an examination. The lad, upon being interrogated,…

words than I could conveniently spare; and, at last, be made himself entirely master of my story, from the time of leaving the regiment in which I had served, do#n to the day on which I delivered my recital When I mentioned my having sold my beaver-skins for a certain sum, he started aside, and then lifting up his eyes in an ejacnlatory manner, expressed his astonishment how a Christian could be guilty of such monstrous dishonesty, which, he said, was no better than one would have expected in a Savage ; for that my skins were worth at least three times the money. I smiled at his notions of comparative morality, and bore the intelligence with a calmness that seemed to move his admiration. He thanked God that all were not so ready to take advantage of ignorance or misfortune, and cordially grasping my hand, begged me to make his house at Williamsburg my own, till such time as I could procure my pas* sage to England.'

CHAP. XX.

CONCLUSION OF THE STRANGER'S STORY;

Jr ursuant to this friendly invitation, I accompanied him to his house on our arrival in that place. For some days my landlord behaved to me in the most friendly manner, and furnished me, of his own accord, with linen

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«E MAN O? THE WORLD* £79

and wearing apparel; several articles of which, though necessaries in the polished society of those amongst whom I now resided, my ideas

<of Indian simplicity made me consider superfluous.

' During this time, J frequently attended him at his store, while he was receiving consign* ments of goods, and assisted him and his sefr vants in the disposal and assortment o^ them.. At first he received this assistance as a favour; hut I could observe that he soon began to loot upon it as a matter of right, and called me to bear a hand, as he termed it, in a manner rather too peremptory for my pride to submit to.. At last, when he ventured to tax me witla some office of menial servility, I told him, I ^lid not consider myself his dependant any farther than gratitude for bis favours demanded, and refused to perform it. Upon which he let tne know, that he looked upon me as his ser? vant, and that, if I did not immediately obey his command, be would find a way to be revenged of me. This declaration heightened iny resentment, and confirmed my refusal. I desired him to give me an account of what money he had expended, in those articles with which he had supplied roe, that I might pay him out of the small sum I had in my possession, and, if that was not sufficient, I would rather sell my new habiliments, and return to my rags, than be indebted for a farthing to his generosity. He answered that he would clear accounts with me by and bye. He did so, by

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Digitized by CjOOQ

making oath before a magistrate, that I was a deserter from his Majesty's service, and, according to my own confession, had associated with the savages, enemies of the province. As I could deny neither of those charges, I was thrown into prison, where I should have been in danger of starving, had not the curiosity of some of the townsfolks induced them to visit me, when they

commonly contributed some trifle towards my support; till at length, partly, I suppose, from the abatement of my accuser's anger, and partly from the flagrancy of detaining me in prison without any provision for my maintenance, I was suffered to be enlarged; and a vessel being then ready to sail for England, several of whose hands had deserted her, the master agreed to take me on board for the consideration of my working the voyage. For this, indeed, I was not in the least qualified as to skill; but my strength and perseverance made up, in some operations, for the want of it, ' As this was before the end of the war, the ship in which I sailed happened to be taken by a French privateer, who carried her into Brest. .This, tp me, who had already anticipated my arrival at home, to comfort the declining age of a parent, was the most mortifying accident of any I had hitherto met with ; but the captain, and some passengers who were aboard of us, seemed to make light of their misfortune* The ship was ensured, so that in property the owners could suffer little; as for ourselves, said .Jhey, the French are the politest enemies in the yGctogle

THE MAN OF THE WORLP. 28|

world, and, til) we are exchanged, will treat us with that civil demeanor so peculiar to their nation. * We are not (addressing themselves to foe) among savages, as you were.*—How .\% frred with them 1 know not j I, and other inferior members of the crew, were thrust into a dungeon, dark, damp, and loathsome; where, from the number confined in it, and the want jof proper circulation, the air became putrid to the most horrible degree; and the allowance for ourpjrovision was not equal to two-pence a* day. To hard living I could well enough submit, who had been frequently accustomed, among the Cherojcees, to subsist three or four 4ays on a stack of Indian corn moistened in the .first brook J -lighted on; but the want of air and exercise I could not so easily endure. I lost the use of my limbs, and lay motionless on my back, in a corner of the hole we were confined in, covered with vermin, and supported, in that wretched state, only by the infrequent humanity of some sailor, who

crammed my mouth with a bit of his brown bread, softened in stinking water. The natural vigour of my constitution, however, bore up against this comr plicated misery, till, upon the conclusion of the peace, we regained our freedom. But when i was set at liberty, I had not strength to enjoy it; and after my companions were gone, was obliged to crawl several weeks about the streets of Brest, where the charity of some well dis* posed Frenchmen bestowed now and then a trifle upon the pauvre sauvage, as 1 was called, till A a3

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282 THE MAN OF THS WORLD.

