceived, deluded ; and if she can but be regained, forgive, my father, and receive her to your (som. Oh, she has a thousand virtues to counterbalance this one error ; and will, I hope, :have hereafter in a manner to make you even forget it." As none seemed willing to con- lue the discourse, it ceased here, and the breakfast passed in silence, being removed almost itouched, each appearing to shun the eye of the other — even little Reuben's smiles being [jlsregarded. The visible anxiety that already hung on Agnes, made Godwin doubly unwilling to disclose e unhappiness that yet awaited her, yet he thought it justifiable to lengthen her delusion ; j^erefore, after breakfast, being alone with her, he began the painful task. As he proceeded, Js tenderness redoubled his emotion, and he was frequently for some time inarticulate. J Agnes's behaviour, on the contrary, was even painfully calm ; she shed no tears, vented no , Jproach, but listened in silence as one on whom neither joy nor sorrow could any longer Jake an impression. " Oh, my beloved child !" concluded the old man, "how shall we be le to obliterate from thy memory the unworthiness of the ungrateful Edwin ? Yet it shall my daily prayer to heaven to effect it, and the constant endeavour of us all to love thee th redoubled affection, particularly of mine, my child." " Oh, I am unworthy," exclaimed gnes, breaking silence. " I am unworthy !— call me not your child — I am vile, abandoned, t. In an evil hour I forgot virtue, and heaven has forsaken me !" *' Impossible, my love ! "Jistress has impaired thy senses ; thou wert ever virtuous as lovely, the delight of the eye, ^'^, d darling of every heart." " Oh no, my more than father ! " replied she, falling at his feet, e scalding tears flowing in torrents down her blushing cheeks, and concealing her face oa 3 knees ; " I cannot deceive you — you are too good to be deceived ; your kindness pierces < heart, and forces me to lay it open to your view ; yet do not hate — do not banish me your gsence ; I cannot bear your displeasure. Though I am not the virtuous Agnes you once ew, do not spurn me— my life will pay the forfeit" A gloomy presage seized the mind of dwin, and transfixed his soul with horror. " It is impossible," said he ; " yet speak, my rnes— fear me not ; Edwin cannot have been such a villain ! he did not sure attempt thy ocence ! " Agnes for a moment made no reply, at length exclaimed — " Oh, my father, Iwin is not more guilty than the abandoned Agnes ! " Godwin gave a cry of surprise and mingled horror ; resignation and patience appeared ally to have forsaken him. In speechless agony he threw himself on the floor, and tore S$ THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. from his bead its venerable honours. The affrighted familj' heard the noise, and rushing found him on the ground, Agnes, trembling and ready to faint, endeavouring to raise him. " Oh, my father ! " cried Fanny, " why are you thus ? you will alarm my mother. Alas I fear she is already convulsed." " May the villain who occasioned it be accursed ! " replieif he, with vehemence, despair in his voice, and his features distorted with anguish. "Ahf ! whom do you curse, my father?" exclaimed Agnes; "recall, recall the cruel words — EdwiiF"' cannot exist under a parent's malediction." " It has involuntarily passed my lips," rcplief" Godwin ; " I cannot recall it. Merciful God ! and have I lived to curse my son? But givl*'' me your arm, my child— lead me to my wife ; I am sick with sorrow — we will die together.** "^'^ William and Fanny raised their father, and led him to his wife's apartment, Fanny remain * ing' to attend her mother, while William, who had no suspicion of the last intelligence hij "' father had received, returned to Agnes, whom he endeavoured, by every means in his power '^' to console ; and perceiving that his father having cursed Edwin hung on her spirits *P endeavoured to remove the impression. '^\ " I am equally displeased as my father," said William, "yet I cannot curse, nor yet hat ^ him, though I despise him beyond the power of words to express. Nay, weep not, Agnei ^ he is unworthy your tears ; he merits only your disdain, as he has mine." " Why ^ill yoi speak thus ? " cried Agnes ; " why recall a scene I have frequently endeavoured t< ^i obliterate from my memory? Unhappy Edwin! would to heaven thou hadst not sworn S( i''' rashly ! yet I trust thou art not abandoned of God, though, alas, thou art cursed by th; f' father, despised by thy brother, and by thy Agnes— forgiven,^' '''^ William knew not that she alluded to the curse Edwin had called on his own head, shouI( ^ he break his vows, and still continued endeavouring to soothe her, when a cry of sorrov i'' struck on their ears, and banished every other idea. Both flew in haste to Mrs Godwin'/ fft apartment, where a sight presented that at once struck them with grief and horror ; she wa; struggling in a violent convulsion that had just seized her ; the terrified Fanny, with tht servant endeavouring to succour her, while Godwin, in speechless agony, was on his kneet ^ by her side. ^ William remained in the apartment but a moment, then hastened away, and mounting hii m horse, rode off at full speed for the nearest medical help, with whom he returned in little moricr, with Mr Bernard and your brother, whom I instantly recollected, come out, and take road to the church. I determined not to lose this opportunity, and walked up to the ise, where, to my good fortune, it was opened by the beautiful girl I saw at the funeral, I whom I instantly knew again. Oh, sir ! you will forgive my being the messenger of such tidings, as I have succeeded in my errand. She was alone ; I therefore declared my busi- whicb, when she had heard, she withdrew, desiring me to stay, as she would write aa ,wer." — '• Charming angel ! — and how dared you keep me thus in suspense ? By heaven, I I never forgive it ? Haste — haste ! Why did you not begin by delivering it ?" — «' I kept o make ray peace after my bad news," replied Harris, " with the freedom of a servant iply in the confidence of Ws master's unworthy secrets, and hope it will fully answer your >ectation." Edwin received it with a trembling hand, tore it open, and read as follows : — ♦'Inhuman Edwin, — Was it not enough that but yesternight your mother was laid in the th, but you must seek to redouble the blow, and pursue the devoted Agnes to the brink he grave ! Oh ! before it is too late, repent of the death of your mother ; and soon that Agnes will plunge you in guilt beyond all hopes of pardon ! With these riches you have iearly obtained, if possible, be happy, and by numerous good actions endeavour to oblitc- 3 your past errors; respect the woman that has bestowed them, nor seek to injure her .ce or ours, by insulting those you are bound to honour ; for every affront offered to Agnes ir father and brother will look on as their own. « As for your pander, I have left him in his mistake — he thinks me Agnes. Alas 1 I have words to throw away on such wretches, but would advise you, for his own sake, to send » no more, as the husband of Mrs Delmer can have no correspondence with Agnes ; and lall not fail to declare his error to your father and brother. Farewell, Edwin ; review ir actions and their consequences, then can you not fail to repent, and your mother will have died iu vain. " F. Godwin." =' Hell and destruction !" exclaimed Edwin : '* you have mistaken my brother's wife for leS ! the letter is from her, and my father will be doubly incensed against me. Fool — dolt t I was, to trust you ! How could you mistake, when the direction I gave you was so n ?" — " If there is any mistake, it cannot be my fault," replied Harris. *' Did you not, tell me a fine-formed, elegant girl, remarkably handsome, about nineteen, with blue eyes, auburn hair falling in ringlets down her face ? Besides, sir, did not the old fellow tell she was Bernard's daughter ? Surely, after all, I could not be mistaken." — " You were, were," cried Edwin, impatiently ; " Fanny is the model of her sister, though not so- ily. Oh, you have ruined me beyond all hope ! But tell me — relate the whole infernal y of what you saw and heard in the house." — " Why, sir, on my knocking at the door,. ; handsome girl, whom you say I mistook, opened it : I asked if her name was Bernard ? ^ bowed slightly, and replied, viewing me with curiosity as I thought — ' My father's name ernard.* Now, sir, you may recollect, that though you told me your brother was married, did not say to a daughter of Mr Bernard ; how, therefore, should I suspect it? I then ned the business, declaring how unhappy you were, how greatly you had been misinter* ;ed to her, and finally entreating her to give you an opportunity to exculpate yourself, s heard me through with tolerable patience, though I now recollect she bit her lip, which, he moment, I thought no very good symptom : but when I concluded, as she replied, ' I e nothing to say to you> but will write my ansvfer to 'your employeF/ I thought all wa» 62 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. well, and waited accordingly. While she was absent, I cannot say but I was under som apprehensions lest your father or brother should return, and suspect my business ; and egac sir, I should not much like a controversy with the latter, for he seems a powerful man, an one that don't look as if he would be trifled with. From the former my heels might hav saved me ; but against your brother, I am conscious none of my efforts would have availed. «« Cease your digressions — what care I for your fears or his prowess !" cried Edwin, impa tiently " Sir, I have just done. She soon came down with the letter, and said, * Take this and give it to your master ; but beware how you come any more here ; next time you ma not escape so well.' *• I protest, sir, I thought she meant kindly, and thanked her accordingly ; for if she mean otherwise, and her voice is such music when she chides, what must it be when she is pleasec Her eyes, to be sure, were red and swelled with weeping, and she spoke particularly serious but that I attributed to her recent loss." — *' Enough, enough ! " exclaimed Edwin : *' I will hea| no more ! Begone — I will call when I want you. Totally ruined with my father !" resume he, mournfully ; " detested by my brother — my mother dead, and her death laid to m that of Agnes too, her raven-like sister has predicted ! — distraction is in the thought ; tha alone is wanting to complete my crimes, my misery — at least, it should be the signal for the conclusion," continued he, looking at his pistols, which were hung up in the apartment, " fc I have not plunged thus far in guilt to live without her." Edwin could not be long absent from his regiment, nor yet could he resolve to live in cor. tinual uncertainty respecting Agnes ; he therefore at length came to a determination leave Harris in the country, to send him constant intelligence, which he determined to obtai by means of the landlord where they then were, Edwin telling him he was Godwin's soi under some displeasure with his father, and on that account particularly unhappy, an interested to hear constantly of his family. Old Godwin, though not personally known to the host, was too much respected for h: name to be a stranger ; he therefore lamented that there should be a difference between hit and his son, especially as Edwin's appearance and behaviour much delighted him, wonderin within himself how the farmer could be displeased with so fine a gentleman, whom the servac assured him had a very handsome fortune ; all which finally operated with him to promise h would procure the wished-for intelligence, and keep the whole a secret, as particularly recom mended him. Accordingly the farmers who were continually passing to Inglewood, or returning, wer questioned respecting the Godwins, who were so generally known and beloved, that ever material occurrence respecting their health or welfare usually transpired, the recent death < Mrs Godwin furnished a pretence for the landlord's inquiries. The