Chapter 9 of the History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless, Volume 1. Contains such things as might be reasonably expected after the preceding adventure. When, in anything irregular and libel to censure more persons than one are concerned, how natural is it for each to accuse the other, and it often happens, in this case, that the greatest part of the blame falls on the least culpable. After Mr. Francis had left the ladies in order to be more fully convinced in the matter and to take such measures as he thought would best become him, for the reparation of the affront offered the honour of his family, Miss Flora began to reproach Miss Betsy for having related anything of what had passed to her brother. By your own account she said no harm was done to you, but some people loved to make a bustle about nothing. And some people, replied Miss Betsy tartly, love nothing but the gratification of their own passions, and having no sense of virtue and modesty themselves can have no regard to that of another. What do you mean, Miss? cried the other with a pert air. My meaning is pretty plain, rejoined Miss Betsy, but since you affect so much ignorance I must tell you, that the expectations of a second edition of the same work Mr. Galen had helped you to compose, though from another quarter, tempted you to sneak out of the room and leave your friend in danger of falling a sacrifice to what her soul most detests and scorns. These words stung Miss Flora to the quick. Her face was in an instant covered with a scarlet blush and every feature betrayed the confusion of her mind, but recovering herself from it much sooner than most others her age could have done. Good luck, crunchy, I fancy you are setting up for a prude, but pray, how came Mr. Galen into your head? What, because I told you he innocently romped with me one day in the chamber? Are you so censorious as to infer anything criminal past between us? Whatever I infer, replied Miss Betsy distantly, I have better vouchers for the truth of than your report and would advise you, when you go home, to get the chink in the panel of the wanescoat of my lady's dressing room stopped up, or your next rendezvous with that gentleman may possibly have witnesses of more ill nature than myself. That can scarcely be, said Miss Flora, ready to burst with vexation, but don't think I value your little malice. You are only angry because he slighted the advances you made him and took all opportunities to show how much his heart and judgment gave the preference to me. These words so picked the vanity of Miss Betsy, that not able to bear she should continue in the imagination of being better liked than herself, though even by the man she hated, told her the solicitations he had made to her, the letter she had received of him, and the rebuff she had given him upon it. So that pursued she. It was not till after he found there was no hope of gaining me that he carried his desires to you. Miss Flora was more netled at this than she was at the discovery she now perceived the other had made of her intrigue. She pretended, however, not to believe a word of what she had said, but willing to evade all further discourse on that had returned to the adventure they had just gone through with the oxonians. Never expect she had she to pass it upon any one of common sense, that if you had not a mind to have been alone with that terrible man, as you now describe him, you would have stayed in the room after I was gone, and called to you to follow. It was in vain that Miss Betsy denied she had either heard her speak or knew anything of her departure, till some time after she was gone, and the gentleman commoner began to use her with such familiarities as convinced her he was sensible no witnesses were present. This, though no more than truth, was of no consequence to her justification, to one determined to believe the worst, or at least seemed to do so. Miss Flora treated with contempt all she said on this score, derided her implications, and, to mortify her the more, said to her in a taunting manner. Come, come, Miss Betsy, tis a folly, to think to impose upon the world by such shallow artifices, what your inclinations are is evident enough any one may see, that if it had not been for your brother's unseasonable interruption, nobody would ever have heard a word of these insults you now so heavily complain of. Poor Miss Betsy could not refrain from letting fall some tears at so unjust and cruel an innuendo, but the greatness of her spirit enabled her in a few moments to overcome the shock it had given her. She returned reproaches with reproaches, and as she had infinitely more of truth and reason on her side, had also much the better in this combat of tongues. Nevertheless, the other would not give out. She up braided and exaggerated, with the utmost malicious comments on every little indiscretion Miss Betsy had been guilty of, repeated every censor which she had heard the ill-natured part of the world pass upon her conduct, and added many more, the invention of her own fertile brain. Some ladies they had made acquaintance with in town coming to visit them, put an end to the debate, but neither being able presently to forget the bitter reflections cast on her by the other both remained extremely sullen the whole night, and their mutual ill humor might possibly have lasted much longer, but for an accident more material which took off their attention as it might have produced much worse consequences than any quarrel between themselves could be attended with. It happened in this manner. The brother of Miss Betsy was of a fiery disposition, and though those who were entrusted with the care of his education were not wanting in their pains to correct this propensity which they thought would be the more unbecoming in him as he was intended for the pulpit, yet did not their endeavours for that purpose meet with all the success they wished. Nature may be moderated, but never can be wholly changed. The seeds of wrath still remained in his soul, nor could the rudiments that had been given him be sufficient to hinder them from springing into action when urged by any provocation. The treatment his sister had received from the gentleman commoner seemed to him so justifiable a one that he thought he ought not without great submissions on the part of the transgressor be prevailed upon to put up with it. The first step he took was to sound the young student as to what he knew relating to the affair, who freely told him, as Miss Betsy herself had done where they met the ladies in the manner in which they went into the house, protesting that neither himself, nor according to the best of his belief the gentleman commoner had at that time any designs in view, but mere complacence and gallantry. How then came you to separate yourselves, cried Mr. Francis, with some earnestness? That also was accidental, replied the other, your sister's companion telling me she liked the garden better than the room we were in. I thought I could do none less than attend her thither. I confess I did not consult whether those we left behind had any inclination to follow us or not. The air with which he spoke of this part of the adventure had something in it which did not give Mr. Francis the most favourable idea of Miss Flores' conduct, but that not much conquering him, and finding nothing wherewith he could justly reproach the student he soon after quitted him, and went to the gentleman commoner having been told he might find him in his rooms. Had anyone been witness of the manner in which these two accosted each other they would not have been at a loss to guess what would ensue. The brother of Miss Betsy came with a mind full of resentment and determined to repair the affront that had been offered to him in the person of a sister, who was very dear to him, by calling the other to a severe account for what he had done. The gentleman commoner was descended of a noble family and had an estate to support the dignity of his birth, and was too much puffed up and insolent on the smiles of fortune. He was conscious the affront he had given demanded satisfaction, and neither doubted of the errand on which Mr. Francis was come nor wondered at it, but could not bring himself to acknowledge he had done a miss, nor think of making any excuse for his behaviour. Guilt in a proud heart is generally accompanied with a sullen obstinacy for, as the poet says, forgiveness to the injured does belong, but they nare pardon who have done the wrong. He therefore received the interrogatories Mr. Francis was beginning to make with an air rather indignant than complying, which the other, not being able to brook, such hot words arose between them as could not but occasion a challenge, which was given by Mr. Francis. The appointment to meet was the next morning at six o'clock, and the place, that very field in which the gentleman commoner and his friend had so unluckily happened to meet the ladies in their morning walk. Neither of them wanted courage nor communicated their rendezvous to any one person in hopes of being disappointed without danger of their honour, but each being equally animated with the ambition of humbling the arrogance of the other both were secret as to the business, and no less punctual as to the time. The agreement between them was sword and pistol, which both having provided themselves with, they no sooner came within a proper distance than they discharged at one another. The first course of this fatal entertainment, that of the gentleman commoner, was so well aimed that one of the bullets lodged in the shoulder, and the other grazing on the fleshy part of the arm of his antagonist, put him into a great deal of pain. But these wounds rather increased than diminished the fury he was possessed of. He instantly drew his sword and ran at the other was so well directed a force, that his weapon entered three inches deep into the right side of the gentleman commoner. Both of them received several other hurts, yet both still continued to fight with equal vehemence, nor would either of them in all probability have receded, till one or the other of them had lain dead upon the place, if some countrymen who by accident were passing that way had not, with their clubs, beat down the swords of both and carried the owners of them by mere force into the village they were going to, where they were no sooner entered than several people who knew them seeing them pass by in this manner, covered all over with their own blood and guarded by a pack of rustics, ran out to inquire what had happened, which being informed of, they took them out of the hands of these men and provided proper apartments for them. By this time they were both extremely faint, through the anguish of their wounds, and the great effusion of blood that had issued from them. Surgeons were immediately sent for, who, in examining their hurts, pronounced none of them to be mortal, yet, such as would require some time for cure. Mr. Francis suffered extreme torture in having the bullet extracted from his shoulder, yet notwithstanding that, and the weak condition he was in, he made a servant support him in his bed, while he scrawled out these few lines to his sister, which as soon as finished were carried to her by the same person. To Miss Betsy Thoughtless, my dear sister, I have endangered my life and am now confined to my bed by the wounds I have received in endeavouring to revenge your quarrel. Do not think I tell you this by way of reproach, for I assure you, with the circumstance of the affair have permitted it to have been concealed, you never should have known it. I should be glad to see you, but think it not proper that you should come to me, till I hear what is said concerning this matter I shall send to you every day, and that you will be perfectly easy is the earnest request of, dear Betsy, your most affectionate brother, and humble servant, F. Thoughtless. The young ladies were that morning at breakfast in the parlor with the gentlewoman of the house when the maid came running in and told her mistress she had heard in a shop where she had been of a sad accident that had just happened. Two gentlemen cried she of the university had been fighting and almost killed one another, and they say, continued she, it was about a young lady that one of them attempted to ravish. Miss Betsy and Miss Flora at this intelligence looked at each other with a good deal of confusion, already beginning to suspect who the persons were and how deeply themselves, one of them especially, was interested in this misfortune. The gentlewoman asked her servant if she knew the names of those who fought. No, madam, answered she, I could not learn that as yet, but the people in the street are all talking of it, and I doubt not, but I shall hear the whole story the next time I go out.  