him, came again the next day, and happening to find her alone in the parlour, 'What, my dear,' said he, taking her in a free manner by the hand, 'have you been so closely watched by your guardian and guardianesses here, that no kind moment offered for you to answer the devoirs of your humble servant?'—'The surest guardians of my fame and peace,' replied she, snatching her hand away, 'is the little share of understanding, I am mistress of, which I hope will always be sufficient to defend my honour in more dangerous attacks, than the rude impertinences of an idle coxcomb.'
These words, and the air with which they were spoke, one would think should have struck with confusion the person to whom they were directed: but Gayland was not so easily put out of countenance; and, looking her full in the face—'Ah, child!' cried he, 'sure you are not in your right senses today! "Understanding—impertinences—idle coxcomb!" Very pleasant, i'faith! but, upon my soul, if you think these airs become you, you are the most mistaken woman in the world!'—'It may be so,' cried she, ready to burst with inward spite at his insolence; 'but I should be yet more mistaken if I were capable of thinking a wretch like you worthy of any thing but contempt.' With these words she flung out of the room, and he pursued her with a horse-laugh, till she was out of hearing, and then went into the dining room, where he found Lady Mellasin, and several who had come to visit her.
Miss Betsy, who had gone directly to her own chamber, sent to excuse coming down to tea, pretending a violent headache, nor would be prevailed upon to join the company till she heard Gayland had taken his leave, which he did much sooner than usual, being probably a good deal disconcerted at the shock his vanity had received.
CHAPTER IV
Verifies the old proverb, that one affliction treads upon the heels of another
As Miss Betsy was prevented from discovering to any one the impudent attempt Gayland had made on her virtue, by the shame of having emboldened him to it by too unreserved a behaviour; so also the shame of the disappointment and rebuff he had received from her, kept him from saying any thing of what had passed between them; and this resolution on both sides rendered it very difficult for either of them to behave to the other, so as not to give some suspicion. Betsy could not always avoid seeing him when he came to Lady Mellasin's, for he would not all at once desist his visits for two reasons; first, because it might give occasion for an enquiry into the cause; and, secondly, because Miss Betsy would plume herself on the occasion, as having, by her scorn, triumphed over his audacity, and drove him from the field of battle. He therefore resolved to continue his visits for some time; and to pique her, as he imagined, directed all the fine things his common-place-book was well stored with, to Miss Flora, leaving the other wholly neglected.
But here he was little less deceived than he had been before in the sentiments of that young lady; the hatred his late behaviour had given her, and the utter detestation it had excited in her towards him, had for a time extinguished that vanity so almost inseparable from youth, especially when accompanied with beauty; and she rather rejoiced, than the contrary, to see him affect to be so much taken up with Miss Flora, that he could scarce say the least complaisant thing to her, as it freed her from the necessity of returning it in some measure. Her good sense had now scope to operate; she saw, as in a mirror, her own late follies in those of Miss Flora, who swelled with all the pride of flattered vanity on this new imaginary conquest over the heart of the accomplished Gayland, as he was generally esteemed, and perceived the errors of such a way of thinking and acting in so clear a light, as, had it continued, would doubtless have spared her those anxieties her relapse from it afterwards occasioned.
In these serious reflections let us leave her for a time, to see in what situation Mr. Saving was, after being denied access to his mistress. As it was impossible for a heart to be more truly sincere and affectionate, he was far from being able to make any efforts for the banishing Miss Betsy's image thence; on the contrary, he thought of nothing but how to continue a correspondence with her, and endeavour, by all the means in his power, to engage her to a private interview. As his flame was pure and respectful, he was some days debating within himself how to proceed, so as not to let her think he had desisted from his pretensions, or to continue them in a manner at which she should not be offended. Love, when real, seldom fails of inspiring the breast that harbours it with an equal share of timidity; he trembled whenever he thought of soliciting such a meeting; yet, without it, how could he hope to retain any place in her memory, much less make any progress in gaining her affection! At length, however, he assumed enough courage to write to her, and by a bribe to one of the servants, got his letter delivered to her, fearing if he had it sent by the post, or any publick way to the house, it would be intercepted by the caution he found Mr. Goodman had resolved to observe in this point.
Miss Betsy knowing his hand by the superscription, was a little surprized, as perhaps having never thought of him since they parted, but opened it without the least emotion either of pain or pleasure: she knew him too well to be under any apprehensions of being treated by him as she had been by Gayland, and was too little sensible of his merit to feel the least impatience for examining the dictates of his affection; yet, indifferent as she was, she could not forbear being touched on reading these lines—
'Most adored of your sex,
I doubt not but you are acquainted with Mr. Goodman's behaviour to me; but, oh! I fear you are too insensible of the agonies in which my soul labours through his cruel caution. Dreadful is the loss of sight, yet what is sight to me, when it presents not you! Though I saw you regardless of my ardent passion, yet still I saw you—and while I did so, could not be wholly wretched! What have I not endured since deprived of that only joy for which I wish to live! Had it not been improper for me to have been seen near Mr. Goodman's house, after having been forbid entrance to it, I should have dwelt for ever in your street, in hope of sometimes getting a glimpse of you from one or other of the windows: this I thought would be taken notice of, and might offend you; but darkness freed me from these apprehensions, and gave me the consolation of breathing in the same air with you. Soon as I thought all watchful eyes were closed, I flew to the place, which, wherever my body is, contains my heart and all it's faculties. I pleased myself with looking on the roof that covers you, and invoked every star to present me to you in your sleep, in a form more agreeable than I can hope I ever appeared in to your waking fancy. Thus I have passed each night; and when the morning dawned, unwillingly retired to take that rest which nature more especially demands, when heavy melancholy oppresses the heart. I slept—but how? Distracting images swam in my tormented brain, and waked me with horrors inconceivable. Equally lost to business, as to all social commerce, I fly mankind; and, like some discontented ghost, seek out the most solitary walks, and lonely shades, to pour forth my complaints. O Miss Betsy! I cannot live, if longer denied the sight of you! In pity to my sufferings, permit me yet once more to speak to you, even though it be to take a last farewel. I have made a little kind of interest with the woman at the habit-shop in Covent Garden, where I know you sometimes go; I dread to intreat you would call there to-morrow; yet, if you are so divinely good, be assured I shall entertain no presuming hopes on the condescension you shall be pleased to make me, but acknowledge it as the mere effect of that compassion which is inherent to a generous mind. Alas! I must be much more worthy than I can yet pretend to be, before I dare flatter myself with owing any thing to a more soft emotion, than that I have mentioned. Accuse me not, therefore, of too much boldness in this petition, but grant to my despair what you would deny to the love of your most faithful, and everlasting slave,
H. Saving.
P. S. The favour of one line, to let me know whether I may expect the blessing I implore, will add to the bounty of it. The same hand that brings you this, will also deliver your commands to yours as above.'
Miss Betsy read this letter several times, and, the oftener she did so, the more she saw into the soul of him that sent it. How wide the difference between this and that she received from Gayland!