I recovered the exercise of my limbs, and i able to work my passage in a Dutch merchantship bound for England. Hie mate of this vessel happened to be a Scotsman, who, hearing me speak the language of Britain, and having inquired into the particulars of my story, humanely attached himself to my service, and made my situation much more comfortable than any I had for some time experienced.

We sailed from Brest with a fair wind, but had not been long at sea, till it shifted, and blew pretty fresh at east, so that we were kept for several days beating up the Channel; at the end of which it increased to so violent a degree, that it was impossible for us to hold a course, and the ship was suffered to scud before the storm. At the close of the second day, the wind suddenly chopped about into westerly point, though without any abatement of its violence; and very soon after day-break of the third, we were driving on the southwest coast of England, right to the leeward. The consternation of the crew became now so great, that if any expedient had remained to save us, it would have scarce allowed them to put it in practice. The mate, who seemed to be the ablest sailor on board, exhorted them at least to endeavour running the ship into a bay, which opened a little on our starboard quarter, where the shore was flat and sandy; comforting them with the reflection, that they should be cast on friendly ground, and not among savages. His advice and encouragment had the desired effect; and

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THB MAW OF THE WORLD.

notwithstanding the perils with which I saw myself surrounded, I looked with a gleam of satisfaction on the coast of my native land, which for so many years I had not seen. Unfortunately a ridge of rocks ran almost across the bason into which, with infinite labour, we were directing our course; and the ship struck upon them, about the distance of half a league from the shore. All was now uproar and confusion. The long-boat was launched by some of the crew, who, with the captain, got immediately into her, and brandishing their long knives, threatened with instant death any who should attempt to follow them, as she was al ready loaded beyond her burden. Indeed, there remained at this time in the ship only two sailors, the mate, and myself; the first were washed overboard while they hung on the ship's side attempting to leap into the boat, and we saw them no more; nor had their hard-hearted companions a better fate; they had scarcely rowed a cable's length from the ship, when the boat overset, and every one on board her perished. There now remained only my friend the mate, and I, who, consulting a moment together^

agreed to keep by the ship till she should split, and endeavour to save ourselves on some broken plank which the storm might drive on shore. We had just time to come to this resolution, when, by the violence of a wave that broke over the ship, her main-mast went by the board, and we were swept off the deck at the same instant. My companion could not

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384 THE MAKO? THE W0RLQ.

awim; but I bad been taught that art by wj Inumn friends to the greatest degree of expertness. 1 was, therefore, more uneasy about the honest Scotsman's faje than my own, and, quitting the mast, of which 1 had caught hold in its fat), swam to the place where he first rose to the surface, and catching him by the hair, held his head tolerably above water, till he wa$ able so far to recollect himself, as to cling by a part of the shrouds of our floating main-mast, to which 1

bore him. In our passage to the shore on thiB slender float, he was

several times obliged tcrquit his holcl, from his strength being exhausted; but I was always so fortunate/as to be able to replace him in his former -situation, (till, at last, we were thrown upon the beach, near to the bottom of that bay at the mouth of which our ship had struck* 1 was not so much spent by my fatigue, but that J was able to draw the mate safe out of the water, and advancing to a crowd of people whom I saw assembled near us, began to entreat their assistance for •him in very pathetic terms, when, to my utter -

astonishment, one of them struck at me with a bludgeon/ while another making up to my fellow-sufferer, would have beat out his brains with a stone, if I had not run up nimbly behind him, and dashed it from his uplifted hand. This man (happened to be armed with a hanger, which he instantly drew, and made a furious stroke at my head. 1 parried his blow with my arm, and, at the same time, seizing his wrist, gave it so sudden a wrench, that the weapon dropped to the