whole family, they informed him, were said to be in the deepest affliction, not only f( the loss of Mrs Godwin, but for the present unhappy state of Bernard's youngest daughte. Agnes, who was seized, on the death of Mrs Godwin, with a delirious fever, which ha increased to so great a height that her life was despaired of. With this intelligence Edwin was forced to set off for London, not being able to procuj any more satisfactory ; leaving, however, strict charge with his servant to write by ever post. CHAPTER XXII. The intelligence of the farmers respecting the Godwin family was strictly true. Agne;^ spirit, exerted to the uttermost, had supported her until the death of Mrs Godwin ; but th blow, added to the preceding distress, was more than her nature could sustain, and a fev and delirium was the almost immediate consequence. Her cruel seduction by Edwin she he alone revealed to his father, who had not the heart to disclose it to any one, though tl secret preyed on his vitals, and redoubled his sorrow. He was continually by her sid praying with her, administering her medicines, or endeavouring to calm her frenzy ; evei exclamation she uttered adding an additional pang, as they usually respected Edwin and h( own happiness. At the beginning of her illness, the ring she had received from Edwin she put upon h« finger, saying she was his wife, an asseveration no one would deny, the least contradictic making her outrageous. For two months her life was decl.ired in the utmost danger, and I mean: THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 6S onsiderable time longer continued in a very precarious state ; but at length the fever ^ tdualiy decreased, though the effects still remained, her understanding having received a "' ^' >ck the more alarming, as, though her bodily strength slowly returned, her mental faculties ''^'i aained equally deranged, though more calm, her ideas still dwelling on her faithless lover, i usually concluding every subject with — I am Edwin's wife. ""P* Mrs Palmer, who had been absent from Inglewood, returned at tJiii period, and was both ^ ''^ eved and shocked at the distress her favourite family had experienced, though she knew ^■"Uto what extent. Eager to endeavour to alleviate their woes, she immediately hastened them, and did not refuse a friendly tear at the alteration that had taken place m so short a le ; her eye, whichever way she turned, that was wont to meet placidity and happinc;ss. ^1"'^ w how changed ! Mrs Godwin's seat was vacant ; Godwin much thinner, and his form, ich used to be perfectly upright, bent forward, with the appearance of an added twenty ars, and his fixed eyes constantly on the ground ; Bernard with his arms across,' his head ""•^ ik on his bosom, his jollity fled, his pipe neglected in the chimney corner, and his jug pty on the shelf. William endeavouring to conceal his distress, fearful of increasing that his father and wife, while the sighs that frequently escaped him, and the looks with which viewed them, bespoke the acuteness of his feelings ; the once cheerful and lively Fanny, e and melancholy ; while Agnes, unconcerned at all, sat in a corner amusing herseif with fles, a faint flush spread over her cheeks, the mild lustre of her soft blue eyes changed to a '''''' zzling, but less pleasing brightness, and perpetually cast around, as in search of some object, '" '' iich, failing to meet, they usually fell on the ring upon her finger, with a sigh, and — I am ^ iwiiis ivife. In short, little Reuben was the only one who smiled ; he appeared to thrive in ^ lamity, laughing while his mother wept, seizing his grandfather's buttons, or sometimes his ey hairs, until he had forced him to notice him, and for a moment beguiled him of his sorrow. Mrs Palmer appeared particularly interested for Agnes, and that with such sympathizing iderness, that she became more estimable than ever ; they saw her compassion, as well as riosity, was not a little excited by the constant allusion to Edwin and the ring. She had quently heard the family say that they were affianced to each other ; but no word of juiry escaped her ; she only endeavoured to soothe and prevent the attention of Agnes ing too much fixed on one object. My dear child!" said Godwin, addressing Fanny, "my brother Bernard, William, and ^self, are going out for a short space : our good and condescending friend will excuse us ; our absence open your whole heart to her : spare not my unworthy son, nor yet my more ^^Ihappy daughter : a female friend, of her judgment, will not only be a comfort to you, but '^Ijlcssing to us all, for she will not deny her advice where she has not refused a tear." I When Godwin ceased speaking, Mrs Palmer arose from the side of Agnes, and taking his replied — "Believe me, my good friend, not only my advice, but anything else in my •, is entirely at your service in this unhappy juncture, which I hope will, however, ter- c happily, and more speedily than you expect. The derangement of Agnes I regard as y the effect of fever : and that once totally removed, the other will naturally cease." ^'1 Godwin bowed, repeated his thanks, and, accompanied by Bernard, left her alone with ^' mny and Agnes. Fanny was too much distressed to be in haste to obey her father-in-law, and was likewise strained by the presence of Agnes ; but on her retiring to rest, with a few words and many ITS, she related all that had passed, the goodness of her own heart prompting her to palliate ^^ e whole as much as truth would allow. ^^ As she concluded, Mrs Palmer embraced her, saying—" Fear not, my amiable girl, your "" ity and sisterly affection will meet its reward ; the present trials are severe, but will, I hope, succeeded by a calm. In the meantime, regard me as your friend, mother, sister, or any le that best accords with your own heart. I, alas ! Fan nj', though enjoying wealth even re than I wish, have room for all those claims, as 1 am literally (though possessed of rela- ns) alone in the world, my dearest connexions being- torn asunder." Fanny pressed the hand of Mrs Palmer to her lips, and bathed it with her tears.—" Oh, w truly, madam, did my father spcik, when he said you will comfort me ! Alas ! " said she, ing, "I have secrets that I cannot reveal to men, however dear." — " If necessary to >c 30 them, my dear girl," replied Mrs Palmer, " fear not to trust to my prudence; yourself 'fall only withdraw them from my bosom." ^ THE FARMER OP INGLEWOOD FOREST. Fanny wept and seemed irresolute ; but the kind assurances of Mrs Palnaer at length, some measure, reassuring her, with tears and glowing blushes she owned that she had a f on her sister's account that overwhelmed her with shame and confusion ; in fine, that dur the latter part of her illness she could not avoid perceiving an alteration in her shape, wh but too truly corroborated what she revealed in her frenzy, frequently speaking of an Oi and ever at the time viewing a ring (which was a diamond set in the shape of a he and surrounded with rubies and brilliants alternately), repeating her favourite adage I JEdwin's wife. Mrs Palmer, though shocked at this intelligence, endeavoured all in her power to cons her young friend, representing it. was very possible she might be mistaken in her surmise but if not, thought the unhappy Agnes so greatly to be pitied that she would devise means she survived) to conceal the misfortune from the world. Fanny could not speak her thanks, but threw herself at Mrs Palmer's feet, expressing gratitude in a language far more emphatic than words. Mr Godwin and his companions, on their return, were pleased to find Fanny more cc posed than usual, and returned a thousand thanks to Mrs Palmer, who, however, deli"-h more in doing a good action than hearing? it acknowledged, and cut them short, by saying " You will fright me from my purpose of visiting you daily if you treat mo thus." Mrs Palmer was true to her word ; not a day passed but she called at the farm, and her kindness and attention alleviated the sorrows of all but Godwin, who, thou'^h he her kindness, could not forget the ingratitude of his children, whose conduct, like a corrodi poison, was continually preying deeper on his heart. Mrs Palmer, with the characteristic goodness that peculiarly distinguished her, on be informod by Fanny of Emma's flight, and that if William could have discovered her roi he would have "pursued her, wrote to several correspondents she had abroad, lequesting th privately to inquire after Whitmore, and, if possible, send her information. The only accoi she gained was from Paris, where she learned he had remauied a month, and that he ha( lady with him, remarkably handsome, who was said not to be his wife, but apparently hap in her situation ! that he went from thence privately, and it was uncertain what route heh taken. As this account contained nothing satisfactory, Mrs Palmer communicated it' ale to William, who could only thank her for the interest she took in their aftairs. The health of Agnes, in the meantime, continued in the same precarious state, eminent physician who had been consulted, advised, a perseverance in their own leni« methods, together with music, exercise, and conversation, by pursuing which means, he ent tained no doubt but time would restore her reason ; but had far more fesir for her heal which he pronounced had consumptive symptoms, very alarming at her age. Her situati* which confirmed all Fanny's fears, became weekly more conspicuous, though unsuspected any of the male part of the family, until, unable to conceal it much longer, Mrs Pain persuaded Fanny to suffer her to disclose it — a step she thought the more necessary, Fanny herself was pregnant, and in such perpetual anxiety respecting her sister's situatii that it materially injured her health. Godwin and William received this intelligence li a fresh strike of thunder — Bernard, the big tears chasing each other down his own chee! in vain endeavouring to speak comfort to them. Mrs Pahner proposed that Agnes should be removed to a house of hers on the borders Yorkshire, where she had a person she could safely trust : and that Fanny might accompn her with any other of the family they thought proper. This generous offer was, after soi consultation, accepted, but delayed as unnecessary for two months at least. Mrs Palmer, the meantime, as if the good of her fellow-creatures was her nearest concern, was consta in her visits to the farm, where she had caused a harpsichord to be brought — an instrum on which she was an adept, and played to Agnes daily. At first she tried sprightly mus but it appeared to increase her derangement, and was therefore immediately changed for t penseroso, which had a more happy effect, attracting her attention and calling forth her tea; This success encouraged Mrs Palmer to continue ; and one day, after having played Pop Ode of • Vital spark of heavenly flame,' and accompanied it with her voice, Agnes, for tl first time since Mrs Godwin's death, appeared to recollect her, and starting up, holding hand to her forehead, she said — " I will go to my mother's grave, for I am Edwin's wife." Mrs Palmer desired she might be gratified, and sending for her carriage, Agnes was lift THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 65 A , Ijjftnd accompanied by Fanny and her generous friend. When they arrived at the church- ^^^ d, leuning on Fanny's arm, she walked to the grave, and sitting upon the ground, kissed ^, sod that covered it, saying — «• Ah ! my dear mother, I am ill, very ill, but do not forget though you are in heaven, (or I am Edwin's icifc 1 will bring flowers and set them ji^ e," continued she, "flowers for summer, autumn, winter, and spring; nothing but r .'ers shall cover her grave : and who so proper to plant them as me — for / am Edwin*s jj Fanny wept bitterly, and though Agnes had never paid any attention to her tears, sho j' I noticed them. " Why do you weep, Ftinny ?'