CHAPTER v. -- A STORM.
One evening about this time, which was the latter end of July, LadyHonoria and Cecilia deferred walking out till very late, and then foundit so pleasant, that they had strolled into the Park two miles from thehouse, when they were met by young Delvile; who, however, only remindedthem how far they had to return, and walked on.
"He grows quite intolerable!" cried Lady Honoria, when he was gone;"it's really a melancholy thing to see a young man behave so like an oldMonk. I dare say in another week he won't take off his hat to us; and,in about a fortnight, I suppose he'll shut himself up in one of thoselittle round towers, and shave his head, and live upon roots, and howlif any body comes near him. I really half wonder he does not think ittoo dissipated to let Fidel run after him so. A thousand to one but heshoots him some day for giving a sudden bark when he's in one of thesegloomy fits. Something, however, must certainly be the matter with him.Perhaps he is in love."
"Can nothing be the matter with him but that?" cried Cecilia.
"Nay, I don't know; but I am sure if he is, his Mistress has not muchoccasion to be jealous of you or me, for never, I think, were two poorDamsels so neglected!"
The utmost art of malice could not have furnished speech more trulymortifying to Cecilia than this thoughtless and accidental sally of LadyHonoria's; particularly, however, upon her guard, from the raillery shehad already endured, she answered, with apparent indifference, "he ismeditating, perhaps, upon Lady Euphrasia."
"O no," cried Lady Honoria, "for he did not take any notice of her whenhe saw her; I am sure if he marries her, it will only be because hecannot help it."
"Poor Lady Euphrasia!"
"O no, not at all; he'll make her two or three fine speeches, and thenshe'll be perfectly contented especially if he looks as dismally at heras he does at us! and that probably he will do the more readily for notliking to look at her at all. But she's such a romantic little thing,she'll never suspect him."
Here they were somewhat alarmed by a sudden darkness in the air, whichwas presently succeeded by a thunder storm; they instantly turned back,and began running home, when a violent shower of rain obliged them totake shelter under a large tree; where in two minutes they were joinedby Delvile, who came to offer his assistance in hurrying them home; andfinding the thunder and lightning continue, begged them to move on, indefiance of the rain, as their present situation exposed them to moredanger than a wet hat and cloak, which might be changed in a moment.
Cecilia readily assented; but Lady Honoria, extremely frightened,protested she would not stir till the storm was over. It was in vain herepresented her mistake in supposing herself in a place of security; sheclung to the tree, screamed at every flash of lightning, and all her gayspirits were lost in her apprehensions.
Delvile then earnestly proposed to Cecilia conducting her home byherself, and returning again to Lady Honoria; but she thought itwrong to quit her companion, and hardly right to accept his assistanceseparately. They waited, therefore, some time all together; but thestorm increasing with great violence, the thunder growing louder, andthe lightning becoming stronger, Delvile grew impatient even to angerat Lady Honoria's resistance, and warmly expostulated upon its follyand danger. But the present was no season for lessons in philosophy;prejudices she had never been taught to surmount made her think herselfin a place of safety, and she was now too much terrified to giveargument fair play.
Finding her thus impracticable, Delvile eagerly said to Cecilia, "Comethen, Miss Beverley, let us wait no longer; I will see you home, andthen return to Lady Honoria."
"By no means," cried she, "my life is not more precious than either ofyours, and therefore it may run the same risk."
"It is more precious," cried he with vehemence, "than the air Ibreathe!" and seizing her hand, he drew it under his arm, and, withoutwaiting her consent, almost forced her away with him, saying as theyran, "How could a thousand Lady Honoria's recompense the world for theloss of one Miss Beverley? we may, indeed, find many thousand suchas Lady Honoria, but such as Miss Beverley--where shall we ever findanother?"
Cecilia, surprised, yet gratified, could not speak, for the speed withwhich they ran almost took away her breath; and before they were nearhome, slackening her pace, and panting, she confessed her strength wasexhausted, and that she could go so fast no further.