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ground. I instantly possessed myself of it, and stood astride my companion with the aspect of an angry lioness guarding her young from the hunter. The appearance of strength and fierceness which my figure exhibited, kept my enemies a little at bay, when, fortunately, we saw advancing a body of soldiers, headed by an officer, whom a gentleman of humanity in the neighbourhood had prevailed on to march to the place for the preservation of any of the crew whom the storm might spare, or any part of the cargo that might chance to be thrown ashore. At sight of this detachment the crowd dispersed, and left me master of the field. The officer very humanely took charge of my companion and me, brought us to his quarters in the neighbourhood, and accommodated me with these very clothes which I now have on. From him I learned, that those Englishmen, who (as our mate by way of comfort observed) were not savages, had the idea transmitted them from their fathers, that all wrecks became their property by the immediate hand of God; and, as in their apprehension that denomination belonged only to ships from which there landed no living thing, their hostile endeavours

against the Scotsman's life and mine, proceeded from a desire of bringing our vessel into that supposed condition.

* After having weathered so many successive disasters, I am at last arrived near the place of my nativity; fain would I hope, that a parent and a sister, whose tender remembrance, mingled with that of happier days, now rushes

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286 THE MAN OF THE WORLD,

on my soul, are yet alive to pardon the wander* ings of my youth, and receive me after those hardships to which its ungoverned passions have subjected me. Like the prodigal son, I bring no worldly wealth along with me; but I return with a mind conscious of its former errors, and seeking that peace which they destroyed. To have used prosperity well, is the first favoured lot of Heaven ; the next is his, whom adversity has not smitten in vain/

•■■■,■ i ■

CHAP. XXL

BOLTON AND HIS COMPANION MEET WITH AN UNCOMMON

ADVENTURE.

\^* hen the stranger had finished his narration, Bolton expressed, in very strong terms, his compassion for the hardships he had suffered.

* I do not wish,' said he, * to be the prophet of evil; but if it should happen, that your expectations of the comfort your njative country is to afford you be disappointed, it wiJJ give me the truest pleasure to shelter a head on which so many vicissitudes have beat, under that roof of which Providence has made me master/—He was interrupted by the trampling of horses at a distance; his fears, wakeful at this time, were immediately roused; the stranger observed his confusion.

' You seem uneasy, Sir,' said he; * but they are not the retread of

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THE MAN OF THE WOULD* 28?

houseless poverty like this* that violence and rapine are wont to attack.'—* You mistake' answered Harry,, who was now standing at the door of the chapel, ' the ground of my alarm; at present I have a particular reason for my fears, which is nearer to me than my own personal safety/—He listened;—the noise grew fainter; hut he marked, by the light of the moon, which now shone out again, the direction* whence it seemed to proceed, which was over an open part of the common. ' They are gone this way/ he cried with an*

eagerness of look, grasping one of the knotty branches which the soldier's fire had spared. * If there is danger in your way/ said his companion, ' you shall' not meet it alone.' They sallied forth together.

They had not proceeded above a quarter of a mile, when they perceived, at a distance, the? twinkling of lights in motion: their pace was quickened at the sight; but in a few minutes those were extinguished, the moon was darken* «d by another cloud, and the wind began to howl again. They advanced, however, on the line in which they imagined the lights to have appeared, when, in one of the pauses of the storm, they heard shrieks, in a female voice, that seemed to issue from some place but a little way off. They rushed forward in the direction of the sound, till they were stopped by a pretty high wall. Having made shift to scramble over this, they found themselves in the garden belonging to a low-built house, from one of the windows of which they saw the

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288 TUB MAK OF tHS WORLD*

glimmer of a candle through the openings of the shutters; but the voice had ceased, and all was silent within. Bolton knocked at the door, but received no answer; when, suddenly, the screaming was repeated with more violence than before. He and his companion now threw themselves with so much force against the door, as to burst it open. They rushed into the room whence the noise proceeded ;

when the first object that presented itself to Bolton was Miss Sindall on her knees, her clothes torn and her hair dishevelled, with two servants holding her arms, imploring mercy of Sir Thomas, who was calling out in a furious tone, •• Dairin your pity, rascals, carry her to bed by force.'—1 Turn, villain !' cried Harry, « turn and defend yourself.' Sindall started at the well-known voice, and, pulling out a pistol, fired it within a few feet of the other's face; he missed, and Bolton pushed forward to close with him ; when one of the servants, quitting Miss Sindall, threw himself between him and" his master, and made a blow at his head with the but-end of a hunting whip; this Harry catched on his stick, and in the return levelled the fellow with the ground. His master now fired another pistol, which would have probably taken more effect than the former, had not Bolton's new acquaintance struck up the muzzle just as it went off, the ball going through a window at Harry's back. The baronet had his sword now drawn in the other hand, and, changing the object of his attack, he made a

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furious pass at the soldier, who parried it with his hanger. At the second lounge, Sir Thomas's violence threw him on the point of his adversary's weapon, which entered his body a little below the breast.