The persons on whom she directed this discourse would not at another time have given much ear to it, or perhaps have replied to it with railry, but the occasion of it now put both of them in too serious a temper to offer any interruption. And she was still going on, invading against the follies and vices of the age when Miss Betsy received the above letter from her brother, which confirmed all those alarming conjectures the maids report raised in her mind. The mistress of the house, perceiving the young man who brought the letter, came upon business to the ladies, had the good manners to leave the room that they might talk with the greater freedom. Miss Betsy asked a thousand questions, but he was unable to inform her of no farther particulars than what the letter contained. The moment he was gone she ran up to her chamber, threw herself upon the bed, and in a flood of tears gave loose to the most poignant vexation she had ever yet experienced. Miss Flora followed, and seeing her in this condition thought she could do no less in decency, than contribute everything in her power for her consolation. By the behaviour of this young lady in other respects, however, the reader will easily perceive it was more through policy than real good nature she treated her afflicted companion with the tenderness she did now. She knew that it was not by an open quarrel with Miss Betsy she could wreck any part of the spite she had conceived against her, and was therefore glad to lay hold of this opportunity to be reconciled. I was afraid, my dear Sachi, that it would come to this, and that put me in so great a passion with you yesterday for telling Mr. Francis anything of the matter. The men are such creatures that there is no trusting them with anything, but come, continued she, kissing her cheek, don't grieve and torment yourself in this manner. You find there is no danger of death on either side, and, as for the rest, it will all blow off in time. Miss Betsy said little to this. The sudden passion of her soul must have its vent, but when that was over she began to listen to the voice of comfort and, by degrees, to resume her natural vivacity, not foreseeing that this unhappy adventure would lay her under mortifications which to a person of her spirit were very difficult to be born. End of Chapter 9. Reading by Joyce Martin. Chapter 10 of the History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless. Volume 1 by Eliza Haywood. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ginger Kukalo. Gives the catastrophe of the Oxford Ramble, and in what manner the young ladies returned to London. If the wounds Mr. Francis had received had been all the misfortune attending Miss Betsy in this adventure, it is probable that, as she every day heard he was in a fair way of recovery, the first gust of passion would have been all she had sustained. But she soon found other consequences arising from it which were no less afflicting and more galling to her pride. The quarrel between the two young gentlemen and the occasion of it was presently blazed over the whole town. It spread like wildfire. Every one made their several comments upon it, and few there were who endeavored to find any excuse for the share Miss Betsy and Miss Flora had in it. The ladies of Oxford are commonly more than ordinarily circumspect in their behavior, as indeed it behooves them to be in a place where there are such a number of young gentlemen, many of whom pursue pleasure more than study, and scruple nothing for the gratification of their desires. It is not therefore to be wondered at that being from their infancy trained up in the most strict reserve and accustomed to be upon their guard against even the most distant approaches of the other sex, they should be apt to pass a severe censures on a conduct which they had been always taught to look upon as a sure destruction of reputation and frequently fatal to innocence and virtue. This being pretty generally the characteristic of those ladies who were of any distinction in Oxford, Miss Betsy and Miss Flora immediately found that while they continued there they must either be content to sit at home alone or converse only with such as were as disagreeable to them as they had now rendered themselves to those of a more unblemished fang. They had received several visits, all of which they had not yet had time or leisure to return, but now going to pay the debt which compliance demanded from them they were denied access at every place they went to. All the persons were either abroad or indisposed, but the manner in which these answers were given easily convinced Miss Betsy and Miss Flora that they were no more than mere pretenses to avoid seeing them. In the public walks and in passing through the streets they saw themselves shunned even to a degree of rudeness. Those of their acquaintance who they were obliged to meet them looked another way and went hastily on without vouchsafing a salute. This was a treatment their late unhappy adventure drew on them from those of their own sex, nor did those of the others seem to behave to them with greater tenderness or respect, especially the younger students who all having got the story thought they had a fine opportunity of exercising their poetic talents. Satires and lampoons flew about like hail. Many of these anonymous compositions were directed to Miss Betsy and thrown over the rails into the area of the house where she lodged. Others were sung under the windows by persons in disguise and copies of them handed about throughout the whole town to the great propagation of scandal and the sneering faculty. Never certainly did pride of vanity meet with a more severe humiliation than what these witticisms inflicted on those who by their inconsiderate behavior had laid themselves open to them. Neither the assurance of Miss Flora nor the great spirit of Miss Betsy could enable them to stand the shock of those continual affronts which every day presented them with. They dreaded to expose themselves to fresh insults if they stirred out of the doors and at home they were persecuted with the unwirried remonstrances of their grave landlady so that their condition was truly pitiable. Both of them were equally impatient to get out of a place where they found their company was held in so little estimation. But Miss Betsy thought her brother would not take it well should she go to London and leave him in the condition he then was. Miss Flora's importunities however joined to the new occasion she every day had for increasing her discontent on staying, got the better of her apprehension, and she wrote to her brother in the following terms. To Mr. Francis Thoughtless. Dear brother, though I am not to my great affliction permitted to see you or offer that assistance which might be expected from a sister in your present situation, yet I cannot without the extremist regret resolve to quit Oxford before you are perfectly recovered of those hurts you have received on my account. However, as by your judging it is proper for me to come to you, I cannot suppose you are wholly unacquainted with the severe usage lately given me and must look on every affront offered to me as an indignity to you. I am apt to flatter myself you will not be offended that I wish to remove from a place where innocence is no defense against scandal and the show of virtue more considered than reality. Nevertheless I shall determine nothing till I hear your sentiments which, if I find conformable to mine, shall set out for London with all possible expedition. I would very feign see you before I go, and if you consent, will come to you so muffled up as not to be known by any who may happen to meet me. I shall expect your answer with the utmost impatience, being, my dear brother, by friendship as well as blood, most affectionately yours, ye thoughtless. When this letter was dispatched, Miss Florin made use of all the arguments she was mistress of in order to persuade Miss Betsy to go for London, even in case her brothers should not be altogether so willing for it, as she wished he would. Miss Betsy, though no less eager than herself to be out of a place she now so much detested, would not be prevailed upon to promise anything on this score, but persisted in her resolution of being wholly directed how to proceed by the answer she should receive from Mr. Francis. Miss Florin was so fretted at this perverseness, as she called it, that she told her, in a very great pet, that she might stay if she pleased, and be the laughing stock of the town, but, for her own part, she had more spirit, and would be gone the next day. Miss Betsy coolly replied that if she thought proper to do so, she would doubtless at liberty, but believed Mr. Goodman and even Lady Melisyn herself would look on such a behavior as neither consistent with generosity or common good manners. It is indeed scarce probable that the other had the least intention to do, as she had said, though she still continued to threaten it in the most positive and preemptory terms, and this, if we consider the temper of both these young ladies, we may reasonably suppose, might have occasioned a second quarrel between them, if the servant, who Mr. Francis always sent to his sister, had not that instant come in and put an end to the disputes by delivering a letter to Miss Betsy, which she hastily opening. To Miss Thoughtless, my dear sister, it is with an inexpressible satisfaction that I find your own inclinations have anticipated the request I was just about to make you. I do assure you, the moment I received your letter, I was going to write, in order to persuade you to do the very thing you seem to desire. Oxford is indeed a very sensorous place. I have always observed it to be so, and have frequently told the ladies, between jest and earnest, that I thought it was a town of the most scandal and least sin of any in the world. I am pretty confident some of those who pretend to give themselves airs concerning you and Miss Flora are as perfectly convinced of your innocence as I myself am, yet after all that has happened I would not have you think of staying, and the sooner you depart the better. You need be under no apprehensions on account of my wounds. Those I receive from the sword of my antagonists are in a manner healed, and that with the pistol shot in my shoulder is in as fine a way as can be expected in so short a time. Those I had the fortune to give him are in a yet better condition, so that I believe it was not for the overcaution of our surgeon we might both quit our rooms tomorrow. I hear that our grave superiors have had some consultations on our duel, and that there is a talk of our being both expelled. But for my part I shall certainly save them the trouble, and quit the university of my own accord as soon as my recovery is completed. My genius is by no means adapted to the study of divinity. I think the care of my own soul more than sufficient for me, without taking upon me the charge of a whole parish. You may therefore expect to see me shortly at London, as it is highly necessary I should consult Mr. Goodman concerning my future settlement in the world. I should be extremely glad of a visit from you before you leave Oxford, more especially as I have something of moment to say to you, which I do not choose to communicate by letter, but cannot thank it at all proper for particular reasons that you should come to me, some or other of the gentlemen being perpetually dropping into my chamber, and it is impossible for you to disguise