* said sho. " If it makes you uneasy, you ^^ r plant the flowers for spring and summer yourself, for you are William's wife, and your rt is warm. I will set those for autumn and winter, for my heart is cold — I am Edwin's ,,,{.'' — "Oh! I cannot — cannot bear it!" cried Fanny. " Inhuman— barbarous— dege- ite monster !" — " Of whom do you speak, Fanny ?" replied Agnes ; •' not of Edwin, I hope ; ugh now I remember," continued she, pausing for some minutes, as if endeavouring to ■ . )lloct herself, " his father cursed him, and his brother despised him ; I, however, forgave ~:^^ ; so you may all do as you please, though it does not become me to hear it, for / am V wifer Palmer, who perceived the effect this scene had upon Fanny^^by gentle means drew from the grave ; and placing her with her sister in the couch, relumed home with n this time Agnes went daily to the churchyard, usually accompanied by her brother ii^ery; for the whole family had joined commands to entreat Fanny to keep from nding her thither. jjj^ During the first two months of Agnes's illness, Edwin's servant had remained at the inn, 3uring intelligence by various means ; but after that period, being assured by the country ■^^ pie it was a regular insanity, which they attributed to her lover being false-hearted (though. |, situation was a profound secret), he returned to his master, leaving it to the landlord to - ! them information by letter from time to time, in which, he did not fail, as he was quite 1 is Wife's opinion, that Captain Godwin (as she called him) was a very handsome man, and ;enerous as handsome. In tiiis state passed the time for near seven months after Mrs Godwin's death, when ■. irin received a letter from his correspondent in the country to this purport : — j^ Honoured Sir, — I think fit to inform you that, three days ago, farmer Bernard's two ^^ ghters left the Forest in a postchaise, attended only by an old black servant, whom I never ,j before. As our house is the first stage from Inglewood upwards, they changed horses, I nfyQv got out of the chaise; nor should I have known them but for the post-boy, who d me who they were. As the black came into the house, I thought he might have .ic an answer like a Christian servant, and therefore asked him to take a glass, which, accepted, I said (not pretending to know them), 'You are going to London, I pre- ^v. ' To which he replied, 'No.' — 'Crosscountry?' 'No.' — 'To the races, mayhap?* ", I ;' and throwing down the money for his liquor, mounted his horse, and followed the ise like a pagan as he was. I am sure, sir, you will allow with me, that it is a wicked sin irefor blackamoor heathens to good white servants, who know how to give a civil answer; , as my wife says, it is allowing to their want of education, for they run wild before they ,, taken and tamed by us Christians, and know no religion but what their own foolish : prompts; nor have any laws to restrain them, which, however, don't much signify, have no propeuty to secure, but would make sad work in a Christian nation, where jpie know right from wrong, and act accordingly. But all this, good sir, is from the . Jposo. I was willing to oblige you, and so by the post-boys traced them two stages, where re met by a plain chaise and pair, in which they continued their journey, but I know it her. ' 1 have no more to add, but my best wishes for your welfare, and thanks for your kind- "Jh and remain, " Your obliged humble servant, " Jeremiah Jenkins." This intelligence added curiosity to the other unpleasing sensations which possessed Edwin, ere could Fanny and her sister be going, while the health of the latter was in so precarious ate ? Their attendant, too, what could lie be ? He appeared bound to secrecy, and 66 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. equal to the trust. In short, the more he ruminated the more he was perplexed, and s length came to a determination to entreat leave of absence, and endeavour to develop th mystery himself. The death of his mother, nor the subsequent illness of Agnes, had not bee able to awaken him to a proper sense of his errors ; he felt, but it was a momentary sensation for, scared at the very idea of reflection, he fled to dissipation, and soon obliterated, or at lea.' protracted, the pangs of retrospection ; by debauchery, luxury, or gaming, neglected his wif< and added ingratitude to the catalogue of his crimes. Mrs Godwin, whose only incentive t marry Edwin was love, had alternately recourse to tears, entreaties, reproaches, and ange but equally vain ; he fled from all ; home he thought hell, and his wife the commissioner t torment him ; while he had constant recourse to the sprightly, wanton Mrs Whitmore, wh laughed at his scruples, and gave occasion for fresh ones ; yet Agnes was still dear to him and he would willingly have relinquished all he possessed to have been reinstated at Ingli wood, as he was before his acquaintance with Whitmore. CHAPTER XXIII. When Agnes was supposed to be about seven months advanced in her pregnancy, accon panied by her sister, she was moved to a small house near Richmond, that appertained to M Palmer, but in which she had lately settled the widow of a sea oflScer, who had been left indifferent circumstances. Here Fanny and Agnes were received with true tenderness ai respect. Mrs Palmer having prepared Mrs Smith, the lady of the house, for their receptior and also sent them attended by her favourite domestic, Felix, the negro mentioned by i Jeremiah Jenkins. The separation was painful to the whole family, though allowed by all the most prudent plan to conceal the unhappy situation of Agnes, whose intellects, thoug rather more settled, were yet far from right ; and, to their future uneasiness, her bodi strength apparently weakened as her mind recovered its vigour. Mr Godwin's health, to' daily declined since the death of his wife, and the eff*ects of the misery that continually prey on him seemed hastening to a crisis. The change from Inglewood to Richmond, after some little time, appeared to have a hap) effect on the senses of Agnes ; she frequently inquired for her father, William, and particular Mr Godwin, pressing Fanny to let her return to him, in a manner that pierced her heart ; si apparently too began to be sensible of her situation, and frequently wept for hours. William, who had not attended them on the journey, joined them soon after with his fathc and after some stay returned to the Forest, leaving Mr Godwin behind, as Agnes appear rejoiced to see him, and was so greatly distressed when they spoke of his departure, that determined to remain and wait the event. About a month before the delivery of Agnes her senses became perfectly collected : bl' that event, which they had so earnestly desired, served but to increase their sorrow ; hor se " reproaches were continual, and the kindness of her friends apparently increased her distre ^ thankful for their constant attentions, but ever declaring that, though they forgave her, s "l should never forgive herself. Fanny was likewise advanced, though »ot so forward in h pregnancy ; and the fatigue and uneasiness she had undergone on account of her sister h greatly impaired her health, though she carefully endeavoured to conceal it, lest it shot increase the general uneasiness. Mrs Palmer, before they had been moved a month to Richmond, came to see them ; h general philanthropy easily accounted to her domestics for her conduct to the sisters, the oi one of them who had any knowledge of the real situation of Agnes being Felix, whose attcn ance Mrs Palmer had judged necessary, as Mrs Smith kept but one female servant, and itw thought most prudent, at the present period, not to increase the number. The chaise which Mrs Palmer travelled was the same that had met and conveyed Fanny and Agnes Richmond, at which time the latter wjxs wrapped up in a long cloak, that her shape was by means discernible, had the man who drove the vehicle been curiously inclined, which was from the case ; for he had long resided with his mistress, was satisfied implicitly to follow \ commands without question, and loved her better than any other object except his hors On her arrival at Richmond, not choosing more inmates than absolutely necessary, she h Bent thi» servant with her carriage to an inn, Felix going with orders when they were giv( thus there was no apparent secrecy affected in the retreat of Agnes, Mrs Palmer simply aiyi among ber own people, that »he was moved to try the air. Felix had replied to Jenkins in THE FARMER OF INGLliWOOD FOREST. 67 lanner he did, merely because he conceived his questions impertinent ; for to every other til erson who inquired, Bernard and William, by agreement, answered truly, that the listers ere at a house of Mrs Palmer's, in Yorkshire, though without signifying the immediate spot, [rs Palmer, in the kindest manner, endeavoured to cheer the depressed spirits of Agnes ; and iving no musical instrument, strove to divert her attention by various relations, some Jnusing, others melancholy ; and observing that she sometimes appeared to regard Felix with i\ 1 emotion of fear, said to her one day, with a smile, when he was absent, " My dear girl, I link I can tell you a story that will make you forget Felix's colour, or at K^ast reconcile you > it ; besides, it will pass the time this long evening, and banish more painful thoughts." gncs bowed ; all subjects were immaterial to her but that nearest her heart ; while Fanny, lad of any attempt to divert her sister's melancholy, returned thanks for Mrs Palmer's conde- ension, as did also Godwin, who declared he was totally regardless of the complexion of Fe- :, when he conversed with him, as he appeared at once well-informed, and possessed a good eart. '• Well, then," said Mrs Palmer, taking her seat between Godwin and Agnes, « I will mply relftte to you the events of my own weary pilgrimage— Felix had some share in them ; or am I the only one of my family on whom he has conferred obligations ; but the occurrences efore I knew him will be the best related by himself. I am the only daughter of an af- uent merchant, called Somcrton ; my grandfather, by the mother's side, possessed a con- dorable estate in Jamaica, and had only a son and daughter, the younger of whom, my lother, was educated in England, and by that means, in all probability, her life was saved, for oth her parents were killed in an insurrection of the negroes, and from which fate her bro- iler was only preserved by the affection of a slave. My mother, at this unhappy period, was ineteen, and her brother a year older ; both were left in the guardianship of a merchant, with horn, as soon as her brother could reach England, they took up their residence. The only t(|on of this gentleman, in about a twelvemonth after, married my mother, by whom he had everal children, all of whom died in their infancy, except myself, who was the youngest. My ncle, whose name was Walters, in the mean time, disliking an inactive life, and being dis- usted with the West-Indies, had sold off the greatest part of his possessions there, and com- lenced merchant, in which profession he was uncommonly successful. From the death of a oung lady to whom he was contracted, he had formed the resolution of remaining a bachelor ; nd, to divert the melancholy occasioned by his loss, he frequently took long voyages, so that e seldom remained in England for any length of time. He was tenderly attached to my QOther, who was equally so to him, and myself the darling of both ; my uncle, whenever he JUS at home, loading me with presents, and gratifying my wishes even to profusion. " In this manner passed my childhood until my fourteenth year, when my uncle departed ar India, leaving my father the entire care of his whole property in his absence ; and tenderly mbracing me before his departure, seeing me weep, he said, ' Cheer up, my girl, I am only letting rich for thee;' and pulling out a valuable watch, he presented it to me, adding, ' there, Bt me see how carefully you will preserve this for my sake ; and on my return I will change t for one double the value.' He soon after departed, leaving me very melancholy, though, I j, oust confess, my grief was rather