He staggered a few paces backwards, and clapping one hand on the place, leaned with the other on a table that stood behind him, and cried out, that he was a dead man. * My God f exclaimed the stranger, ' are not you Sir Thomas Sindall ?'—

* Sir Thomas Sindall!' cried a woman who now entered half-dressed, with the mistress of the house. * It is, it is Sir Thomas Sindall/ said the landlady ; ' for God's sake do his honour no hurt.'—* I hope,'

continued the other with a look of earnest wildness, * you have not been a-bed with that young lady f—She waited not a reply—• for as sure as there is a God in heaven, she is your own daughter !'—Her hearers stood aghast as she spoke.—Sindall stared wildly for a moment, then giving a deep groan, fell senseless at the feet of the soldier, who had sprung forward to support him. What assistance the

amazement of those about him could allow, he received; and in a short time began to recover ; but as he revived, his wound bled with more violence than before. A servant was instantly dispatched for a surgeon ; in the mean time, the soldier procured some lint, and gave it a temporary dressing. He was now raised from the ground, and supported in an elbow chair; he bent his eyes fixedly on the woman:

* Speak/ said he, ' while I have life to hear Vol. II. B b

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thee.' On the faces of her audience sat astonishment, suspense, and expectation; and a chilly silence prevailed, while she delivered the following recital.

CHAP. XXII.

A PROSECUTION OF THE DISCOVERY MENTI0NED IN THE

LAST CHAPTER.

1 have been a wicked woman; may God and this lady forgive me!

but heaven is my witness, that I was thus far on my way to confess all to your honour, (turning to Sir Thomas Sindall,) that I might have peace in my mind before I died.

' You will remember, Sir, that this young lady's mother was delivered of b'er at the house of one of your tenants, where Mr Camplin (I think that was his name) brought her for that purpose. I was intrusted with the charge of her as her nurse, along with some trinkets, such as young children are in use to have, and a considerable sum of money, to provide any other necessaries she should want. At that yery time I had been drawn in to associate with a gang of pilfering vagrants, whose stolen goods 1 had often received into my house, and helped to dispose of. Fearing therefore that I might pne day be brought to an account for my past oJFences, if I remained where I was, and having

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at the same time the temptation of such a booty before me, I formed a scheme for making off with the money and trinkets I had got from Mr Camp]in: it was to make things appear as if my charge and I had been lost in crossing the river, which then happened to be in flood.

For this purpose, I daubed my own cloak, and the infant's wrapper, with mud and sleech, and left them close to the overflow of the stream, a little below the common ford. With shame I confess it, as 1

have often since thought on it with horror, I was more than once tempted to drown the child, that she might not be a burden to me in my flight; but she looked so innocent and sweet, while she clasped my fingers in her little fcand, that I had not the heart to execute my purpose.

' Having endeavoured in this manner to account for my disappearing, so as to prevent all further inquiry, 1 joined a party of those wretches, whose associate I had sometime been, and left that part of the country altogether. By their assistance, too, I was put on a method of disguising my face so much, that had any of my acquaintance met me, of which there was very little chance, it would have been scarce possible for them to recollect it. My booty was put into the common stock, and the child was found useful to raise compassion when we went a-begging, which was one part of the occupation we followed.