yourself so as not to be distinguished by young fellows, whose curiosity would be the more excited by your endeavors to conceal yourself. As this might revive the discourse of an affair, which could wish might be buried in an eternal oblivion, must desire you will defer the satisfaction you propose to give me till we meet at London, to which I wish you, and your fair companion, a safe and pleasant journey. I am with the greatest tenderness, my dear sister. Your affectionate brother, F. Thoughtless. The receipt of this letter gave an infinity of contentment to Miss Betsy. She had made the offer of going to take her leave of him, chiefly with the view of keeping him from suspecting she wanted natural affection, and was no less pleased with his refusing the request she made him on that account. Then she was, with his so readily agreeing to her returning to London. Miss Flora was equally delighted. They sent their footmen that instant to take places in the stagecoach, and early the next morning set out from a place which, on their entering into it, they did not imagine they should quit, either so soon or with so little regret. End of CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. OF THE HISTORY OF Miss Betsy. If, by any means, he could prevent him from taking so rash and inconsiderate a step. And as to his being expelled he doubted not, but between him and Sir Ralph interest might be made to the heads of the university to get the affair of the duel passed over. The greatest difficulty he had to apprehend in compassing this point was from the young gentleman himself, who he had observed was of a temper somewhat obstinate and tenacious of his own opinion. Resolving, however, to try all means possible, he wrote immediately to him, representing to him in the strongest and most pathetic terms he was master of, the vast advantages the clergy enjoyed, the respect they had from all degrees of people, and endeavour to convince him that there was no abocation whatever by which a younger brother might so easily advance his fortune and do honour to his family. He also sent a letter to Sir Ralph Trustee, acquainting him with a whole story and earnestly requesting that he would write to Mr. Francis and admit nothing that might engage him to desist from doing a thing so contrary to his interest and the intention of his deceased father, as what he now had thoughts of doing was manifestly so. These efforts, by both the guardians, were often repeated but without the least success. The young gentleman found arguments to oppose against theirs which neither of them could deny to have weight, particularly that of his having no call to take upon him holy orders. During these debates in which Miss Betsy gave herself no matter of concern she received a letter from her brother containing these lines. To Miss Betsy thoughtless, my dear sister, though I flatter myself all my letters, afford you some sort of satisfaction, yet by what little judgment I have been able to form of the temper of your sex. Have reason to believe this, I now send, will meet a double portion of welcome from you. It brings a confirmation of your beauty's power, the intelligence of a new conquest, the offer of a heart which, if you will trust a brother's recommendation, is well deserving your acceptance, but that I may not seem to speak in riddles. You may remember that the first time I had the pleasure of entertaining you at my rooms a gentleman called Trueworth was with us, and that the next day when you dined with that person, who afterward treated you with such unbecoming liberties, he made one of the company. Since then you could not see him as he was obliged to go to his seat, which is about thirty miles off on an extraordinary occasion and return not till the day after you left this town. He seemed more than ordinarily affected on my telling him what had happened on your account, and after pausing a little. How unhappy was I, said he, to be absent? Had I been there there would have been no need for the brother of Miss Betsy to have exposed his life to the sort of an injurious antagonist or his character to the censure of the university. I would have taken upon myself to have avenged the quarrel of that amiable lady and either have severely chastened the intolerance of the aggressor, or lost the best part of my blood in the attempt. I was very much surprised at these words as well as the emphasis with which they were delivered, but recovering myself as soon as I could. We are extremely obliged to you, sir, said I, but I know not if such a mistake in generosity might not have been fatal to the reputation of us both. What would the world had said of me to have been tamely passive and suffer another to revenge the affront offered to my sister? What would they have thought of her on finding her honor vindicated by one who had no concern in it? No concern, cried he, with the utmost eagerness. Yes, I have a concern more deep, more strong than that of father, brother, or all the ties a blood could give, and that you had before now had been convinced of had I not been so subtly and so unfortunately called hence. Perceiving I looked very much astounded as well I might. Ah, Frank, cried he, I love your charming sister. My friends have, for these last six months, been teasing me to think of marriage and several proposals have been made to me on that score, but never till I saw the amiable Miss Betsy did I behold the face for whom I would exchange my liberty. In fine, tis she and only she can make me blessed, and I return to Oxford full of the hopes of an opportunity to lay my heart, my person, and my fortune at her feet. It would require a volume, instead of a letter, to repeat half the tender and passionate expressions he uttered in your favor. What I have already said is enough to give you a specimen of the rest. I shall only add that, being impatient to begin the attack he is determined to make upon your heart he is preparing to follow you to London with all possible expedition. I once had thoughts of accompanying him, but have since thought it proper to have Sir Ralph Trustee's advice in something I have a mind to do, and for that purpose shall take a journey into Liverpool, as soon as I receive remittances from Mr. Goodman to pay off some trifling debts I have contracted here, and to fray my travelling expenses. So that if things happen as I wish they may, my friend's passion will have made a considerable progress before I see you. Indeed, my dear sister, if you have not already seen a man whose person you like better, you could never have an offer that promises more felicity. He left the college soon after I came into it, beloved and respected by all that knew him, for his discreet behavior, humanity, and affability. He went afterwards on his travels and brought home with him all the accomplishments of the several countries he had been in, without being the least tainted with the vices or properties of any of them. He has a much larger estate than your fortune could expect, unencumbered with debts, mortgages, or poor relations. His family is ancient and, by the mother's side, honorable, but above all, he has sense, honor, and good nature, rare qualities which, in my opinion, cannot fail of making him an excellent husband whenever he comes to be such. But I shall leave him to plead his own cause, and you to follow your own inclinations. I am, with the most unfaithful good wishes, my dear sister, your affectionate brother and humble servant, affautless. P.S. Mr. Trueworth knows nothing of my writing to you on his behalf, so you are at liberty to receive him as you shall think proper. Miss Betsy required no less accordion than this to revive her spirits, very much depressed since her ill-usage at Oxford. She had not time, however, to indulge the pleasure of reflecting on this new triumph on her first receiving the news of it. Lady Melisyn had set that evening apart to make a grand visit to a person of her acquaintance, who was just married. The young ladies were to accompany her, and Miss Betsy was in the midst of the hurry of dressing when the post brought the letter, so she only looked at carelessly over and locked it in her cabinet till she should have more leisure for the examination. They were all ready. The coach with the best hammock cloth and harnesses was at the door, and only waited while Miss Prinks was drawing on her ladies' clothes, which happened to be a little too tight. In this unlucky instant one of the footmen came running into the parlor and told Lady Melisyn that there was a very ill-looking woman at the door who inquired for her ladieship, and that she must need speak with her, and that she had a letter to deliver which she would give into nobody's hand but her own. Lady Melisyn seemed a little angry at the insolence and folly of the creature as she then termed it, but ordered she should be showed into the back parlor. They were not about five minutes together before the woman went away, and Lady Melisyn returned to the room where Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were waiting for her. A confusion not to be described sad on every feature in her face. She looked pale. She trembled. And having told the ladies something had happened, which prevented her from going where she intended, she flew up into her dressing-room, followed by Mrs. Prinks, who appeared very much alarmed at seeing her ladieship in this disorder. Miss Betsy and Miss Flora were also surprised, and doubtless had their own conjectures upon this sudden turn. It is not likely, however, that either of them, especially Miss Betsy, could hit upon the right, but whatever their thoughts were, they communicated them not to each other, and seemed only intent on considering on what matter they should dispose of themselves that evening. It not being proper, they should make the visit above mentioned without her ladieship. As they were discoursing on this head, Mrs. Prinks came down, and having ordered the coach to be put up, and sent a footman to call a hack, ran upstairs again in a great hurry to her lady. In less time than could be almost imagined, they both came down. Lady Mellison had pulled off her rich apparel, and had mocked herself up in a cloak and hood. That little of her face and nothing of her hair could be distinguished. The two young ladies stared, and were cobbfounded at the metamorphosis. Is your ladieship going out in that dress, cried Miss Flora, but Miss Betsy said nothing. I, child, replied the ladies somewhat, faltering in her speech. A poor relation, who they say is dying, has sent to beg to see me. She said, no more. The hackney coach was calm. Her ladieship and Mrs. Prinks stepped hastily into it, the latter in doing so telling the coachmen in so low a voice as nobody but himself could hear to what place he was to drive. After they were gone, Miss Flora proposed walking in the park. But Miss Betsy did not happen to be in a humor to go either there or anywhere else at that time, on which the other told her she had got the spleen, but said she, I am resolved not to be infected with it, so you must not take it ill if I leave you alone for a few hours, for I should think it a sin against common sense to sit moping at home without showing myself to any one soul in the world after having taken all this pain in dressing. Miss Betsy assured her, as she might do with a great deal of sincerity, that she should not at all be displeased to be entirely free from any company whatsoever for the whole evening, and to prove the truth of what she said gave orders that instant to be denied to whoever should come to visit her. Well, crime is flora-lapping, I shall give your compliments, however, where I am going, and then mention the names of some person she had just then taken into her head to visit.  