lessened at intervals on contemplating the present he had ,,53 oade me ; it was a gold watch, with the cipher of my name enamelled on the case, and the ace surrounded with pearls. His business, it was expected, would detain him near three years, , ii luring which time my father had a young man articled to him ; he was an orphan possessed ,5, if a decent property, which his guardian wished him to better by trade, and therefore placed tjj Am for instruction with my father. This young man was about five years older than myself; It, lid, by his engaging manners, before I was seventeen had made an impression on my heart, jjj fhich, however, at that time was not suspected by any one. At this period we received a ,j5 etter, informing us that speedily we might expect to see my uncle, as he purposed returning 1,, Europe by the first ship that sailed ; but how great was our sorrow and disappointment, j5 then some time after, we learned that he had indeed sailed, but that the vessel had been cast ^1 way on the coast of Caffraria, and what became of the crew that escaped the waves was 5f5 incertain. This news was a heavy blow to my mother, who loved her brother with unfeigned J, I ffection ; yet for two years we flattered ourselves with the hope of his return, at which period ,jf, ur expectations began to decrease. For ray own part, I confess I loved my uncle better than '^^^ By father, for he was indulgent to all my whimsies, while, on the contrary, my father could j„( lOt allow for the errors, or CTen the playfulness of childhood ; you may, therefore, readily 68 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. judge my tears were sincere for his loss. My father still continued the management of my uncle's property, as in the case of his death my mother was heir-at-law, he imprudently having left no will. "I was just nineteen when young Palmer's articles to my father expired, and he settled for himself. He lamented with me the loss of my uncle, as that event would apparently increase my fortune beyond what he could expect, especially as my father was rather addicted to a love of wealth, and my mother's will was ever subse^^'ient to his. *• Thus we were situated when I unhappily lost my mother in an apoplectic fit, by which means my uncle's property became totally vested in my father. I shall pass over my grief for this loss, which, however, I assure you was great, as was also my father's for a considerable time, he applying himself with redoubled earnestness to banish thought; and settling my uncle's affiiirs on the most lucrative principles, the estate, which remained unsold in Jamaica, ha disposed of, together with the negroes that cultivated it, and who, during my uncle's life, indeed until this period, had been so happily situated as to have no wish to change, being only under the command of the negro who saved my uncle's life, and who had from him received his liberty, making him also overseer of the plantation he reserved — a trust he executed with justice to his employer, credit to himself, and the universal satisfaction of his fellows. *' My father was enaWed not only to do tins, but also to make what other changes he thought necessary, as, previous to my uncle's departure, he had given him a letter of attorney to act, in case any alteration should be found necessary in his absence; He had been gone five years at my mother's death, and a year had elapsed since that period, when my father fornced a connexion unworthy either his understanding, situation, or age ; in short, it was with the servant who immediately attended me, and who was about four years older than myself. I was involuntarily a spectator of some little freedoms that passed between them, but which I thought it most prudent not to notice for some time, though she grew negligent of her busi- ness, and was frequently absent at those hours when she knew I should particularly want her. *• I was not weak enough to suppose I had power to break this connexion, but on mature deliberation concluded it would be less vexatious to me, if pursued in any other place, than immediately in the house where I dwelt ; and accordingly one evening, after her remaining out very late, I gave her a dismission, desiring she would seek another situation, as I had no further occasion for her services. I am not naturally passionate, and gave this discharge in my usua! manner, and without entering into the cause of my displeasure ; yet she answered me with uncommon insolence, saying, ' You mistake, madam, you will have more occasion than ever for my services, and must likewise learn to deserve them, or you may find yourself uncomfortabh situated.' With this she bounced out of the room, leaving me both distressed and astonished as her threats appeared to imply a greater power over my father than I could either suspect or dread. "The next morning, at breakfast, my father was uncommonly serions, and continued to treat me with a kind of gloomy reserve for some days, without, however, mentioning the subject o his displeasure, until one evening, after supper, first increasing his courage by two or thret glasses of wine extraordinary, he ventured to tell me he had been very uncomfortable sine the death of my mother. I naturally expressed my sorrow at this information, hoping nc neglect of mine had added to it ; declaring he had only to name what had given him displea- sure, and I would be particularly careful to remedy it Before I could proceed he interrupted me, saying, ' No, no, I cannot accuse you of neglect, but I have thoughts, Anna, of marryin;. again, and therefore would prepare you to receive the woman I shall choose with the respect becoming my wife and your mother.' *• The business was now plain ; but endeavouring to conceal my dissatisfaction, though o bad dissembler, I replied, ♦ As the object of your choice, sir, will doubtless be respectable, 1 must necessarily esteem lier, though I cannot flatter myself with meeting the tender affection: of a first parent.* *' ' I possess the means of making her respectable,' answered my father, drinking another glass of wine; ■* and I have no one's inclination to consult but my own.' •• I bowed my acquiescence. He soon after retired for the night ; and the first news that reached me the ensuing morning was, that at an early hour he had taken Mary with him in the postchaise, and set off for the country. ♦♦ Two days after, their marriage was publicly declared, though they continued for a fort- THE FARMER OF INOLEWDOD FOREST. 09 ht out of town. I leave you to judge the uneasiness I exporicncod. I was totally dependent my father, whom I had every reason to fear would be a slave to the caprices of the woman had married, and whom I naturally concluded would bo my enemy, were it not only tlwit I 5 apprised of her conduct before he espoused her. I can truly aver, that had he married a tuous and worthy object, whatever had been her situation, my pride would never have rcome me so far as to forget what was due to my father's wife ; my heart recoiled both «t former conduct and insolence, so that I knew not how to receive her. Deliberating on this ject two or three days after the marriage, Palmer was announced, and immediately admitted, er the usual salutations — • 1 will not congratulate you,* said he, ' on your father's nmrriage ; ugh I will, my Anna, truly confess it has given rise to hopes 1 before dared not cherish, as link ho may now be the more inclined to part with you.' '* I have already said I was partial to Palmer, and was yet more, for I sincerely loved him ; I though possessed of nothing romantic in my disposition, had determined, that if ever I fried, he c-hould be my husband. Little persuasion, therefore, obtained my permission that should apply to my father, as I had judged he would, as well as his wife, be pleased at my )oval. I was, however, mistaken ; my father desired time to consider ; and consulting my 1 mother, an absohite denial was the consequence. I could attribute this but to one cause, ch was, that she suspected my affection for Palmer, and took a malignant pleasure in farting my inclinations. After this refusal. Palmer wrote to entreat me to accept his hand without the consent of father ; his business, he said, was prosperous, and my fortune never an incentive ; and t he was convinced I was unhappily situated at home. Pleased at the generosity of this offer, I however declined it, at least for the present, as anted ten months of being of age, but promised at that time to answer him more fully. I uld but weary you by relating all the despicable methods my father's wife put in practice endermy situation unpleasant, while he, who was absolute in my mother's lifetime, had no but what this woman pleased, and was blindly subservient to all her arts. We seldom met at meals. I was polite, but cold, fiimiliarity being as much avoided by me as absolutely •leasing her, as in the first place I must have been obliged to suffer perpetually the empty parity of her conversation, and in the latter all the vindictiveness of narrow ideas and fined education. My father's fondness was entirely founded on her person, which, indeed, good ; his was likewise flattered by the show of affection, which she was continually and •ustingly bestowing on him ; and if he had a grain of paternal love left for me, it entirely ished, when, six months after her marriage, she declared herself with child. ' My father canoe from Change one day, accompanied by an elderly man, who was a dry- jer of considerable fortune, but had risen unexpectedly to his present affluence by the death ii relation ; stepping at once into a great fortune, but destitute of understanding, education, II common politeness. This man honoured me with his good liking, and made proposals father, which his wife approving, were immediately accepted, and i was desired to Urd Mr Brewer (which was his name) as my future husband. I have already told you I not romantic, therefore I neither wept nor threw myself at my father's feet, but before his , simply desired him, on my part, to thank Mr Brewer for his good opinion, but that I Id not accept his offer.' — ' And pray why not?' said my father j * what are your objec- ?' ' In the first place,' replied I, ' he is low-bred and illiterate, which, I think, my dear is a powerful objection, and sufficient without any other.' • Mrs Somerton looked as though she could have struck me, while my father gave a hem, took a pinch of snuff. ' And pray what other great objection can you make ?' said my er. — • As great a difference in age as disposition,' replied I. — * You, perhaps,' resumed father, 'have forgotten the change in your circumstances, and consider yourself as my ediate heir. I would wish you to recollect the alteration which has taken place — I may have a numerous family to share my property.' I could scarcely suppress a smile, but '. 