* After 1 had continued in this society the best part of a year, during which time we met Bb2

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292 THE MAN OF THE WORLD.

with various turns of fortune, a scheme was formed by the remaining part of us (for several of my companions had been banished, or confined to hard labour in the interval) to break into the house of a wealthy farmer, who, we understood, had a few days before received a large sum of money on a bargain for the lease of an estate, which the proprietor had redeemed. Our project was executed with success

; but a quarrel arising about the distribution of the spoil, one of the gang deserted, and in* formed a neighbouring justice of the whole transaction, and the places of our retreat. I happened to be a fortune-telling in this gentleman's house when his informer came to make the discovery; and, being closetted with one of the maid-servants, overheard him inquiring for the justice, and desiring to have some conversation with him in private. 1 immediately suspected his design, and having got out of the house, eluded pursuit by my knowledge in the by-paths and private roads of the country. It immediately occurred to me to disburden myself of the child, as she not only retarded my flight, but was a mark by which I might be discovered ; but, abandoned as 1 had then become, I found myself attached to her by that sort of affection which women conceive for the infants they suckle. I would not,. therefore, expose her in any of those unfrequented places through which I passed in my flight, where her death must1 have been the certain consequence; and, two or three times when 1 would have dropped y Google

THg MAH' OF THE WORLD. 293

her at some former's door, I was prevented by the fear of discovery*

At last I happened to meet with your honour. You may recollect* Sir, that the same night on which this lady, then an infant, was found, a beggar asked alms of you at a farrier's door, where you stopped to have one of your horse's shoes fastened* I was that beggar; and hearing from a boy who held your horse that your name was Sir Thomas Sindall, and that you were returning to a hunting seat you had in the neighbourhood, I left tlie infant on a narrow part of the road a little way before you, where it was impossible you should miss of finding her, and stood at the back of a hedge to observe your behaviour when you came up. I saw you make your servant pick up the child, and place her on the saddle before him. Then having, as I thought, sufficiently provided for her, by thus throwing her under the protection of her father, I made off as fast as I could, and continued my flight, till I imagined I was out of the reach of detection. But being

some time after apprehended on suspicion, and not able, to give a good account of myself, I was advertised in the papers, and discovered to have been an accomplice in committing that robbery I mentioned, for which some of the gang had been already condemned and executed. I was tried for the crime, and was cast for transportation. Before I was put on board the ship that was to carry me and several others abroad, I wrote a few lines to your honour, acquainting you with the circumstances JBb3

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294 ¥HE MAN OF THE WORLD.

of iiiy behaviour towards your daughter: but this I suppose, as it was entrusted to a boy who used to go on errands for the prisoners, has H ver cohie to your hands. Not long ago I returned from transportation, and betook myself to my old course of life again. But I happened to be seized with the small-pox, that nged in a village I passed through ; and partly from the violence of the distemper, partly from

. the want of proper care in the first stages of it, was brought so low, that a physician, whose humanity induced him to visit me, gave me over for lost. J found that the terrors of d- ath on a sick-bed had more effect on my conscience than all the hardships I had formerly undergone, and I began to look back with the keenest remorse on a life so spent as mine had been. It pleased God, however, that 1

should recover ; and I have since endeavoured to make some reparation for my past offences by my penitence;

' Among other things, I often reflected on what I had done with regard to your child; and being some days ago accidentally near Sindall

• park, I went thither, and tried to learn something of what had befallen her. I understood from some of the neighbours, that a young lady had been brought up from her infancy with your-aunt, and was said to be the daughter of a friend of your*s, who had committed her

to your care at his death. But, upon inquiring into the time of her being brought to your house, I was persuaded that she must be the same I

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THE MAltyF TOT WORL0. 295

had conjectured, imputing the story of her be* ing another's to your desire of concealing that she was your's, which I imagined you had learn* ed from the letter 1 wrote before my transportation ; till meeting, at a house of entertainment, with a servant of your honour's, he informed me, in the course of our conversation, that it was reported you were going to be married to the young lady who had lived so long in your family. On hearing this I was confounded, and did not know what to think; but, when I began to fear that my letter hacl never reached you, I trembled at the thought of what my wickedness might occasion, and could have no ease in my mind, till I should set out for Bilswood to confess the whole affair to your honour. I was tonight overtaken by the storm near this house, and prevailed on the landlady, though it seemed much against her inclination, to permit me to take up my quarters here. About half an hour ago, 1 was waked with the shrieks of some person in distress, and upon asking the landlady, who lay in the same room with me, what was the matter, she bid me be quiet and say nothing; for it was only a worthy gentleman of her acquaintance, who had overtaken a young girl, a foundling he had bred up, that had stolen a sum of money from his house, and run away with one of his footmen. At the word foundling, I felt a kind of something I cannot describe, and I was terrified when I overheard some part of your discourse, and guessed what your intentions were *, lrose, y Google

296 THE MAN 0* TH* WORLD.

therefore, in spite of the landlady, and had got thus far dressed, when we heard the door burst open, and presently a noise of fighting

above stairs. Upon this we ran up together; and to what has happened since, this company has been witness.'