They talked to each other in this pleasant manner till a chair Miss Flora had sent for was brought into the hall in which she seated herself for her intended ramble, and Miss Betsy went into her chamber, where, how she was amused, will presently be shown. End of CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. For the words which Miss Flora had let fall to Mr. Trueworth concerning Miss Betsy seemed as if spoken by mere chance, they were couched under them, a design of the most black and villainous kind that ever entered the breast of woman, as will presently appear to the astonishment of every reader. In order to do this we must relate an incident in Miss Betsy's life not hitherto mentioned, and which happened some little time before her going to Oxford with her brother Frank. On her first coming to town a woman had been recommended to her, for starching and making up her fine linen. This person she had ever since employed and took a great fancy to, as she found her honest, industrious, and very obliging. The poor creature was unhappily married, her husband was gone from her, and had listed himself for a soldier, being born in a distant country she had no relations to whom she could apply for assistance, was big with child, and had no support but the labour of her hands. These calamitous circumstances so much touched the commiserative nature of Miss Betsy that she frequently gave her double the sum she demanded for her work, and besides bestowing on her many things she left off wearing, which though trifles in themselves were very helpful to a person in such distresses. Miss Mabel, for whom she also worked at the same time, was no less her patroness than Miss Betsy. In fine they were both extremely kind to her, in so much as made her often cry out in a transport of gratitude that these two good young ladies were worth to her all the customers she had besides. They continued to prove themselves so, indeed for when her child was born which happened to be a girl they stood god-mothers and not only gave handsomely themselves, but raised a contribution among their acquaintance for the support of the lying-in woman and her infant. The former, however, did not long enjoy the blessing of two such worthy friends. She died before the expiration of her month, and the latter, being holy destitute, was about to be thrown upon the parish. Some well-disposed neighbor who knew how kind Miss Mabel and Miss Betsy had been came and acquainted them with the melancholy story. They consulted together, and each reflecting that she had undertaken the protection of this infant at the font, thought herself bound by duty to preserve it from those hardships with which children thus exposed are sometimes treated. They therefore, as they were equally engaged, agreed to join equally in the maintenance of this innocent forlorn. This was a rare charity, indeed, and few there are, especially at their years, who so justly considered the obligations of a baptismal covenant. It was also the more to be admired as neither of them had the incomes of their fortunes in their own hands, the one being under guardianship and the other at the allowance of a father who, though rich, was extremely avaricious. As they were therefore obliged to be good economists, in this point, and nurses in the country are to be had at a much cheaper rate than in town, they got a person to seek out for one who would not be unreasonable in her demands, and at the same time do justice to her charge. Such a one, according to the character given of her by neighbors being found, the child decently clothed was sent down to her habitation, which was in a little village about seventeen miles from London. For the sake of concealing the part Miss Mabel had in this affair from the knowledge of her father, it was judged proper that Miss Betsy should seem to take the hole upon herself, which she did. And the nurse's husband came up every month and received the money from her hands, as also whatever other necessaries the child wanted. Who would imagine that such a glorious act of benevolence should ever be made a handle to seduce and vilify the author? Yet what cannot malice accompanied with cunning do? It can give the fairest virtue the appearance of the foulest vice and pervert the just estimation of the world into a mistaken scorn and contempt. Miss Flora, after receiving the disappointment, as related in the sixth chapter of this volume, was far from dissisting from the wicked design she had conceived of putting an end to the intercourse between Miss Betsy and Mr. Trueworth. Her fertile brain presented her with a thousand stratagems which she rejected either as they were too weak to accomplish what she wished, or too libel to discovery, till at last she hit upon the most detestable project of representing what proceeded from the noblest propensity of Miss Betsy's nature as the effect of a criminal compulsion, in fine to make it appear so feasible as to be believed that the child who o'd have its maintenance to her charity was entirely kept by herself and the offspring of her own body. Having well weighed and deliberated on this matter, it seemed to her, such as Mr. Trueworth on the most strict examination could not discover the deception of, she therefore resolved to pursue it and accordingly wrote the following letter. To Charles Trueworth Esquire, sir, the friendship I had for some of your family now deceased and the respect due to your own character in particular, obliges me to acquaint you with truths more disagreeable than perhaps you ever yet have heard.  I am informed by those who are most verified in your affairs, and on whose veracity I may depend, that a treaty of marriages on foot and almost as good as concluded between you and Miss Betsy Thoughtless. A young lady I must confess well descended, handsome and endued with every accomplishment to attract the admiration of mankind, and if her soul had the least conformity with her exterior charms, you doubtless might have been one of the most happy and most envied men on earth. But sir, this seeming innocence is all a cheat. There has been before hand with you in the joys you covet. Your intended bride has been a mother without the pleasure of owning herself as such. The product of a shameful passion is still living, and though she uses the greatest caution in this affair I have by accident discovered is now nursed at Denham, a small village within two miles of Uxbridge by a gardener's wife, who is called by the country people Goody Bustman. I give you this particular account in order that you may make what equity you shall think proper into a fact, which I am sorry to say you will find but too real. I pity from my soul the unfortunate seducing young lady. She must be doubly miserable if by having lost her virtue she loses a husband such as you. But if after this you should think fit to prosecute your pretensions, I wish she may endeavour by her future conduct to atone for the errors of the past, but alas her present manner of behavior affords no such promising expectations. And if you should let your honour and fortune and all that is dear to you against so precarious a stake as the hope of reclaiming a woman of her temper, it must certainly fill all your friends with astonishment and grief. But you are yourself the best judge of what it will become you to do.  She would not trust the success of the mischief she intended by this letter till she had examined and re-examined every sentence, and finding it altogether such as she thought would work the desired effect got one who was always her ready agent in matters of this kind to copy it over in order to prevent any accident from discovering the real author, and then sent it as directed by the penny-post. How far the event answered her expectations shall very shortly be related, but incidents of another nature requiring to be first mentioned the gratification of that curiosity which this may have exited must, for a while, be deferred. CHAPTER XIII Is the recital of some accidents as little possible to be foreseen by the reader as they were by the persons to whom they happened. In youth, when the blood runs high and the spirits are in full vivacity, affection must come very heavy indeed, when it makes any deep or lasting impression on the mind. That vexation which Miss Betsy had brought upon herself by going to the play with Miss Forward was severe enough the whole night and the ensuing day, a great while it must be confessed for a person of her volatile disposition, and when the more violent emotions had subsided, the terror she had lately sustained had at least this good effect upon her. It made her resolve to take all possible precautions not to fall into the like danger again. As she had an infinite deal of generosity in her nature, when not obscured by her pride and vanity which the flatteries she had been but too much accustomed to had inspired her with, she could not reflect how ill she had treated Mr. Trueworth, and the little regard she had paid to the tender concern he had shown her for her reputation, without thinking she ought to ask his pardon and acknowledge she had been in the wrong. If Mr. Trueworth could have known the humor she was at present in, how readily would he have flown to her with all the wings of love and kind forgiveness. But as he had not the spirit of divination and could only judge of her sentiments by her behavior, it was not in his power to conceive how great a change had happened in his favor through a just sensibility of her own error. She in the meantime little imagined how far he resented the treatment she had given him, especially as she heard he had been to wait upon her the day in which she saw no company, and after having passed a night of much more tranquility than the former had been, went down in the morning to breakfast with her usual cheerfulness. She had not been many minutes in the parlor before she was agreeably surprised with the sight of her elder brother, Mr. Francis Thoughtless, who, it seems, had arrived the night before. After the first welcomes were over Mr. Goodman asked him, wherefore he did not come directly to his house, saying he had always a spare bed to accommodate a friend, to which the other replied that he had come from Paris, with some company whom he could not quit, and that they had lain at the humums. This Betsy was extremely transported at his return and said a thousand obliging things to him, all which he answered with more politeness than tenderness. And this young lady soon perceived by this specimen of his behavior to her that she was not to expect the same affection from him as she had received so many proofs of from her younger brother. His long absence from England and some attachments he had found abroad had indeed very much taken off that warmth of kindness he would doubtless otherwise have felt for an only sister, and one who appeared so worthy of his love. As Mr. Goodman had acquainted him by letter that he had hired a house for him, according to his request the chief of their conversation turned on that subject, and as soon as breakfast was over they took a walk together to see it. On their return he seemed very much pleased with the choice Mr. Goodman had made. And the little time he stayed was entirely taken up with consulting Lady Mellison, his sister, and Miss Flora concerning the matter in which she should ornament it, for the honest guardian had taken care to provide all such furniture as he thought would be necessary for a single gentleman. No entreaties were wanting to prevail on him to make that house his home till his own was thoroughly aired and in all respects fit for him to go into, but he excused himself saying he could not leave the friends he had traveled with till they were provided for as well as himself, nor could all Mr. Goodman and the Lady's urge persuade him to dine with them that day. It must be acknowledged that this positive refusal of everything that was desired of him had not in it all that complacence which might have been expected from a person just come from among a people more famous for their politeness than their sincerity. But he had his own reasons which the family of Mr. Goodman has yet were far from suspecting which made him act in the manner he now did, and it was not in reality the want of French breeding but the want of true old English resolution that enforced this seeming negligence and abruptness. After he was gone Mr. Goodman went to change, but was scare centered into the walk where he had appointed to meet some merchants when he was accosted by two rough ill-looking fellows who demanded his sword and told him they had a writ against him and that he was their prisoner and must go with them. Mr. Goodman, who had as little reason as any man living to suspect an insult of this nature, only smiled and told them they were mistaken in their person. No, no, said one of them, we are right enough if you are Mr. Samuel Goodman. My name is Samuel Goodman, replied he, but I do not know that it stands in any man's books for debt, but pray, continued he, at whose suit am I arrested? At the suit of Mr. Oliver Marlplus, said the other officer, I have no dealings with any such person, cried Mr. Goodman, or even ever heard the name of him you mention. They then told him it was his business to prove that, they did but do their duty, and he must obey the writ. Mr. Goodman, on this, knowing they were not the persons with whom this matter should be contested, readily went where they conducted him, which was, to a house belonging to him who appeared to be the principal of the two.  