'To prove to you, sir, that I have not disregarded that circumstance, it was in order ' n your family that I consented to Mr Palmer's entreating your approbation to our — ' So then, miss,' said Mrs Somerton, ' it is not matrimony ■ you object to, but the — ' Exactly so, madam,' replied I, forgetting my usual coolness ; ' there are some men ' as women whom I view with peculiar dislike.' Mrs Somerton at once applied my answer to herself, and choosing rather to interest nay 70 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. father by her softness than by her spirit, pretended to burst into tears, and be ready to fa my father in the meantime entreating her to be pacified, and vowing that no one should of her with impunity, concluded with telling me that he regarded Mr Brewer's as an unexcept able offer, and which, if I did not accept, he would totally disclaim me, bidding me cons what he had said, and on the morrow return my answer. * It needs no time, my dear replied I ; ' to-morrow can make no difference : grieved as I am, and ever must be, at displeasure, yet Mr Brewer shall not be my husband.' — • My dear love,* said Mrs Somei addressing my father, ' give way a little. Miss Anna is in love with Mr Palmer, and severity may make her regardless of consequences, and elope with him.' — ' Do not tk madam,' replied I, ' provoked at her duplicity, I will ever forget what is due to my fa while he -ecollects I am his daughter ; nor will I ever form a connexion so serious as marr without his consent, unless absolutely forced to it. In that case, madam, I will neither out of the window, nor fly to Gretna Green, but wait until I am of age, which will be in t months, then walk into the first parish church I meet with, and give my hand where I already bestowed my heart.' " My father was so much provoked at this reply, that he ordered me to leave the roo: a command which I instantly obeyed. ** My situation from ihis period was, if possible, ten times more irksome than before, father refused to dismiss Brewer ; I therefore took that task upon myself, and was soon from his persecutions, though his acquiescence redoubled the rancour of Mrs Somerton tow me, and consequently the ill-will of my father. The old servants, many of whom were gr grey in our service, were discharged on various pretences, the smallest particle of attentio me being certain to procure their immediate dismission. " Thus disagreeably passed my time, until I completed my twenty-first year, when Pal once more, at my request, pressed my father to consent to our union, nor did I scrupl second the entreaty ; but fruitless was the attempt, though Palmer's prospects might entitled him to a fortune superior to what my father now declared he meant to give me, married with his consent, which was ten thousand pounds ; but if I disposed of myself v out his concurrence, I was to expect nothing. Mrs Somerton being likewise present wher father gave his final determination, appeared to exult in thus crossing our wishes, while Pa stood overpowered with disappointment and vexation, declaring that his solicitation was with an interested view, but merely to procure my father's approbation. As he well kn< held his concurrence necessary to my happiness, he entreated to be informed if there was, thing in his conduct or circumstances that operated to his disadvantage, as he would endca to remove it ; or if that was impracticable, should at least have the satisfaction of knoi why he was refused. *• All these concessions, however, were productive of nothing more than a repetition ol refusal, Mrs Somerton adding, with her usual insolence, * That as matters stood, his visi our house would be dispensed with.' «* I kept silence until the whole conversation was concluded, and Palmer was advan towards the door, when, calling him back, I said — ' I have listened with uneasiness tlin this disagreeable business. Had my father any reasonable objection to you, and wouki descend to explain it, far be it from me to act in opposition to his wishes; but as he adva none, I naturally conclude it proceeds not from himself (looking firmly at Mrs Somor and therefore set it aside, and freely offer you my hand, if, poor as I arn, you will accej The niece of Mr Walters should indeed have brought her husband some fortune, but wl if you can overlook, I will never regret, and in its stead endeavour cheerfully, with prudence affection, to make up the deficiency.' , ♦' To describe what followed is beyond my power. Mrs Somerton endeavoured to ap shocked at my undutifulness and ingratitude, while Palmer expressed his transports, as tli 1 had a throne to bestow with my hand ; my Either alternately soothing his wife, and utt4 vows of vengeance against me ; finally declaring, as I had formed my resolution, the so I left the house the better. " In this temper we separated, and I retired to my own room for the remainder of the during which I received a letter from Palmer, entreating me to be prepared at eight the lowing morning, at which time he proposed to call for me with a licence, and accompa by his late guardian, who would act as my father on the occa^ioQ at the parish church. THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 71 In the evening I wrote to my father, inclosing Palmer's letter, entreating him, by cvery- 08 ng he held most sacred, and by the beloved memory of my mother, not to cast mo off; ^epli t my writing was equally ineffectual as my prayers ; for he simply returned for answer, that comi »ad chosen ray fate, and must abide by it — all he desired was to hear no more of me. « The next morning Palmer was true to his time, and, accompanied by his friend, we reached atj » church, where I was united to a man whom I loved living, and whose memory must be r dear to me— the man who won my virgin heart, and never gave me cause to repent its id jj posal. ' Mrs Palmer's voice became tremulous, and suddenly rising—" I will relate the remainder morrow night," said she, " it is now almost supper time." larri lerl CHAPTER XXIV. iatJiE following evening Mrs Palmer resumed her narrative. " As I brought my husband no fortune, I thought it my duty to be peculiarly economical, d had the satisfaction, at the end of two years after our marriage, to find our expenses kept nsiderably within our income ; add to which, I thought myself the happiest of wives and Dthers, for that time had given us a lovely boy. My father's unnatural behaviour, and the sollection of my uncle, were the only subjects that gave me pain ; the former had a son rn in about two months after my marriage ; and the death of the latter was no longer ubted. " My felicity had continued for two years, when a capital banking house at Amsterdam, and eminent commercial one at London, in both of which my husband was nearly concerned, )pped payment, and gave at once a blow to our prosperity and happiness, for every effort to Pil trieve the loss was tried in vain ; my husband was unavoidably a bankrupt, and all our effects upli irely sufficient to pay twelve shillings in the pound. So highly was my husband respected. It at had he but possessed a sum to have enabled him to wait the returns of trade, he might ve obtained credit to any amount, and surmounted every difficulty ; but we had given up I without reserve, and had no resource — my father, to whom I, unknown to my husband, plied, refusing to advance a single thousand pounds ; and to add to my calamity, Palmer's .•alth had received a blow, in consequence of his misfortunes, that I much feared might rminate fatally. Thus situated, we determined for some time to remove a little distance )m London for change of air, which I hoped might prove salutary, and accordingly took dgings in the most private part of Islington ; the few valuables I possessed, and my household ien, which had been spared by the kindness of the creditors, being our whole fund, and all .e reserve we had to trust to. Though we lived with the utmost frugality, and kept but one " mt, yet our means daily decreased, and I considered with anguish the poverty that was to overtake us: determined to protract it as long as possible, I yet more retrenched our ;'j;penses, moving to a cheaper lodging, and discharging the only servant I kept. I " In this manner passed the first year of our misfortunes ; Palmer's malady, by almost im- eptible degrees, undermining his constitution, and rendering him unable to make any ion to extricate us from our unhappy situation, or even to soften its a.«perity. One day, that he had been yet more disordered than usual, he walked out for air into elds, leaving me engaged in my domestic concerns, but had not gone far when he was ;j:ized with a pleuritic pain and shortness of breath, that rendered him unable either to pro- pped or return. • Hoping it would abate, he sat himself down in a field where some haymakers were at ., but in a short time became so much worse, that his illness was perceptible to the .vbourers, several of whom came and spoke to him ; and, among others, a negro, whom rhaps you will truly surmise was Felix. Mr Palmer by this time was almost unable to speak, and could not faintly signify his sire to get home ; but his pain was too violent for him to be able to walk, and in the liddle of the fields no conveyances could be obtained. In tliis dilemma Felix fiew off with the utmost speed, and reaching the town, ran intc ibe first apothecary's shop he could meet with, entreating the master, for the love of heaven, jelo come into the fields ; for that a man had been seized with so violent a pain in the side, jajjbdt he feared, without immediate assistance, it would prove fatal. The apothecary, who loubtless surmised, from the appearance of Felix, it was one of his fellow-labourers, replied itiOi 72 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. by desiring him to lead the sick man to his shop, and he would bleed him, which he did no doubt would afford relief, but that himself had not time to go so far. — ' Not time !' repliei Felix ; * then the poor soul must die, for I am sure he cannot walk hither; besides, I though it was your profession to attend the sick, not the sick to attend you.' — ♦ You are an impuden fellow,' answered the apothecary, ' to suppose I should walk about a mile to bleed a man fo sixpence, or perhaps for nothing : but go about your business — there is a barber a few door farther, that will perhaps suit your purpose ; for my part, I never step over the threshold t< let blood under half-a-crown.' " Felix paused, then fumbling for a moment in his bosom, pulled out a dollar, in which t small hole had been drilled, and a piece of ribbon drawn through. ' Here,' said he, ' I havi no money but this ; keep it till to-morrow night, and I will redeem it if the sick man canno pay you ; for he must not die for want of help. I have then my week's hire to receive ; all teg ia, you will be careful of ii.' •' As he spoke he held out the dollar ; but the apothecary, doubtless ashamed to be out done by this simple child of nature, putting back his offered hand, replied, ' No, no .•' anc snatching down his hat, bade Felix lead the way. ♦' On their arrival at the spot where Mr Palmer still sat, he immediately bled, and in hal an hour was so greatly relieved as to be able to walk home, attended by the apothecary and th< friendly Felix, the former being now as assiduous as he was at first careless ; for though w< were in reality very much reduced. Palmer had still an appearance of respectability. *♦ ' Had you told me,' said the apothecary, as they were helping Palmer home, that it was a gentleman who was taken so ill in the fields, I should not have hesitated a moment ; but ai you spoke, I protest I thought it was one of your comrades.' — ' I was not sufficiently ac- quainted with European customs to know that such a distinction was necessary,' repliec Felix, drily ; ' but you may depend hereafter I will not fail to remember it ; and every mar in want of assistance shall by me be styled a gentleman.' — ' Thou art an odd fellow,' said th< apothecary ; ' have you been long in England ?' — ' Long enough,' replied Felix, ' to convince me of the erroneous opinion I had formed for the first forty years of my life of Englishmen, whose hearts, I had persuaded myself, were as good as their faces, but have learned, to my cost, the only difference between many of them and us is, we wear the black without — they within.