CHAP. XXIII.

MISS SINDALL DISCOVERS ANOTHER RELATION.

Jt is not easy to describe the sensations of Sindall or Lucy, when the secret of her birth «tes unfolded. In the countenance of the last were mingled the indications of fear and pity, joy and wonder ; while her father turned upon her an eye of tenderness chastened with shame.

4 Oh ! thou injured innocence f said he, * for I know not how to call thee child, canst thou forgive those—Good God! Bolton, from what hast thou saved me!' Lucy was now kneeling at his feet.—* Talk not,.

Sir/ satd she, * of the errors of the past; methinks I look on it as some horrid dream, which it dizzies my head to recollect. My father 1

—Gracious God! have I a father ?—I cannot speak; but there are a thousand things that beat here!—Is there another parent to whom I should also kneel?* Sir Thomas cast up a look to heaven, and his groans stopped for a while his utterance,.—

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THE MAN OF THS WORLD* 297

4 Oh! Harriet! if thou art now an angel of mercy, look down and forgive the wretch that murdered thee f—.* Harriet!' exclaimed the soldier, starting at the sound, ' what Harriet ? what Harriet?* Sindali looked earnestly in his face—'Oh! heavens!' he cried, 'art thou—

sure thou art!— Annesly ?—look not, look not on me—thy sister—

but I shall not live for thy upbraidings—thy sister was the mother of my child !—Thy father—to what does this moment of reflection reduce me?*—thy father fell with his daughter, the victims of that villainy which overcame her innocence f Annesly looked sternly upon him, and anger for a moment in- . flamed his cheeks.; but it gave way tp softer feelings.—'What! both? both ?'*—and he burst into tears.

Bolton now stepped up to this new-acquired friend. ' I am/ feaid he, «

comparitively but a spectator of this fateful scene; let me endear vour- ft* comfort the distress of the innocent, and alleviate the pangs of the guilty. In Sir Thomas Sindall's present condition resentment would be injustice. See here, my friend, (pointing to Lucy), a mediatrix, who forgets the man in the father/ Annebly gazed upon her. ' She is, she is/ he cried, • the daughter of my Harriet;—that eye, that lip, that look of sorrow !'—He flung himself on her neck ; Bolton looked on them enraptured ; and even the languor of Sindalls face was crossed with a gleam of momentary pleasure.

Sir Thomas's servant now arrived, accom

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panied by a surgeon, who, upon examining and dressing his wound, was of opinion, than in itself it had not the appearance of imminent danger, but that from the state of his pulse he was apprehensive of a supervening fever. He ordered him to be put to bed, and his room to be kept as quiet as possible. As this gentleman was an acquaintance of Bolton's, the latter informed him of the state in which Sir Thomas's mind must be from the discoveries that the preceding hour had made to him. Upon which the surgeon begged that he might, for the present, avoid seeing Miss Sindall or Mr Annesly, Or talking with any one on the subject of those discoveries; but he could not prevent the intrusion of thought; and not many hours after, his patient fell into a roving sort of slumber, in which he would often start and mutter the words Harriet, Lucy, Murder, and Incest!

Bolton and Lucy now enjoyed one *f those luxurious interviews, which absence, and hardships during that absence, procure to souls formed for each other. She related to him all her past distresses, of which my readers have been already informed, and added the account o£ that night's event, part of which only they have heard.

Herself indeed, was not then mistress of it all; the story at large was this:

The servant, whose attachment to her I have formerly mentioned, had been discovered, in that conference which produced her resolution of leaving Bilswood, by Mrs Boothby's maid, y Google