The officer, knowing his condition, and not doubting that he should have a handsome present for civility money, used him with a great deal of respect. When he had got him into his house, and on his desiring to be informed of the lawyer's name employed in the action, he immediately told him, and also for what some he was arrested, which was no less than two thousand five hundred and seventy-five pounds eight shillings. A pretty partial of money truly, said Mr. Goodman, I wonder in what dream I contracted this debt. He then called for pen ink and paper, and wrote a line to his lawyer in the temple, desiring him to go to the other, who, they said, was concerned against him, and find out the truth of this affair. The honest old gentleman, having sent this letter by his servant, called for something to eat, and was extremely factious and pleasant with the officers, not doubting but that what had happened was occasioned through some mistake or other, and should immediately be discharged when the thing was inquired into. But his present good humor was changed into one altogether the reverse, when his own lawyer, accompanied by him who was engaged for his adversary, came to him, and told him there was no remedy but to give bail, that the suit commenced against him was on account of a bond given by Lady Mellison to Mr. Oliver Marlpus, some few days previous to her marriage. It is hard to say whether surprise or rage was most predominant in the soul of this much injured husband, and so shocking a piece of intelligence. He demanded to see the bond which a request being granted, he found it not, as he at first flattered himself a forgery, but signed by his own wife's hand, and witnessed by Mrs. Pranks, her woman, and another person whom he knew not. It is certain that no confusion ever exceeded that of Mr. Goodman's at this time. He sat like one transfixed with thunder, was wholly incapable of uttering one syllable. He appeared to the company, as lost in thought, but was indeed almost past the power of thinking, till his lawyer roused him with these words. Come, sir, said he. You see how the case stands, there is no time to be lost, you must either pay the money down, or get immediate securities, for I suppose you would not choose to be here tonight. This seasonable admonition brought him a little to himself. He now began to reflect what it would best become him to do, and after a pause of some moments. I believe, said he, that I have now in my house more than the summon bills that would discharge this bond, but I would willingly hear what this woman has to say before I pay the money, and will therefore give in bail. Accordingly he sent for two citizens of Great Worth and Credit, to desire them to come to him. They instantly complied with the summons, and the whole affair being repeated to them, voluntarily offered to be his surities. Bail bonds were easily procured, but it took up some time in filling them up, and discharging the fees and other consequential expenses, that it was passed one o'clock before all was over, and Mr. Goodman had liberty to return to his own habitation. It was very seldom that Mr. Goodman stayed late abroad, but whenever anything happened that obliged him to do so, Lady Mellison, through the great affection she pretended to have for him, would never go to bed till his return. Miss Pranks, for the most part, was her sole companion in such cases, but it so fell out that this night neither of the two young ladies had any inclination to sleep. Miss Floreshead was full of the above-mentioned plot and the anxiety for its success, the remembrance of the last adventure of Miss Fowards was not yet quite dissipated in Miss Betsy. The coldness with which she imagined herself treated by her elder brother, with whom she had flattered herself of living and being very happy under his protection, gave her a good deal of uneasiness. To add to all these matters of disquiet, she had also received that afternoon a letter from Mr. Francis Thoughtless, acquainting her, that he had the misfortune to be so much bruised by a fall he got from Miss Horses that it was utterly impossible for him to travel, and she must not expect him in town for yet some days. The ladies were all together, sitting in the parlor, each choosing rather to indulge her own private meditations than to hold discourse with the others, when Mr. Goodman came home. Lady Mellison ran to embrace him with a show of the greatest tenderness. My dear Mr. Goodman, cried she! How much have I suffered from my fear, lest some ill accident should have befallen you? The worst that could have happened has befallen me, replied he, thrusting her from him, yet no more than what you might very reasonably expect would one day or another happen. What do you mean, my dear, said she, more alarmed at his words and looks than she may show up. You may too easily inform yourself what tis I mean, cried he hastily, on the retrospect of your behavior. I now find, but too late, how much I have been imposed upon. Did you not assure me, continued he, somewhat more mildly, that you were free from all incumbrances, but that girl whom, since our marriage, I have tendered as my own? And then, perceiving she answered nothing but looked pale and trembled, he repeated to her the affront he had received, which, said he, in all my dealings in the world, would never have happened but on your account. Though Lady Mellison had as much artifice and the power of dissimulation as any of her sex, yet she was at a loss thus taken unprepared, she hesitated, she stammered, and feign would have denied the having given any such bond, but finding the proofs too plain against her, she threw herself at his feet, wept, and conjured him to forgive the only deception she had practiced on him. It was a debt, said she, contracted by my former husband, which I knew not of, I thought the effects he left behind him were more than sufficient to have discharged whatever obligations he lander, and foolishly took out letters of administration. And the demand of Marlpus came not upon me till some time after. I then inconsiderately gave him my own bond, which he, however, promised not to put in force without previously acquainting me. This excuse was too weak, as well as all the affection Mr. Goodman had for her, to pacify the emotions of his just indignation. And pray, cried he in a voice divided between scorn and anger, of what advantage would have been to me your being previously acquainted with it? Could you have paid the money without robbing or defrauding me? No, madam, continuity, I shall, for the future, give credit to nothing you can say, and as I cannot be assured that this is the only misfortune I have to dread on your account, shall consider what steps I ought to take for my defense. In speaking these words he rung the bell for a servant, and ordered that bed to which he had invited Mr. Thoughtless, should that instant be made ready for himself. All the tears and entreaties of Lady Melisyn were in vain to make him recede from his resolution of lying alone that night, and as soon as he was told his orders were obeyed he flung out of the room saying, Madam, perhaps we never more may meet between a pair of sheets. Whether at that time he was determined to carry out his resentment so far or not is uncertain, but what happened very shortly after left him no other part to take than that which he had threatened. CHAPTER XIV Gives a full explanation of some passages which hitherto have seemed very dark and mysterious. This was a night of great confusion in Mr. Goodman's family. Lady Melisyn either was or pretended to be in fits. Miss Flora was called up soon after she went to bed, but Mr. Goodman himself would not be prevailed upon to rise, though told the condition his wife was in, and that she begged with the utmost earnestness to see him. This behavior in a husband lately so tender and affectionate is a proof not only that the greatest love once turned degenerates into its reverse, but also that the sweetest temper when too much provoked by injuries is not always the most easy to be reconciled. The perfect trust he had put in Lady Melisyn, the implicit faith he had given to all she said and the dependence he had on the love she had professed for him, made the deception she was now convicted of appear in worse colors than otherwise it would have done. The more he reflected on this ugly affair the more he was convinced of the hypocrisy of his wife in whom he had placed such confidence. We have been married near five years, said he to himself. How comes it past that the penalty of this bond was not in so long a time demanded? It must be that she has kept it off by large interest and forbearance money, and who knows how far my credit may be endangered for the raising of it? Tis likely that while I thought everything necessary for my family was purchased with ready money, it may stand indebted to all the tradesmen this wicked woman has had any dealings with. Nay, I cannot even assure myself that other obligations of the same kind with this I have already suffered for may not some time or other call upon me for their discharge. These disturbed meditations, instead of sleep, did he pass what was remaining of the night when he went to bed, yet he rose the next day full as early as he was accustomed to do after having enjoyed the best repose. The first thing he did was descend for as many of those tradespeople as he either knew himself or his servants could inform him had at any time sent goods into his house. On there presenting themselves before him he found more to his vexation than surprise, for he now expected the worst that all of them, even to those who supplied his kitchen, had bills of a long standing. He discharged all their several demands directly, and having taken a receipt in full from each of them, desired they would hence forward suffer no goods to be left within his stores without the value being paid on the delivery. Mr. Goodman had just dispatched the last of these people when he was told that a woman begged to speak to him, another creditor, I suppose, that he, and then ordered she should come in. As soon as she did so, well, Mistress cried, he's seeing her woman of a very plain appearance. What is it you require of me? Nothing, sir, said she, but you will permit me to acquaint you with a thing which it very much concerns you to be informed of. I should otherwise be an enemy to myself, resumed he, therefore pray speak what you have to say. I am, sir, said she, the unfortunate wife of one of the most wicked men upon earth, and by my being so have been compelled to be, in some measure, accessory to the injustice you have sustained. But I hope what I have to reveal will atone for my transgression. Mr. Goodman then desired she would sit down, and without any further prelude proceed to the business she came upon. The sum of what I have to relate, rejoined she, is that the bond on which you were yesterday arrested, and for the payment of which you have given security, is no more than an impudent fraud, but the particulars that prove it such cannot be very displeasing to you. However I shall make no apology