"Let us then stop and rest," cried he; "but why will you not lean uponme? surely this is no time for scruples, and for idle and unnecessaryscruples, Miss Beverley can never find a time."
Cecilia then, urged equally by shame at his speech and by weakness fromfatigue, leant upon his arm but she soon repented her condescension;for Delvile, with an emotion he seemed to find wholly irrepressible,passionately exclaimed "sweet lovely burthen! O why not thus for ever!"
The strength of Cecilia was now instantly restored, and she hastilywithdrew from his hold; he suffered her to disengage herself, but saidin a faultering voice, "pardon me, Cecilia!--Madam!--Miss Beverley, Imean!--"
Cecilia, without making any answer, walked on by herself, as quick apace as she was able; and Delvile, not venturing to oppose her, silentlyfollowed.
They had gone but a few steps, before there came a violent shower ofhail; and the wind, which was very high, being immediately in theirfaces, Cecilia was so pelted and incommoded, that she was frequentlyobliged to stop, in defiance of her utmost efforts to force herselfforward. Delvile then approaching her, proposed that she should againstand under a tree, as the thunder and lightning for the present seemedover, and wait there till the fury of the hail was past; and Cecilia,though never before so little disposed to oblige him, was so muchdistressed by the violence of the wind and hail, that she was forced tocomply.
Every instant now seemed an age; yet neither hail nor wind abated; meantime they were both silent, and both, though with different feelings,equally comfortless.
Delvile, however, who took care to place himself on the side whence thewind blew hardest, perceived, in spite of his endeavours to save her,some hail-stones lodged upon her thin summer cloak; he then took offhis own hat, and, though he ventured not to let it touch her, held it insuch a manner as to shelter her better.
Cecilia now could no longer be either silent or unmoved, but turning tohim with much emotion, said, "Why will you do this, Mr Delvile?"
"What would I not do," answered he, "to obtain forgiveness from MissBeverley?"
"Well, well,--pray put on your hat."
"Do you command it?"
"No, certainly!--but I wish it."
"Ah!" cried he, instantly putting it on, "whose are the commands thatwould have half the weight with your wishes?"
And then, after another pause, he added, "do you forgive me?"
Cecilia, ashamed of the cause of their dissension, and softened by theseriousness of his manner, answered very readily, "yes, yes,--why willyou make me remember such nonsense?"
"All sweetness," cried he warmly, and snatching her hand, "is MissBeverley!--O that I had power--that it were not utterly impossible--thatthe cruelty of my situation--"
"I find," cried she, greatly agitated, and forcibly drawing away herhand, "you will teach me, for another time, the folly of fearing badweather!"
And she hurried from beneath the tree; and Delvile perceiving one of theservants approach with an umbrella, went forward to take it from him,and directed him to hasten instantly to Lady Honoria.
Then returning to Cecilia, he would have held it over her head, but withan air of displeasure, she took it into her own hand.
"Will you not let me carry it for you?" he cried.
"No, Sir, there is not any occasion."
They then proceeded silently on.
The storm was now soon over; but it grew very dark, and as they hadquitted the path while they ran, in order to get home by a shorter cut,the walk was so bad from the height of the grass, and the unevenness ofthe ground, that Cecilia had the utmost difficulty to make her way; yetshe resolutely refused any assistance from Delvile, wh
o walked anxiouslyby her side, and seemed equally fearful upon his own account and uponhers, to trust himself with being importunate.
At length they came to a place which Cecilia in vain tried to pass;Delvile then grew more urgent to help her; firm, however, in decliningall aid, she preferred going a considerable way round to another partof the park which led to the house. Delvile, angry as well as mortified,proposed to assist her no more, but followed without saying a word.
Cecilia, though she felt not all the resentment she displayed, stillthought it necessary to support it, as she was much provoked with theperpetual inconsistency of his behaviour, and deemed it wholly improperto suffer, without discouragement, occasional sallies of tendernessfrom one who, in his general conduct, behaved with the most scrupulousreserve.