who immediately communicated to her mistress her suspicions of the plot going forward between Miss Sindall and Robert. Upon this the latter was severely interrogated by his master, and being confronted with Sukey, who repeated the words she had overheard of the young lady and him, he confessed her intention of escaping by his assistance. Sir Thomas* drawing his sword, threatened to put him instantly to death, if he did not expiate his treachery by obeying implicitly the instructions he should then receive; these were* to have the horse saddled at the hour agreed on, and to proceed, without revealing to Miss Sindall the confession he had made, on the road which Sir Thomas now marked out for him. With this, after the most horrid denunciations of vengeance in case of a refusal, the poor fellow was fain to comply; and hence his terror when they were leaving the house. They had preceeded but just so far on their way, as Sir Thomas had thought proper for the accomplishment of his design, when he, with his valet de chambre and another servant, who were confidants of their master's pleasures) made up to them, and after pretending to upbraid Lucy for the imprudence and treachery of her flight, he carried her to this house of one of those profligate dependants, whom his vices had made necessary on his estate. When she came to the close of this recital, the idea of that relation in which she stood to him from whom these outrages were suffered, stopped her tongue; she blushed and faultered.

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* This story,' said she, «I will now forget for ever, except to remember that gratitude which I owe to you.' During the vicissitudes of her narration, he had clasped her hand with a fearful earnestness, as if he had shared the dangers she related ; he pressed it to his lips.—'

Amidst nay Lucy's present momentous concerns, I would not intrude my own ; but I am selfish in the little services she acknowledges ; I

look for a return.'—She blushed again—«I have but little art,' said she, ' and cannot disguise my sentiments; my Henry will trust them on a subject which at present I know his delicacy will forbear'

Annesly now entered the room, and Bolton communicated the trust he was possessed of in his behalf, offering to put him in immediate possession of the sum which Mr Rawlinson had bequeathed to his management, and which that gentleman had more than doubled since the time it had been left by Annesly's unfortunate father. - I know not,' said Annesly, « how to talk of those matters, unacquainted as I have been with the manners of polished and commercial nations*; when I have any particular destination for money, I will demand your assistance ; in the mean time, consider me as a mi nor, and use the trust already reposed in you for my advantage, and the advantage of those whom misfortune has allied to me.'

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CHAP. XXIV.

SIR THOMAS'S SITUATION THE EXPRESSION OF HIS

PENITENCE.

W ext morning, Sindall, by the advice of his surgeon, was removed in a litter to his own house, where he was soon after attended by an eminent physician in aid of that gentleman's abilities. Pursuant to his earnest intreaties, he was accompanied thither by Annesly and Bolton. Lucy, having obtained leave of his medical attendants, watched her father in the character of nurse.

They found, on their arrival, that Mrs Boothby, having learned the^revolutions of the preceding night, had left the place, and taken the road towards London. * I think not of her,' said Sir Thomas; «but there is another person, whom my former conduct banished from my house, whom I now wish to see in this assemblage of her friends, the worthy Mrs Wistanly.* L.ucy undertook to write her an account of her situation, and to solicit her compliance with the request of her father.

The old lady, who had still strength and activity enough for doing

good, accepted the invitation; and the day ioU lowing she was with them at Bilswood.

Sir Thomas seemed to feel a sort of melash choly satisfaction in having .the company of those he had injured assembled under his roof. When he was told of Mrs Wistanly's arrival, ho Vol. II. Co

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desired to see her, and taking her hand, * I have sent for you.

Madam/ said he, * that you may help me to unload my soul of the remembrance of the past.' He then confessed to her that plan of seduction by which he had overcome the virtue of Annesly, and the honour of his sister. * You were a witness/ he concluded, * of the fall of that worth and innocence which it was in the power of my former crimes to destroy ; you are now come to behold the retribution of Heaven on the guilty. By that hand whom it commissioned to avenge a parent and a sister, I am cut off in the midst of my days.' ' I hope not, Sir/ answered she ; * your life, I trust, will make a better expiation. In the punishments of the Divinity there is no idea of vengeance; and the infliction of wtyat we term evil, serves equally the purpose of universal benignity, with the dispensation of good/ * I feel/ replied Sir Thomas, * the force of that observation: the pain of this wound ; the presentiment of death which it instils ; the horror with which the recollection of my incestuous passion strikes me; all these are in the catalogue of my blessings. They indeed take from me the world, but they give me myself/ *

A visit from his physician interrupted their discourse; that gentleman did not prognosticate so fatally for his patient; he found the frequency of his pulse considerably abated, and expressed his hopes that the succeeding night his rest would be better than it bad been. In this he was not mistaken; and next morning y Google

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the doctor continued to think Sir Thomas mending; but himself persisted in the belief that he should not recover.