for relating them, as the perfect knowledge of the whole transaction may put you in a way to prevent all future injuries of the like nature. My husband, whose name is Oliver Marlpus, continued she, had the honour of waiting on a nobleman belonging to court, when Sir Solomon Mellison had a post there. His lady now unhappily, yours, took a fancy to him and entered into a criminal conversation with him, sometime before her husband's death, and has ever since, unless very lately broke off, continued it. On my first discovering it, he begged me to be easy, and reminded me that as he had nothing at present to depend upon, having lost his place, but her ladyship's bounty, I ought to wink at it, and be content that she should share his person, since I shared in the benefits arising from her intercourse. I, knowing his temper too well, not to know that any opposition I could make would be in vain, and feeling no other remedy, was obliged to feign a consent to what the love I had then for him rendered most terrible to me. Thus we went on, her ladyship still supplying him with money for our support, till he being informed that her marriage with you was near being consummated. He bethought himself of a stratagem to prevent the change of her condition from depriving him of the continuance of her favour. It was this. Their private meetings were always in the Savoy, at a house of my husband's choosing for that purpose, the master of it being his intimate friend and companion, myself and two men whom he made privy to the plot, and were two personate officers of justice who were to be concealed in the next room to the lovers, and as soon as we found they were in bed, burst open the door, rush in and catch them in the very act of shame. All this was executed according as it was contrived. My husband jumped out of bed, pretended to struggle with the sham constables, and swore he would murder me. I acted my part as they since told me to the life. Seemed a very fury and said I did not care what became of me if I was but revenge upon my rival. Lady Mellison tore her hair wet and entreated me in the most abject terms to forgive and not expose a woman of her rank to public scorn and infamy, to which I replied that it was not her quality should protect her. I loaded her with the most invaderate reproaches I could think of. Indeed, there required not much study for my doing so, for I heartily hated her. After some time passed in beseechings on her side and railings on mine, one of the pretended constables took me aside, as if to persuade me to more moderation, while the other talked to her and insinuated as if a sum of money might compromise the matter. My husband also told her that though he detested me for what I had done, yet he wished her ladyship for her own sake would think of some way to pacify me, for, said he, a wife in these cases has great power. The terror she was in of appearing before a civil magistrate enough being liable to suffer that punishment the law inflicts upon an adulteress, and consequently the loss of all her hopes of a marriage with you, sir, made her readily agree to do anything I should require. I seemed quite adverse for a good while to listen to any terms of accommodation, but at length, affected to be overcome by the persuasions of the man I brought with me, and her promise of allowing us a very handsome support as soon as she became your wife and should have it in her power. This I made fly on, and told her that I would not depend upon her promise for anything. It was then proposed that she should give a bond for a large sum of money to Mr. Malpus. That you may do with safety, said he to her, as I shall have it in my own hands, and you may be assured it will never put it in force to your prejudice. In fine, sir, continued Mrs. Malpus. She agreed to this proposal, and as it was then too late for the execution of what she had promised, on her making a solemn vow to fulfill it punctually the next day, I told her she was at liberty to go home that night, but that I would not withdraw the warrant I pretended to have taken out against her till law was over. She was, indeed, too much rejoiced at the expectation of getting off from the imaginary prosecution to think of breaking her word. My wicked husband, however, had the success of his design more greatly at heart than to give her any long time for reflection. Accordingly he went pretty early the next morning to her lodging, accompanied by one of those who had assumed the character of Constable, and who, in reality, had formerly served the parish where he still lives in that capacity, and a lawyer previously directed to fill up the bond in the strongest and most binding terms that words could form. There was not the least a mirrorer objection on the part of her ladyship. She signed her name, and Mrs. Prinks, her woman, and the man we brought with us, set their hands as witnesses. You see, sir, pursued she. The drift of this contrivance, Lady Melisyn, was the instrument, but it was you that was ordained to suffer. There was no fixed sum or sum stipulated for the support we were to receive from her, but Marlpus was so continually draining her purse that I have often been amazed by what arts she imposed on you to replenish it. Whenever she began to make any excuse for not complying with this demands, he presently threatened her with putting the bond in force against you, by which means he extorted from her almost whatever he required. One time in particular he pretended to be under an arrest for three hundred pounds, and she not having so much money by her was obliged to send Mrs. Prinks with her diamond necklace to the pawnbrokers to make it up. Yet, would you believe it, sir, notwithstanding all he got from her ladyship he kept me poor and mean as you see. Would not let me have a servant but made me wash his linen and do all his drudgery, while he strutted about the town like a fine fellow with his two-pay wig and laced waistcoat, and, if I made the least complaint, would tell me in derision that as I had no children I had nothing else to do but to wait upon him. I bore all this, however, because I loved the villain, and indeed did not then know he was so great a one to me as I now find he is. He pretended to me that he was hardly weary of Lady Melisyn, hated her, and could no longer bear the pain of dissembling with her. I will therefore, said he, demand a much larger sum of her than I know it is in her power to raise. Her non-compliance will give me an excuse for compelling her husband to pay the penalty of the bond, and when I have got the money I will purchase an employment and some one or other of the public offices on which you and I may live comfortably together the remaining of our days. Accordingly, at his next meeting with Lady Melisyn he told her he had a present occasion for a sum of money, and she must let him have five hundred pounds within four or five days at fathers. This it seems extremely alarmed her. She replied that it was impossible for her to procure so much at once. Complained that he had been too pressing upon her and told him that he ought not to expect she could always supply his extravagancies in the manner she had lately done. High words arose between them on this account. She reproached him with the straits he had already put her into and said he must wait till money came into her hands. He swore, the present exigence of his affairs required an immediate supply, that he saw no remedy but arresting you and they parted in great anger. The next day he sent me to her with a letter. Neither she nor Mrs. Prinks was at home and I did not judge proper to leave it with the servants. So carried it back again. He did not happen to ask me for it and I never thought of returning it, which I am now very glad of, as it may serve to corroborate the truth of what I told you. In speaking thus, she presented a paper to Mr. Goodman, which he took hastily out of her hands and found it contained these words. Two Lady Mellison, madam, your excuses won't do with me. Money I must have. I know you may raise it, if you will, and I am amazed you should imagine I can believe anything you say to the contrary. When you have an old fellow who you yourself told me knows no end to his wealth, and that you married him only to make him my banker, do not therefore offer to trifle with me any longer, for if you do, by my soul I shall put the bond in force, and then there will be an end to all love and friendship between you and him who has been for so many years your constant servant, O Marlpus. O wretched, wretched woman, cried Mr. Goodman, as soon as he had done reading, to how low, how contemptible a state has vice reduced her. Mrs. Marlpus, perceiving by his continence the distraction of his mind, would not prosecute her discourse, till he recovering himself a little bit her go on, if anything, yet remain to be related of this shocking narrative. I have told you, sir, resumed she, the preparations, the conscience you are but too well acquainted with. I have only to assure you that I had not discovered my husband's baseness, but with the view of your doing yourself justice. You have no occasion to pay this bond. You can prove it a fraud by the joint evidence of myself, his wife, and another person, no less deeply concerned in the contrivance, and is ready to make his affidavit of every particular I have recited. But then, whatsoever is done must be done with expedition, or he will be past the reach, either of you or me. I have just now learned that instead of purchasing an employment, as he pretended to me, he is privately preparing to go to Holland, Brussels, or some of those places and settle there, with a young Hussie, who they say is with child by him, and will leave me here to starve. His lawyer to whom he has assigned the bond is to advance fifteen hundred pounds upon it, on condition he has the residue of it to himself when you shall discharge the whole. Now it is in your power, sir, to save yourself the payment of so much money and relieve a much injured and distressed wife, by complaining to the court of chancellery of the imposition practice on you and procure a net ex-regnum to prevent his escape. Here she gave over speaking in Mr. Goodman after a short pause replied that he could not at that instant resolve on anything, but added that he would take some advice and then let her know how far she might be serviceable to him. From which she took her leave after giving him directions where she might be found. End of Chapter 14. CHAPTER XV. OF THE HISTORY OF MISS BETSY THOUGHTLESS. VOLUME I. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. CHAPTER XV. BRINGS MANY THINGS ON THE CARPET, HIGHLY PLEASING TO MISS BETSY, IN THEIR BEGINNING, AND NO LESS PERPLEXING TO HER, IN THEIR CONSEQUENCES. THE ACCOUNTS OF THOSE MANY AND DREADFUL MISS FORTUNTS, WHICH THE ILL CONDUCT OF MISS FORWARD HAD DRAWN UPON HER, MADE MISS BETSY EXTREMELY PENSIVE. It is strange, said she to herself, that a woman cannot indulge herself in the liberty of conversing freely with a man, without being persuaded by him to do everything he would have her. She thought, however, that some excuse might be made from Miss Forward on the score of her being strictly debarred from all acquaintance with the other sex. People, crutch, you have naturally an inclination to do what they are most forbid. The poor girl had a curiosity to hear herself addressed and having no opportunity of gratifying that passion, but by admitting her lover had so awed a time and place, was indeed too much in his power to have withstood her ruin, even if she had been mistress of more courage and resolution than she was. On meditating on the follies which women are sometimes prevailed upon to be guilty of, the discovery she had made of Miss Flora's intrigue with Galen came fresh into her mind. What, said she, could induce her to sacrifice her honour? Declarations of love were not new to her. She heard every day the flatteries with which our sex are treated by the men, and needed not to have purchased the assiduities of any of them at so dear a rate. Good God, our innocence and the pride of conscious virtue, things of so little estimation, has to be thrown away for the trifling pleasure of hearing a few tender protestations, perhaps all false, and uttered by one whose heart despises the early fondness he has triumphed over, and ridicules the very grant of what he has so earnestly solicited. It is certain this young lady had the highest notions of honour and virtue, and whenever she gave herself time to reflect looked on everything that had a tendency to make an encroachment on them with the most extreme detestation. Yet had she good nature enough to pity those faults and others, she thought it impossible for her to be once guilty of herself. But amidst sentiments as noble and as generous as ever heart was possessed of, vanity, that foible of her soul crept in and would have its share. She had never been thoroughly attacked in a dishonourable way, but by Galen and the gentleman commoner at Oxford, both which she rebuffed with a becoming disdain. In this she secretly exalted and had that dependence on her power of repelling all the efforts, come they, in what shape so ever, that should be made against a virtue that she thought it beneath her to behave so as not to be in danger of incurring them. How great a pity it is, that a mind endured with so many excellent qualities, and which had such exalted ideas of what is truly valuable in womankind, should be tainted with a frailty of so fatal a nature as to expose her to temptations, which if she were not utterly undone it must be owing rather to the interposition of her guardian angel than to the strength of human reason. But of that hereafter at present there were none had any base designs upon her. We must show what success as those gentlemen met with who addressed her with the most pure and honourable intentions. Of this number we shall speak first of Mr. True-Earth and Mr. Staple, the one, as has been already said, strenuously recommended by her brother, the other, by Mr. Goodman. Mr. Staple had the good fortune, if it may be called so, to be the first of those two who had the opportunity of declaring his passion, the journey of the other to London having been retarded two days longer than he intended. This gentleman, having Mr. Goodman's leave, made a second visit at his house. Lady Millison and Miss Flora, knowing on what business he was come, made an excuse for leaving him and Miss Betsy together. He made his addresses to her in the forms which lovers usually observe on the first declaration, and she replied to what he said, in a manner not to encourage him too much, nor yet to take from him all hope. While they were discoursing a footman came in and told her a gentleman from Oxford desired to speak with her, having some commands from her brother to deliver to her. Mr. Staple, supposing they had business, took his leave, and Mr. True-Earth, for it was he indeed, was introduced. Madam, said he, saluting her with the utmost respect, I have many obligations to Mr. Thoughtless, but none of which demands so large a portion of my gratitude as the honour he has conferred upon me in presenting you with this letter. To which she replied that her brother must certainly have a great confidence in his goodness to give him this trouble. With these words she took the letter out of his hand, and having obliged him to seat himself. You will pardon, sir, said she, the rudeness which my impatience to receive the commands of so near and dear a relation makes me guilty of. He made no other answer to these words than a low bow, and she withdrew to a window and found the contents of her brother's letter were these. To Miss Betsy Thoughtless. My dear sister, I shall leave Oxford to-morrow in order to cross the country for the seat of Sir Ralph's trusty, as I suppose Mr. Goodman will inform you, I having wrote to him by the post.  He is a gentleman whose merits you are yet a stranger to, but I have so good an opinion of your penetration as to be confident a very little time will convince you that he is deserving of all the esteem in your power to regard him with. In the meantime, doubt not, but you will receive him as a person who success in everything is much desired by him who is, with the tenderest good wishes, dear sister, your most affectionate brother, F Thoughtless. As she did not doubt but by the style and manner of this letter that it had been seen by Mr. Trueworth she could not keep herself from blushing, which he observing as he sat flattered himself with taking as a good omen. He had too much awe upon him ever to make any declarations of his passion at the first visit. Neither indeed had he an opportunity of doing it. Lady Melisyn and Miss Flora, thinking they had left Mr. Staple and Miss Betsy a sufficient time together, came into the room. The former was surprised to find he was gone and a strange gentleman in his place, but Miss Flora remembering him perfectly well, they saluted each other with the freedom of persons who were not entire strangers. They entered into a conversation and other company coming in Mr. Trueworth had an opportunity of displaying the fine talents he was master of. His travels, the observations he had made on the curiosities he had seen abroad, particularly at Rome, Florence, and Naples, were highly entertaining to the company. On taking leave he told the ladies he hoped they would allow him the favor of making one at their tea-table sometimes while he remained in London, to which Lady Melisyn and her daughter, little suspecting the motive he had for this request, joined in assuring him he could not come too often, and that they should expect to see him every day. But Miss Betsy, looking on herself as chiefly concerned in this admission, modestly added to what they had said, only that a person so much, and she doubted not but so justly, esteemed by her brother might be certain of a sincere welcome from her.  Miss Betsy, though she said the least of any one, thought her brother had not bestowed more on him than he really deserved. Mr. Goodman, coming home soon after, there appeared some marks of displeasure in his continence, which, as he was the best humored man in the world, very much surprised those of his family. But the company not being all retired, none of them, seemed to take any notice of it, and went on with the conversation they were upon his entrance. The visitors, however, were no sooner gone, than without staying to be asked, he immediately let them into the occasion of his being so much ruffled. Miss Betsy said he, you have used me very ill. I did not think you would have made a fool of me in the manner you have done. Bless me, sir, cried she, in what have I offended? You have not only offended against me, answered he very hastily, but also against your own reason and common understanding. You are young, tis true, yet not so young as not to know that it is both ungenerous and silly to impose upon your friends. I scorned the thought, sir, of imposing upon anybody, said she. I therefore desire, sir, you will tell me what you mean by so unjust an accusation. Unjust, resumed he, I appealed to the whole world, if it were well done of you to suffer me to encourage my friend's courtship to you, when at the same time your brother had engaged you to receive the addresses of another. Miss Betsy, though far from thinking it a fault of her, to hear the proposals of a hundred lovers, had as many offered themselves, was yet a little shocked at the reprimand given her by Mr. Goodman, and not being able to presently make any reply to what he had said. He took a letter he had just received from her brother out of his pocket and threw it on the table with these words. That will show, said he, whether I have not caused to resent your behavior in this point. Perceiving she was about to take it up. Hold, Crichty, my wife shall read it, and be the judge between us. Lady Mellison, who had not spoke at all this time, then took the letter and read aloud the contents, which were these. To Mr. Goodman. Sir, this comes to let you know I have received the remittances you were so obliging to send me. I think, to set out tomorrow for Liverpool, but shall not stay there for any length of time. My intentions for going into the army are the same as when I wrote to you, and the more I consider on that affair, the more I am confirmed that a military life is most suitable of any to my genius and humor. If therefore you can hear of anything proper for me, either in the guards or in a marching regiment against I come to town, I shall be infinitely thankful for the trouble you take in the inquiry. But sir, this is not all the favors I have to ask of you at present. A gentleman of family, fortune and character, has seen my sister, like sir, and is going to London, on no other business than to make his addresses to her. I have already wrote to her on this subject, and I believe she will pay some regard to what I have said on his behalf. I am very well assured she can never have a more advantageous offer as to his circumstances nor be united to a man of more true honour, morality and sweetness of disposition, all which I have had frequent occasions of being an eyewitness of. But she is young, gay, and is yet perhaps not altogether so capable as I could wish, of knowing what will make for her real happiness. I therefore entreat you, sir, as the long-experienced friend of your family, to forward this match both by your advice and whatever else is in your power which certainly will be the greatest act of goodness you can confer on her, as well as the highest obligation to a brother who wishes nothing more than to see her secured from all temptations and well settled in the world.  P.S. I had forgot to inform you, sir, that the name of the gentleman I take the liberty of recommending with so much warmth is true worth, that he is descended from the ancient Britons by the father's side and by the mother's from the honourable and well-known old castles in Kent. Oh, fine, Miss Betsy, said Lady Melisyn, how could you serve Mr. Goodman so? What will Mr. Staples say when he comes to know he was encouraged to court a woman that was already pre-engaged? Pre-engaged, Madame, cried Miss Betsy, in a scornful tone. What, to a man I never saw but three times in my whole life, and whose mouth never uttered a syllable of love to me? She was going on, but Mr. Goodman, who was still in a great heat, interrupted her, saying, No matter whether he has uttered anything of the business or not, it seems you are enough acquainted with his sentiments, and I doubt not, but he knows you are, or he would not have taken a journey to London on your account. You ought, therefore, to have told me of his coming, and what your brother had wrote concerning him, and I should then have let Mr. Staples know, it would be of no purpose to make any courtship to you, as I did to another just before I came home, who I find has taken a great fancy to you. For my part, I do not understand this way of making gentlemen lose their time. Tis probable these last words netled Miss Betsy more than all the rest, he had said. She imagined herself secure of the hearts of both Truworth and Staples, but was vexed to the heart to have lost the addresses of a third admirer through the scrupulousness of Mr. Goodman, who, she looked upon, to have nothing to do with her affairs in this particular. She was too cunning, however, to let him see what her thoughts were on this occasion, and only said that he might do as he pleased, that she did not want a husband, that all men were alike to her, but added that it seemed strange to her that a young woman who had her fortune to make might not be allowed to hear all the different proposals that should be offered to her on that score, and with these words flung out of the room and went up into her chamber, nor would be prevailed upon to come down again that night, though Miss Flora and Mr. Goodman himself, repenting he had said so much, called to her for that purpose. CHAPTER XVI. Though Lady Mellison had seemed to blame Miss Betsy for not having communicated to Mr. Goodman what her brother wrote to her in relation to Mr. Trueworth, yet in her heart she was far from being adverse to her receiving a plurality of lovers. Because whenever that young lady