* " Palmer, in spite of pain, could not suppress a smile — * I am sure,' said he, * you do no! include all in your account, as it seems to imply you have met some few who deserve appro- bation.' — ' Approbation,' replied Felix, * is a cold word — 1 could almost say adoration — but i) is past ; meteors are not frequent, nor in your country subjects of worship. I indeed knei one, whose virtues made this land dear to me , but he is gone to heaven, as you call it, or the land of souls — it is the same thing, and where even negroes will rejoice to meet him.' " This discourse brought them home, and was repeated to me both by Palmer and the apothecary, the latter declaring it made an impression on him never to be effaced, and which would oblige him henceforward to attend sufferers without questioning their pretensions to gentility. Palmer Was much better in the evening, at which time Felix did not fail to come, and inquire after him with great respect. " Recovered from my first alarm, 1 was not yet so destitute but that I had it in my power to offer him some small compensation for his trouble and the time he had lost ; but decHning it, he drew back, saying, ' No, madam, I labour for hire— I have not laboured for your husband.' — ' But your labour,' said I, '. is not, I fear, sufficient to support you in the neces- saries of life : stranger as you are, you cannot be supposed to possess the resources ofj native.' — ' Industry, madam,' replied he, 'is universally understood; and, with health, fully adequate to sustain the wants of man, it procures me bread, and sometimes meat, this habit to shelter me from the weather, and at night a place of rest for my wearied limbs. *♦ 1 put my money back into my pocket, at once humiliated and pleased, saying mentally, * A diamond is equally precious, whether enclosed in a casket of ebony or ivory.* •• From this time our friendly negro, by my desire, frequently called, and was ever anxious to render us a number of little services that he thought we might feel derogatory. My little boy, who.was now turned of two years old, had at first been frightened at his appearance, but by the gentleness of bis manners had grown so attached that he never failed to cr} after bim. THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOR'EST. Ajll '< Three months had now passed since we knew Felix, whom I frequently determined to lie! question respecting his former life, but was so entirely occupied by my domestic concerns and ?ii the still declining health of Palmer, that it was ever neglected ; besides, the name of master eo never escaped him unaccompanied by a tear ; and I could not boar to gratify my curiosity by fo renewing his distress, which must apparently have been the case ; his stay, too, -whenever be called, was short, as he constantly laboured in the fields or gardens, in the neighbourhood of Islington, his visits being merely, as his conduct showed, to endeavour to do us service, as fetching me coals, cleaning Palmer's clothes, or any other little office he could devise, ever rcfusioij money — at most accepting the remains of our frugal table, and a draught of beor. " At this period my little darling was seized with the small pox, of a most malignant kind ; no and for three weeUs my heart was alternately torn with anguish, or revived by hope, as the symptoms increased or abated : regardless of my poverty, so I could save my child, I spared no expense, employing ever)' able physician I heard recommended, but in vain : I was docnned to be childless, and to survive those tics dearer to me than life." isJ Mrs Palmer ceased for a moment, and perceiving both Fanny and Agnes wept, she said, crossing her own eyes with her handkerchief, " I rejoice, Agnes, at this proof of your Beng- al bility ; it is a plain demonstration that your own sorrows have not selfishly narrowed your lii< heart, as they yet leave you a tear to bestow on others. " I shall pass over the death of my son," continued Mrs Palmer, " for the subject even yet is painful ; sufiice that I found myself not even possessed of money to lay his beloved remains decently in the earth ; nil our little valuables and linen had been disposed of; the watch given me by my uncle alone remained, and which had been preserved merely from affection to the giver. My husband, depressed by a long illness, on the loss of his son, appeared totally to sink under his calamities, and to regard everything around him with an insensibility that cruelly alarmed me. To consult hhn, then, in this dreadful crisis was useless, and coukl answer no end but increasing his distress. To apply to my father would be unavailing; nor could I bear the thought -of giving his unworthy wife the pleasure of triumphing over ray misery. Felix had been daily with us since the child's sickness, and, in spite of all oppositioB, had frequently sat up with him, attending him with a kindness that, even young as he was, he was sensible of; for the evening before he died, he said, as he held Felix by the hand, • Dear papa and mamma, always love Felix, for he loves me.' But I wander from my subject, which was to pass the child's death," continued she ; " but the fond partiality of a parent involun- tarily beguiled me. Unable, as I before observed, to consult Palmer, and without any resource but the watch given me by my 'uncle, I determined to parf with it, and for that purpose calling Felix into the garden, I disclosed my intention, and asked if he could take it to London and sell it for us, aa I really myself was unable. Felix had been too much with us to be ignorant that we laboured under difficulties, yet seemed distressed at this proof of it; but promised implicitly to obey me, and repair to a capital watchmaker, whom I specified, and return with the money as speedily as possible. This settled, Felix took the watch, and left me about nine o'clock in the morning. As he had only to go to Cheapside, I naturally supposed he might return in about a couple of hours ; but five had passed without his appearance, and I began to be uneasy. I did not doubt the honesty of Felix, but dreaded ver some accident had befallen him, yet did not venture to declare my fears to Palmer. At length ioj I heard a knock at the door, and hastening down, met Felix in the passage, but at the hoasfc door discovered a man apparently waiting. . Wishing to speak to him unheard, I stepped into the little parlour, and was upon the point of questioning him,when, raising my eyes to his face, the animation of his features astonished me. ' What has happened, Felix?' said I; * surely Myou have met with something uncommonly pleasing !' — ' Uncommonly pleasing V repeated he, bit I' oh ! I am too happy !' But suddenly appearing to recollect himself, and to struggle with his feelings. ' The man, madam,' continued he, * that is — the watch, madam — the gentleman waits.'—' For heaven's sake, what do you mean, Felix?' replied I ; * surely you do not drink? Tell m^, what said the watchmaker?" — * Say, madam,* answered he, apparently lost in some father subject ; ' why, he blessed God, and said ten thousand pounds V Again, suddenly ioavouring to recall his mistiike, he added, ' The gentleman waits : do let me call him in.' " Distressed for the loss of my child, and my heart torn with anguish from my unhappy Isituation, I replied peevishly, ' What do you mean 1 What gentleman ? Where is the watch V ' " Felix then gave me to understand, though in the same incoherent manner, that the 74 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. watchmaker would not purchase it without seeing the owner, lest it should be dishonestly obtained, and had sent a gentleman with him for that purpose. *' Convinced that Felix was in liquor, I advanced towards the door to call in the stran-'er ; but regardless of compliments, he rushed before me, saying, « Walk in, sir, pray walk in, heaven bless you T " The stranger immediately entered ; he was a man in the decline of life, and of a very respectable appearance. ♦ I am sorry, sir,' said I, 'that you have taken the trouble; buf the watch is mine ; a cruel emergency obliges me (heaven knows how unwilling) to part with it.' As I spoke I could not restrain my tears, nor was the stranger unmoved.— ' As you appear, madam, to value it so highly,' replied he, ' pardon me, but can nothing else suppljj this emergency, as trinkets, rings, or other female decorations?' — ' Alas ! they are all gone, cried I, weeping ; ' this only remains : it was the gift of my more than father, and nothing bu( the distress of the present moment could force me to part with it, to lay the beloved remains of my infant in the earth, and to nourish the expiring spark of life that yet remains in the best of husbands.' — * And what, madam, do you ask for it?' replied he.turning aside his head.— * Alas !' answered I, ' I am no judge ; 1 see you feel for my distress, and will not, I am sure wrong me ; I am willing to abide by your decision.' " On his first entrance he had drawn the watch from his pocket, and laid it upon the tabl< that stood between us. ' Well, then,* said he, after a pause, and with increased emotion, ] think thirty pounds is nearly the value; it has apparently been carefully kept.' " His offer was double what I expected ; for the price obtained for the things already sole scarcely amounted to a third of their value. * I am content,' said I, weeping ; and taking it as I thought for the last time, in my hand, could not refrain pressing it to my lips. ' Farewell, cried I, ' last token of the best beloved of friends ! Could he even see me in this hour o anguish, I should obtain his pardon.' — * Thou hast it, my Anna— my child,' exclaimed th( stranger, clasping me in his arms j * henceforward doubly endeared by thy misfortunes.* *' I was so lost in astonishment, that I had not the power to repulse the stranger, had I beer so inclined ; but fixing my eyes in silence on him, I eagerly endeavoured to trace the person of my uncle Walters, but in vain ; my uncle was fair, lusty, and wore a brown wig, while thij stranger was uncommonly dark complexioned, thin, and wore his own hair, which was as white as fiax. "'And have ten years totally obliterated thy uncle Walters from thy memory, Anna?' criec he. ♦ Indeed I believe my person is changed, but my heart is still the same.* " My pleasure and amazement were too great for words ; I threw myself on his neck, an( wept in silence. Felix, who had withdrawn as soon as my uncle entered, had in the meat time been with Mr Palmer, to whom not being charged to keep silence as he was to me, h« had disclosed the happy meeting that was taking place, and returned down stairs with him at the moment I was weeping on the neck of my uncle. '* In a few minutes Mr Walters seated me in a chair, and affectionately saluted my husband telling him his pecuniary difficulty was over, and to look forward to health and happiness. *' In the mean time, the behaviour of Felix was still far from calm, and might have alarmec an uninformed spectator of his intellects ; he walked round his master (for Felix was th( identical slave that had before saved his life), examined his face, touched his hair, rubbed hi; own hands in an ecstasy of joy, and finally snatching up my uncle's hat that lay in the window kissed it with transport. " Our tumults being a little subsided, my uncle bestowed a tear to the memory of my child but peremptorily insisting that all the care of the funeral should centre in himself, thus kindl endeavouring to spare me what he truly surmised must increase my sorrow. CHAPTER XXV. *' A FEW days after the remains of my infant were consigned to the earth, Mr Palmer and m\ sell ° at the express desire of my uncle, removed to his house, which he commanded me henccfortl to consider as my own. " The iirst emotions of grief for the loss of my son, and the joy of meeting my uncle, were u sooner subsided, than the mutual inquiries took place of all that had befallen us during a tei years' separation. " My uncle informed us^hat be had, as we truly heard, been cast away on his return fron THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 75 dia, on th« coast ot Caffraria, about three years after he left England ; that the greater rt of the crew had perished in the wreck, twenty-four only escaping, twenty of whom had er. ideavoured to explore their way to tfhe Cape of Good Hope, but had doubtless perished, ther by hunger or from the natives, as they had never reached it. For the others, two were y uncle's domestics, and a third, a young man, his clerk, who attended him on his voyage, I of whom determined to share his fortunes when he refused to accompany the party who ught the Cape, being convinced it was impracticable without knowing the country ; and a tl ore of provisions, the small stock they had procured from the wreck, being soon expended. The inhabitants of the coast had at first behaved with ferocity, but finding the unhappy pljtruders too few in number to give them