They now arrived at the castle; but entering by a back way, came to asmall and narrow passage which obstructed the entrance of the umbrella;Delvile once more, and almost involuntarily, offered to help her; but,letting down the spring, she coldly said she had no further use for it.
He then went forward to open a small gate which led by another longpassage into the hall; but hearing the servants advance, he held it foran instant in his hand, while, in a tone of voice the most dejected, hesaid "I am grieved to find you thus offended; but were it possible youcould know half the wretchedness of my heart, the generosity of yourown would make you regret this severity!" and then, opening the gate, hebowed, and went another way.
Cecilia was now in the midst of servants; but so much shocked andastonished by the unexpected speech of Delvile, which instantly changedall her anger into sorrow, that she scarce knew what they said to her,nor what she replied; though they all with one voice enquired what wasbecome of Lady Honoria, and which way they should run to seek her.
Mrs Delvile then came also, and she was obliged to recollect herself.She immediately proposed her going to bed, and drinking white wine wheyto prevent taking cold; cold, indeed, she feared not; yet she agreed tothe proposal, for she was confounded and dismayed by what had passed,and utterly unable to hold any conversation.
Her perplexity and distress were, however, all attributed to fatigue andfright; and Mrs Delvile, having assisted in hurrying her to bed, went toperform the same office for Lady Honoria, who arrived at that time.
Left at length by herself, she revolved in her mind the adventure ofthe evening, and the whole behaviour of Delvile since first she wasacquainted with him. That he loved her with tenderness, with fondnessloved her, seemed no longer to admit of any doubt, for however distantand cold he appeared, when acting with circumspection and design, themoment he was off his guard from surprise, terror, accident of any sort,the moment that he was betrayed into acting from nature and inclination,he was constantly certain to discover a regard the most animated andflattering.
This regard, however, was not more evident than his desire to concealand to conquer it; he seemed to dread even her sight, and to haveimposed upon himself the most rigid forbearance of all conversation orintercourse with her.
Whence could this arise? what strange and unfathomable cause couldrender necessary a conduct so mysterious? he knew not, indeed, that sheherself wished it changed, but he could not be ignorant that his chancewith almost any woman would at least be worth trying.
Was the obstacle which thus discouraged him the condition imposed byher uncle's will of giving her own name to the man she married? this sheherself thought was an unpleasant circumstance, but yet so common foran heiress, that it could hardly out-weigh the many advantages of such aconnection.
Henrietta again occurred to her; the letter she had seen in her handswas still unexplained; yet her entire conviction that Henrietta was notloved by him, joined to a certainty that affection alone could evermake him think of her, lessened upon this subject her suspicions everymoment.
Lady Euphrasia Pemberton, at last, rested most upon her mind, and shethought it probable some actual treaty was negociating with the Duke ofDerwent.
Mrs Delvile she had every reason to believe was her friend, though shewas scrupulously delicate in avoiding either raillery or observationupon the subject of her son, whom she rarely mentioned, and never butupon occasions in which Cecilia could have no possible interest.
The Father, therefore, notwithstanding all Mr Monckton had representedto the contrary, appeared to be the real obstacle; his pride mightreadily object to her birth, which though not contemptible, was merelydecent, and which, if traced beyond her grandfather, lost all title evento that epithet.
"If this, however," she cried, "is at last his situation, how muchhave I been to blame in censuring his conduct! for while to me he hasappeared capricious, he has, in fact, acted wholly from necessity; ifhis father insists upon his forming another connection, has he not beenhonourable, prudent and just, in flying an object that made him think ofdisobedience, and endeavouring to keep her ignorant of a partiality itis his duty to curb?"
All, therefore, that remained for her to do or to resolve, was to guardher own secret with more assiduous care than ever, and since she foundthat their union was by himself thought impossible, to keep from hisknowledge that the regret was not all his own.