should fix her choice, there was a possibility some one or other of those she rejected might transmit his addresses to her daughter, who she was extremely desirous of getting married, and had never yet been once solicited on honorable terms. She therefore told her husband that he ought not to hinder Miss Betsy from hearing what every gentleman had to offer, to the end she might accept that which had the prospect of most advantage to her. Mr. Goodman in this, as in everything else, suffered himself to be directed by her judgment, and the next morning when Miss Betsy came down talked to her with his usual pleasantry. Well, said he, have you forgiven my ill-humour last night? I was a little vexed to think my friend Staple had so poor a chance for gaining you, and the more so because Frank Thoughtless will take it ill of me if I have done anything in opposition to the person he recommends. But you must act as you please, for my part I shall not meddle any further in these affairs. Sir replied Miss Betsy very gravely, I shall always be thankful to my friends for their advice, and whenever I think seriously of a husband shall not fail to interest yours in my choice. But continued she, one would imagine my brother by writing so pressingly to you wanted to hurry me into a marriage whether I would or no, and though I have as much regard for him as a sister can or ought to have, yet I shall never be prevailed upon by him to enter into a state to which, at present, I have rather an aversion than inclination. That is, said Mr. Goodman, you rather have an aversion than an inclination to the persons who address you on that score. No, sir, answered she, not at all. The persons in behavior both of Mr. Trueworth and Mr. Staple appear to me to be unexcusable, but sure one may allow man to have merit and be pleased with his conversation without desiring to be tacked to him for ever. I very believe I shall never be in love, but, if I am, it must be a long length of time, and a series of persevering attitudes must make me so. Mr. Goodman told her these were only romantic notions, which he doubted not, but a little time would cure her of. What reply Miss Betsy would have made is uncertain, for the discourse was interrupted by a footman delivering a letter to her in which she found these lines. Two Miss Betsy thoughtless. Fair creature. I am no courtier, no beau.  But I am honest and sincere, and you may depend on the truth of what I say. I have, heaven be praised, acquired a very large fortune, and for some time have had thoughts of marrying. To the end I might have a son to enjoy the fruits of my labours after I am food either for the fishes or the worms. It is no great matter which of them. Now I have been wished to several fine women, but my fancy gives the preference to you. And if you can like me as well, we shall be very happy together. I spoke to your guardian yesterday, for I love to be above board, but he seemed to lure, or as we say at sea, to be a little hazy on the matter. So I thought I would not trouble him any further but write directly to you. I hear there are two about you, but what of that? I have doubled the cape of good hope many a time and never failed of reaching my intended port. I therefore see no cause why I should apprehend a wreck by land. I am turned of eight and forty, tis true, which may be you may think too old. But I must tell you, dear pretty one, that I have a constitution that will wear out twenty of your washy-pampered landmen of not half my age. Whatever your fortune is, I will settle accordingly, and moreover will secure you something handsome to you at my decease, in case you should chance to be the longest liver. I know you young women do not care a man should have anything under your hand, so expect no answer, but desire you will consider on my proposals and let me know your mind this evening at five o'clock, when I shall come to Mr. Goodman's, let him take it how he will. I can weather out any storm to come at you, and fiercely am, dear soul, your most faithful and affectionate lover, Jay Heisam. There were some passages in this letter that set Miss Betsy into such a moderate fits of laughter as made her a long time in going through it. Having finished the whole she turned to Mr. Goodman and putting it into his hands. Be pleased, sir, to read that, said she, you shall own, at least, that I do not make a secret of all my lovers to you. Mr. Goodman soon looked it over, and after returning it to her. How troublesome a thing it is said he to be the guardian to a beautiful young lady! Whether I grant or whether I refuse the consent required of me, I equally gain ill will from one side or the other. Lady Melisyn, who had all this morning complained of a violent headache, and said nothing during this conversation, now cried out, What new conquest is this Miss Betsy has made? Oh, madam, replied Miss Betsy, your ladyship shall judge of the value of it by the dowdy epistle I have just received. With these words she gave the letter to Miss Flora, deferring her to read it aloud, which she did, but was obliged, as Miss Betsy herself had done, to stop several times and hold her sides before she got to the conclusion. And Lady Melisyn, as little as she was inclined to mirth, could not forbear smiling to hear the manner in which this declaration of love was penned. You are all very merry, said Mr. Goodman, but I can tell you, Captain Heism, is a match that many a fine young lady in this town would jump at. He has been twenty-five years in the service of the East India Company, has made very successful voyages, and is immensely rich. He has lived at sea, indeed the greatest part of his life, and much politeness cannot be expected from him. But he is a very honest and good-natured man, and I believe, means well. I wish he had offered himself to Flora. Perhaps, sir, I should not have refused him, replied she briskly. I should like a husband prodigiously that would be abroad for the whole years together, and leave me to bowl about on my couch and fix while he plowed the ocean in search of new creatures to throw into my lap at his return. Well, well said Miss Betsy- laughing, still more. Who knows, but when I have teased him a little he may fly for shelter to your more clement goodness.  But no matter, I shall not pity him as I partly told him what he might expect. After this Mr. Goodman went out, and the young ladies went up to dress against dinner, diverting themselves all the time with the poor captain's letter. Miss Betsy told Miss Flora that as he was, for coming so directly to the point, she must use all her artifice in order to keep him in suspense. For, said she, if I should let him know any part of my real sentiments concerning him, he would be gone at once, and we should lose all our sport. I will, therefore, continued she, make him believe that I dare not openly encourage his pretensions, because my brother hath recommended one gentleman to me, and Mr. Goodman another. But shall assure him, at the same time, that I am inclined to neither of them, and shall contrive to get rid of them both as soon as possible. This, said she, will keep them in hopes, without my downright promising anything in his particular favour. Miss Flora told her she was a perfect Machiavelli in love affairs, and was about to say something more when a confused sound of several voices, among which she distinguished that of Lady Melisyn very loud, made her run downstairs to see what was the occasion. But Miss Betsy stayed in the chamber, being busily employed in something belonging to her dress, or, had she been less engaged, it is not probable she would have troubled herself about the matter. As she supposed it only a quarrel between Lady Melisyn and some of the servants, as in effect it was, and she, without asking, was immediately informed. Nanny, the upper housemaid, and the same who had delivered Mr. Savage's letter to Miss Betsy, and carried her answer to him, coming up with a broom in her hand, in order to sweep her lady's dressing-room, ran into the chamber of Miss Betsy, and seeing that she was alone, Oh, Miss, said she, there is the devil to do below. I heard a sad noise indeed, said she carelessly. While you must know, Miss, cried the maid, that my lady hath given John the Butler warning, and so his time being up, Mrs. Prinks hath orders to pay him off this morning, but would have stopped thirty shillings for a silver-orange strainer that is missing. John would not allow it, and being in a passion he told Miss Prinks that he would not leave the house without his full wages, that for anything he knew the strainer might be gone after the diamond necklace. I suppose she repeated to my lady, and that put her in so ill a humor this morning, that if my master had not come down as he did, we should all have something at our heads. However, continued the wench, she ordered Mrs. Prinks to give him his whole money, but would you believe it, Miss? My master was no sooner gone out, than she came down into the kitchen, raving, and finding John there still, the poor fellow God knows only stayed to take his leave of us. She tore about, and swore we should all go, accused one of one thing and another of another. Well, but what did the fellow mean about the diamond necklace, cried Miss Betsy, interrupting her? I will tell you the whole story, said she, but you must promise never to speak a word of it to anybody, for though I do not value the place, nor will I stay much longer, yet they would not give one a character, you know, Miss. Miss Betsy, then having assured her she would never mention it, the others shut the door, and went on in a very low voice in this manner. Don't you remember Miss, said she, what a flurry my lady and Mrs. Prinks were in one day, how her ladyship pulled off all her fine clothes, and they both went out in a hackney-coach. Then Mrs. Prinks came home, and went out again. Yes, replied Miss Betsy. I took notice they were both in a good deal of confusion. I miss, well, they might, said Nanny. That very afternoon John was gone, to see a cousin that keeps a pawnbroker's shop in Thieving Lane, and as he was sitting in a little room behind the counter that it seemed shuts in with glass doors, who should he see through the window, but Mrs. Prinks come in. She brought my lady's diamond necklace and pledged it for a hundred and twenty, or a hundred and thirty guineas. I am not sure which he told me, for I have the saddest memory, but it is no matter for that. John was strangely confounded, as you may think, but resolved to see into the bottom and when Mrs. Prinks was got into the coach, popped up behind it and got down when it stopped, which was at the sign of the hand-and-tip staff at Nave's acre, so that this money was raised to get somebody that was arrested out of the bailiff's hands. For John said it was what they call a sponging-house that Mrs. Prinks went into. Lord, how deceitful some people are!  This galloping young huffie would have run on much longer, doubtless, with her comments on this affair, but hearing Miss Flores foot upon the stairs she left off and opening the door softly slipped into her lady's dressing-room and fell to work in cleaning it. Miss Flores came up exclaiming on the ill-behavior of most servants, telling Miss Betsy what a passion her mama had been in. The other made little answer to what she said on that or any other score, having her thoughts very much taken up with the account just given her by nanny. She recollected that Lady Melison had never dressed since that day, always making some excuse to avoid paying any grand visits, which she now doubted not but it was because she had not her necklace. It very much amased her, as she well knew her ladyship was not without a good deal of ready cash, therefore it was certain the sun must be large indeed for which her friend was arrested, that it reduced her to the necessity of applying to a pawnbroker, and who that friend could be for whom she would thus demean herself puzzled her extremely. It was not long, however, before she was led into the secret, but in the meantime other matters of more moment must be treated on. End of chapter 16, reading by Joyce Martin.