alarm, and likewise unarmed and willing to part ith anything they possessed, as their clothes, watches, or money (the two last mentioned of hich they converted into ornaments), they soon became familiarized, and supplied them with ilk, rice, and venison, sufficient for their support. My uncle's design was, if possible, to gain leir confidence sufficiently to persuade some who were best acquainted with the country to 3company them to one of the Dutch settlements ; for to undertake to walk such an extensive •act of land, penetrate the thick forests, cross such rapid rivers, and climb the almost per- sndicular mountains, without a guide, was at once vain and impracticable. None, however, f the inhabitants of the settlement had ever been at any great distance from home (as they in- »rmed them when they began to comprehend a little of thie language), nor would, for any reward, ndertakc such a journey. Thus circumstanced, my uncle thought his destination fixed, and ndeavoured to comfort his companions. With the approbation of the natives they erected lemselves a hut, and surrounded it in the manner of the Caffres, with a plantation of rice, 'he clerk, who was a youth, and one of the domestics, who was likewise young, by infinite erscverance learned to throw the assagay with so much skill, that it not only procured them lenty of food, but raised them much in the opinion of the inhabitants, who saw them with leasure give into their customs, and adopt their weapons. " In this manner passed three years, my uncle and his eldest domestic convinced they should raw their last breath in this country, and the younger people only withheld from the wild ndertaking of exploring their way to the Cape, by affection for their companions. At this leriod two brothers (natives, who had been made prisoners ii: a contest with some neighbouring iations), returned, after five years' absence, the greater part of which time they had resided in he distant country of the Autenlquas. Travelling, or perhaps the difficulties they had endured, lad enlarged their minds, for they treated the strangers with more humanity than any of their ompanions, and after holding various discourses with them, as they now perfectly understood he language, said, that affection for their father had alone induced them to return, being nuch better pleased with the inland country than the coast ; and that, was their parent no nore, for a proper reward they would not scruple to risk their journey, but that, during his ife, nothing should tempt them to forsake him. " This discourse again revived their hopes, for the travellers' father was very old and infirm, ivhich gave them daily expectation of their wishes being soon fulfilled; but, to their great dis- ippointment, he lingered two years. He was no sooner dead than my uncle renewed his promises of reward, and in short, soon obtained what he had so long solicited, they agreeing to accompany him to the first Dutch settlement, where he had no doubt but, by making him- self known, he could obtain credit for the promised reward, which was to consist of iron, tabacco, and other articles, considered by. them as particularly desirable. The difficulties they encountered during this journey were innumerable, and would have been impossible for them to support, but for the resources which necessity had taught the natives, whose skill at their weapons constantly procured food, the country abounding in elks, &c. They were likewise well versed in the necessary precautions to secure them from the attack of wild beasts. Some days they could not advance more than four or five miles, from the obstacles they met with, as thick woods and steep mountains ; at other times were detained by waiting the reflux of prodigious rivers, which they were obliged to cross, or to coast along the banks at the expense of both time and fatigue. At length, however, thev reached a Dutch settlement, where their appearance caused no small surprise, for my uncle, as well as his companions, were naked, the small remains ot* covering the natives had left them having been so long worn out, that they were grown perfectly familiarized to the omission, and their skins changed to the complexion of copper. ^6 THE FARMER OP INGLE WOOD FOREST. CHAPTER* XXVI. « The Dutch factor received them with tolerable kindness, but did not appear willing to advaiL,, a reward my uncle thought adequate to the services of the Caffres ; he therefore, \vitb( jjjj much difficulty, persuaded them to accompany him to the Cape ; and after some stay tl resumed their journey, and to their great satisfaction, at length reached it. " My uncle was well acquainted with two capital merchants there; one, to his great dist „ pointment, he found was dead ; but was more fortunate in his second inquiry, though friend at first did not know him; but after some few preliminaries, acknowledged, al„^ readily embraced him, insisting that he should take up his residence at his house, and dr j. on him for what sums he found necessary. « ♦* My uncle at first thought to write to England, but after a short time determined to si , ^ prise his friends. The merchant's offer he willingly accepted, his first care being to rewa , bis guides to the utmost extent of their wishes, dismissing them with four oxen loaded wi ^^ what they thought most valuable. ^ " The business settled, he waited for a homeward-bound Indiaman, and at length embark ^^ with his three faithful companions for Europe, which he reached after a pleasant voyage. ^j, *• On his first landing he immediately repaired to my father's ; though his appearance w ^^ now very respectable, yet the change his person had undergone rendered him perfect ^ unknown ; he, however, soon made himself acknowledged, and then learned, to his gri that his sister was dead, and myself, his great favourite, married to a worthless man, who h, lately become a bankrupt, and with whom I was now withdrawn, no one knew whither, was not my uncle's custom to condemn unheard ; he therefore determined, if possible, to Si me, for he found no great predilection for my father's wife, and even declined taking up I: residence with them. He had been but a fortnight in England when he met with Felix, ai bad already advertised three times, desiring me, if alive, to apply to his attorney, or if any oi could give intelligence respecting me, offering a reward. This kindness had, however, bet fruitless, for we never saw the newspapers ; nor did any one, since our last removal, kno where to find us, as we wished to conceal our miseries from the world. " That morning my uncle fortunately met with Felix, he had accidentally, in passing alor Cheapside, recollected he wanted a watch, and walking into a shop, the man had shown hi several, and they were on the point of making an agreement when Felix entered. My unc recollected him at once, but astonished to find him in England, stood for a moment lost surprise, and seeing him offer a watch for sale, determined, if possible, to remain undiscovere and wait the event ; but what was his astonishment, on taking the watch from the hand the shopkeeper, to recognise it for the same he had formerly given to me. ' How came yo by this watch, my friend ?' said my uncle, addressing him in a kind voice ; ' it appears to be woman's, and of some value.' ♦' Though my uncle's person had totally escaped the notice of Felix, yet the sound of h voice startled him, and viewing him for a moment with fixed attention, he answered, witlj drawing his eyes with a sigh, •' Bless your voice, it is like music to my heart. The watch | not mine, but a lady's, who must sell it to pay those rights which your country's custoj demands, before the body of her child can be permitted to mingle with the dust; to hire me who assume the semblance of sorrow with a black coat, and pay for a peculiar spot of eartl as if all on which the sun shines was not equally hallowed.' — • And what is the lady's name i said my uncle — ' Palmer,' replied Felix. My imcle made no reply, but seating himself by the counter, remained lost in thought. " • And what do you ask for the watch ?' said the shopkeeper, addressing Felix. — ' Sh leaves it to yourself,' returned he, 'she is no judge; but I conjure you, by the God yo profess to serve, consider her distress, and do her justice — a dead infant ! — an almost dyin, husband I — weigh these sorrows ere you speak. Ah, had you seen her part with it, you coul bave judged of its value. It was the gift of my best friend, said she, then pressed it to he lips and wept : it is yet dull with her tears.' — ' I will kiss them off," cried my uncle, snatchin the watch, ' ten tliousand pounds shall not purchase it.' " The shopkeeper looked astonished, while Felix again fixed his eyes attentively on th face of my uncle with visible agitation. THE FARMER OF INOLEWOOD FOREST. if " • Have ten years hardship and grey hairs made such an alteration, Felix,' said my uncle, at I have lost a friend, the preserver of my life?' " Felix gave a loud cry, and fell senseless at his feet. «* By the care of the master of the shop, Felix was soon restored ; but hi« effusions were fovernable; he could neither ask nor answer questions; all Was genuine transport, mixed with form or restraint, and spoke the unadulterated language of nature. *♦ At length, being somewhat calmer, my uncle informed him that he suspected the owner the watch was his neice, and desired to know how he became acquainted with me. *• Felix disjointly related what he knew, mixing the whole with encomiums on myself and Palmer, not forgetting a tear to my little one. •• My uncle then determined to accompany him back, charf;^ing him to say nothing of what d passed, but to introduce him as a person sent to conclude the bargain for the watch. " Felix certainly obeyed him to the U'st of his power ; bnt nature in him was superior to , and, in spite of all his endeavours, could barely be restrained. " I have now informed you how my uncle and Felix met, and have only to tell you that, en when surrounded with affluence, I was to feel yet more acutely than ever, for in three jnths after finding my uncle I lost my beloved husband ; his misfortunes had made an pression never to be erased, and which totally ruined his health. Bath, and the various itermg places in the kingdom, were tried in vain ; he died in my arms, one of his hands :ked in that of my uncle, blessing the Almighty that be had lived to see me secured from xnt, and perfectly resigned to his fate. Pardon me, my friends, though time has also taught e resignation, yet I cannot forget that I was once a wif^ and mother — tender claims ! ye '^ e written on my heart in traits never to be obliterated. Mrs Palmer ceased, and for some time gave vent to the emotion painful redolleclion occa- "^med ; nor were her auditors unmoved— all bore silent sympathy; Godwm rose and walked the window; Agnes had involuntarily laid hold of her hand; and Fanny instinctively ew her chair close to hers. " * It is past,* said Mrs Palmer, * I will conclude a narrative that I am not sorry to see IS interested you; it will teach you, Agnes, that there are others equally unfortunate with mrself.' — ' Equally unfortunate,' replied Agnes, ' they may be ; but icvr, I hope, have (ual cause for self reproach.' Mrs Palmer, to prevent further discourse on the subject, resumed her narrative. " Though I by no means aggravated the behaviour of Mrs Somerton, and totally en- •avoured to exculpate my father, yet ray uncle came to an immediate settlement with him, imbursing him for the trouble he had taken, and having a prodigious sum to receive, the iterest having accumulated on the principal for ten years. *' A coldness had subsisted between them ever since my uncle discovered me ; and the asiness between them was no sooner completed than an entire alienation took place, which y father's wife did not fail to attribute to the mfluence my art had gained over my uncle. *' He next settled his domestic economy, giving me the entire command, and retaining elix, by his own desire, about his person, rendering him first independent, that