For several days, however, he appeared rather to gain ground than to lose it; but afterwards he was seized with hectic fits at stated intervals ; and when they left him, he complained of a universal weakness and depression. During all this time Lucy was seldom away from his bed*side; from her presence he derived peculiar pleasure; and sometimes, when he was so low as to be scarce able to speak, would mutter out blessings on her head, calling her his saint, his guardian angel I *

After he had exhausted all the powers of medicine, under the direction of some of the ablest of the faculty, they acknowledged all farther assistance to be vain, and one of them warned him, in a friendly manner, of his approaching end. He received this intelligence with the utmost composure, as an event which he had expected from the beginning, thanked the physician for bis candour, and desired that bis friends, might be summoned around him, while be had yet strength enough left to bid them adieu.

When he saw them assembled, he delivered into Bolton's hands a paper, which he told him was his will, ? To this/ said he, ' I would not have any of those privy, who are interested in its bequests; and therefore I had it executed at the beginning of my illness, without their participation. You will find yourself my dear y Google

Harry, master of my fortune, under a condition, which, I believe, you will not esteem a hardship. Give me your hand; let me join it to my Lucy's;—there!—-if Heaven receives the prayer o^ a penitent, it will pour its richest blessings upon you.

c There are a few provisions in that paper, which Mr Bolton, I know, will find .a pleasure in fulfilling Of what I have bequeathed to you,

Mrs Wistanly, the contentment you enjoy in your present situation makes you independent ; but I intend k as an evidence of my consciousness of your deserving.—My tnuchinjured friend, for he was once my friend (ad* dressing himself to Annesly), will accept of the memorial I have left him.—-Give me your hand, Sir; receive my forgiveness for that wound which the arm of Providence made me provoke from yours; and when you look on a parent's and a sister's tomb, spare the memory of him whose death shall then have expiated the wrongs he did you f—Tears were the only answer he received.—He paused for a moment; then looking round with something in his eye more elevated and solemn, ' I have now,' said he, ' discharged the world; mine has been called a life of pleasure; had I breath I could tell you how false the title is ; alas ! I knew not how to live. Merciful God 1 1 thank thee—thou hast taught me how to die.'

At the close of this discourse, his strength, which he had exerted to the utmost, seemed altogether spent; and he sunk down in the bed.

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in a state so like death, that for some time his attendants imagined him to have actually expired. When he did revive, his speech appeared to be Jost; he could just make a feeble sign for a cordial that stood on the table near Iiis bed ; he put it to his lips, then laid his head on the pillow, as if resigning himself to his fate. Lucy was too tender to bear the scene ; her friend, Mrs Wistanly, led her almost fainting out of the room; * That grief, my dear Miss Sindall/ said she,

* is tbo amiable to be blamed; but your father suggested a consolation which your piety will allow; of those who have led his life, how few have closed it like him !'

THE CONCLUSION.

JIarly next morning Sir Thomas Sindall expired The commendable zeal of the coroner prompted him to hold an inquest on his body; the jury brought in their verdict— Self-defence; But there was a judge in the bosom of Annesly, whom it was more difficult to satisfy: not could

he for a long time he brought to pardon himself -that blow for which the justice of his country had acquitted him.

After paying their last duty to Sir Thomas's remains, the family removed to Sindall-park. Mrs Wistainly was prevailed on to leave her own house lor a while, and preside in that of which Bolton was now master. His delicacy

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306 THE MAW OF THE WORLD. I

needed not the ceremonial of fashion to restrain ! him from pressing Miss Sindall's consent to their marriage, till a decent time had been yielded to the memory of her father. When that was elapsed, he received from her uncle that hand, which Sir Thomas had bequeathed him, and which mutual attachment entitled him to receive.

Their happiness is equal to their merit: I am often a witness of h; for they honour me with a friendship which I know not how I have deserved, unless by having few other friends. )Wrs Wistanly and I are considered as members of the farnffy.

But their benevolence is universal; the country smiles around them with the effects of their goodness. This is indeed the only real superiority which wealth has to bestow ; I never envied riches so much, as since I have known Mr Bolton.

I have lived too long to be caught with the pomp of declamation, or the glare of an apophthegm ; but 1 sincerely believe, that you could not take from them a virtue without depriving them of a pleasure.

END OF VOLUME SEC

Leith : Printed by A. Allardice.

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Document Outline

• The miscellaneous works of Henry Mackenzie