in case his lind should hereafter change, he might be under no restraint. For the faithful attendants who were shipwrecked with him, the clerk he retained as eward to his estates ; and for the other two, the elder retired upon a comfortable provision, ''lad the younger married, and was by my uncle settled in a lucrative business. I have now but little more to tell you. My friendly kind uncle survived h.s return ten ^^ Bars ; in him at once I lost a tender parent and a sincere friend ; nor could his whole fortune, 'hich he left me without restriction, have any effect but in making me more sensible of my >ss, as it plainly proved how truly he esteemed me. The disposal of my uncle's effects, as ^ ou may suppose, was very displeasing to my father, whom, however, I have never seen, * lough he is still living. On my uncle's death, I endeavoured to banish my melancholy by "i -avelling and change of ^place. Inglewood I had frequently heard him speak of, but never ''' jen, as it was purchased before ne went abroad, and had not been visited since his return, ^ Is precarious health usually confining us in the neighbourhood of the capital, for the "J flvantage of medical assistance. The situation particularly pleased me ; and disliking a Jwn life, I determined to fix my residence there — a resolution I do not think I shall change, ^k I tsteem my neighbours, and hope they do the same by me. 78 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. *' Mrs Palmer ceased, and received the thanks of Godwin and his daughters, the former c whom said — * Esteem, madam, however flattering the term may be when appUed from you t( us. is not comprehensive enough to express what we owe to you; add to it gratitude an« affection, and it will more nearly declare the sentiments your kindness has inspired.' «' Ah," said Agnes, " I shall never more, madam, look on Felix's face with dislike ; I shal r consider him as attending the little sufferer, and forget his complexion." — "I always iike» him," added Fanny; but from this day he will be yet more estimable to me." — "I shal leave you to-morrow," replied Mrs Palmer, "and will desire him, in my absence, to relati to you how he saved my uncle's life, the reason of his leaving Jamaica, and his subsequen distress in England. I should not neglect to tell you, that his grief on my uncle's death wa equal to my own ; and though I offered to double the independence my uncle had left him.b^ declined it, entreating that he might never leave me." — ' Do not banish me, madam,' said he * I am almost sixty years old, and shall die with grief if I am again driven into the world, '* You will easily suppose he was not necessitated to press his suit ; I assured him he was fre( to choose, and in consequence he remains my confidential servant, and I do not blush to ad( — my friend." Fanny and Agnes then retired to their chamber ; after which, Godwin and Mrs Palme conversed for some time, both coinciding in their fears that Agnes would hardly survive th< event that was now almost daily expected — a thought that wounded Godwin to the soul, an( grieved the friendly Mrs Palmer. CHAPTER XXVII. Cm the morning following, Mrs Palmer arose early, and taking leave of Godwin and the sis^ ters, returned to Inglewood, leaving Felix to execute any commission they might want, or in case of any alteration, ride over to the Forest ; for though he was in years he was strong and able to undertake a far longer journey. She likewise desired him to relate such event as might illustrate her own story, and pass the time in her absence. The evening after her departure, Fanny reminded him of the promise, desiring him to tak( a seat among them, which, however, he declined until much pressed ; then drew a chair at i respectful distance, and began as follows: — " I was born on the coast of Guinea, and kid napped from thence when about twelve years old, and brought to Jamaica, where I was ex posed to sale. Among others, my late master's father, Mr Walters, came to view me, bu thought me not fit for labour ; his son, who was about my own age, was with him, and lookec upon me with such compassion, that, sensible of my situation, I could not avoid saying, * I I must be a sla ve, I had rather be so with you than any other.' I was however, not under stood ; my melancholy rather interested him than my words, for running up to his father, h( pressed him so warmly to purchase me, that he at length consented. The bargain concluded I was ordered to follow them home, and introduced to my mistress, who was a West Indiar by birth, but had married Mr Walters, who was an Englishman, when on a visit in that conn try, where her children had likewise both been born. Education and example had renderec Mrs Walters harsh and unfeeling ; as she was so to her husband's son, you may therefore rcadil; believe the slaves were not exempt. I know not whether you are acquainted with it, but is the custom to mark the newly-purchased slaves just above the shoulders with the initials o their owner's name— an operation that is performed by heating a piece of silver, on which th< letters are engraven, over a flame of spirits, and pressing it on the back. This ceremony Mr "Walters always performed herself, affirming that the slaves never pressed the stamp sufficient! to make the letters legible. After finding numberless faults (at least I judged so by hor ac tions and countenance), ahe made ready to give me the usual mark, which, though in nalitj no more than a common burn, appeared doubly horrid from the preparation. My youn master, who was called Henry, was not present, but entered at the moment ; I knew not wha^ he said, but could plainly understand by his gestures that he was pleading for me, for ho wa crying bitterly from the mere dread : but I afterwards learned from an old slave who wa present, that he insisted to his mother who, in spite of her temper, was extravagantly fond o him, that his father had bought me for him, and that he had determined 1 should be market with his own initials only. A short contention ensued ; but my young master got the b»^tter and bore me off with my back unmarked, but his goodness engraven on my heart in far mon indelible characters. From this time I can say I truly loved him } wished to learn his Ian THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. 79 age to express my gratitude. He was sensible of my endeavours, and would frequently ndcsceud to teach me my letters ; and finding I was not dull, persevered, with an attention icommon to his youth, until I could write to make myself understood, and read passably well, this time I was fourteen, and perfectly understood my situation, which 1 considered fixed r life, yet I cannot say the thought on my own account gave mc much pain ; so true it is at kindness and humanity may make even bondage bearable. About this time my mistress, lo was extravagantly fond of china, had a present of a valuable set from England, and lich was placed on a table in the saloon. One day that my muster and mistress were gonfr mc miles on a visit, Mr Henry and myself were trying who could leap the farthest in the me apartment, when unfortunately he fell against the table, and totally demolished the whole. )r a moment our fears kept us silent ; to conceal it was impossible ; and we well knew that r rage would exceed all bounds. At length we agreed to retire to a pavilion in the farthest rt of the garden, until the first storm should be blown over, and that Mr Henry should pre- nt himself, and express his contrition. We accordingly went thither; I could not but see- at this silly accident made him uneasy, and racked my mind how to exculpate him from any are of the blame. At length, having remained until we were assured my mistress must have en sometime returned, and have discovered the mischief, as she always sat in the saloon, I oposed that I should repair to the house, and discover how she bore the loss ; if with calm> !8S, I would wait for him at home ; but if, on the contrary, she was outrageous, I was to turn in the course of an hour, and let him know. He consented to this conditionally ; I is, as the secret was entirely between us, not to confess I was even present when it hap- ned, but to say my young master had told me of the misfortune, and was under great con- rn for it. " This plan settled, I returned home: but I know no terms strong enough to paint the "d nfusion I was witness to : all the slaves had been called, and accused with the mischief, but eir innocence alone had been a poor defence ; she had buffeted and struck them with her rn hand, Mr Walters in vain endeavouring to pacify her. I entered at this moment. I was new object : screaming with passion, she exclaimed — ' It is this young villain that has done I I see it by his face ! I will have him flayed alive.' Summoning all my courage, which I nfess was inferior to the love I bore Mr Henry (for had not the latter supported me, I ould certainly have relinquished my purpose), I replied—' If I have done it, madam, 1 am lling to pay the forfeiture.' " ' And pay it you shall,' furiously exclaimed she ; and without further question, ordered me be taken into the court, and severely whipped. Had not my pride supported me at that oment, I know not what might have happened ; but the idea of showing my young master what I was capable of bearing to screen him from blame, rendered me equal to the effort, id I accompanied the men who were to punish me without resistance, tears, or entreaties,. y mistress, with an inhumanity unbecoming her sex, placing herself at a window to see her mmands properly obeyed. I was tied to a post, my crime proclaimed aloud, when Mr ''■fenry rushed so suddenly between myself and the executioner, that he could not withhold his md ; the blow fell on his shoulders, and died his cotton waistcoat (which, except a shirt, was 3 only covering) with blood. Distracted at the sight, I cried aloud, and struggling with sol alence, broke the cord that held me, covering his body with my own ; but there was no ''" casion ; the man who inflicted the punishment stood aghast, without attempting another ^1" roke, my mistress at the same time making the colonnade resound with her screams. 't'! Strike,' said my young master, ' I alone am guilty : think you I will see another punished for ^^ ? If the paltry china must have a victim, let it be me. I am the offender, and if blood I'tJ list be the expiation, it shall be mine.' H ** The behaviour of my young master put an entire stop to the business ; my mistress was '^n' Dcked, and ordering me to my work, called Mr Henry to attend her to her chamber, where '"^ eing her weep as his shoulder was bathed with spirits, he said — • Ah, madam, hereafter «»• member, that the unhappy men whom fortune has placed at your command, have also equal ^oflftling, and perhaps parents who may contemplate their wounds with as much anguish as you "line.* Mr Henry, almost immediately on my leaving him, had followed me; he feared I should ur his mother's anger for only bearing the news, aiid throwing off all fear, generously deter- in- 80 THE FARMER OF INGLEWOOD FOREST. mined to meet the storm himself, fn a word, he arrived in the critical moment I noticed^ saved me from the stroke of the whip, and wrote a fresh obligation on my heart. " The favour of my young master procured me the kindness of the slaves ; and from this time until I was near twenty, at which period my master and mistress were unhappily killed, my situation was far from unpleasant. " The estates adjoining my master's were very extensive, and belonging to two gentlemen particularly disliked; the one employed about two hundred negroes, and the other a yet superior number. These men, from repeated provocations, had formed the design of rising and revenging themselves on their persecutors, and accordingly, seizing a favourable oppor- tunity, they joined, and executed their purpose, killing the tyrants, and deluging the estate! with the blood of their oppressors. " This event had been planned by the slaves of both plantations, and who, having satiat6