Volume V Part 20 (2/2)

reply'd the Footman. 'Your Master is not here sure,' said _Gonzago_.

'Yes, but he is, Sir,' said the Servant, 'for I attended him hither this Morning with _Rinaldo_, and saw him in the Afternoon look out of a Window above Stairs.' 'Ha!' said _Gonzago_, calling _Erizo_ aside, 'by Heavens, he lies here to Night then, and perhaps with my Mistress; I perceiv'd she was not pressing for our Stay, but rather urging our Departure. _Erizo_, _Erizo_, this Block must be remov'd, he has stepped between you and a Command to Day, and perhaps may lye between me and my Mistress to Night.' 'By h.e.l.l (answered _Erizo_) thou hast raised a Fury in me, that will not be lulled asleep, but by a Potion of his Blood; let's dispatch this Blockhead first': And running at the Footman, with one Thrust killed him. _Dangerfield_ by this time had been let out, and hearing the Noise, ran to the Place; they presently a.s.saulted him; he defended himself very bravely the s.p.a.ce of some Minutes, having wounded _Gonzago_ in the Breast; when _Rinaldo_ hearing the Noise, came out; but too late for _Dangerfield's_ Relief, and too soon for his own Fate; for _Gonzago_, exasperated by his Wound, ran treacherously behind _Dangerfield_, and thrust him quite thro' the Body. He finding the mortal Wound, and wild with Rage, thrust desperately forward at _Erizo_, when at the instant _Rinaldo_ striking in between to part them, received _Dangerfield's_ Sword in his Body, which pierced him quite thro'. He no sooner fell, than _Dangerfield_ perceived his fatal Error, and the other Two fled. _Dangerfield_ curs'd his Fate, and begg'd with all the Prayers and Earnestness of a dying Man, that _Rinaldo_ wou'd forgive him. 'Oh!'

said _Rinaldo_, 'you have ill rewarded me for my Care in your Concerns in the Senate to Day.' The Servants coming out, took up _Rinaldo_, and _Dangerfield_ leaning upon his Sword, they led him in. _Belvideera_ first heard the Noise, and running down first met the horrid Spectacle, her dear Father breathing out his last, and her Lover, whom she had all that Day flattered her self with Hopes of seeing, she now beheld in Streams of his Blood; but what must poor _Maria's_ Case be? besides the Grief for her Father's Fate, she must view that dear Man, lately Happy in her Embraces, now folded in the Arms of Death, she finds herself bereft of a Parent, her Love, her Honour, and the Defender of it, all at once; and the greatest Torment is, that she must bear all this Anguish, and cannot Ease her Soul by expressing it. _Belvideera_ sat wiping the Blood from her Father's Wound, whilst mournful _Maria_ sat by _Dangerfield_, administring all the Help she cou'd to his fainting Spirits; whilst he viewed her with greater Excess of Grief, than he had heretofore with Pleasure; being sensible what was the Force of her silent Grief, and the Wrong he had done her, which now he cou'd never Redress: He had accidentally dropt his Wig in the Engagement, and inclining his Head over the Couch where he lay, _Rinaldo_ casting his Eye upon him, perceiv'd the Mark of a b.l.o.o.d.y Dagger on his Neck, under his left Ear: 'Sir, (said _Rinaldo_, raising himself up) I conjure you answer me directly, were you born with the Mark of that Dagger, or have you received it since by Accident.' 'I was certainly born with it,'

answer'd he. 'Just such a Mark had my Son _Cosmo_, who was lost in the _Adriatick_.' 'How! (reply'd _Dangerfield_, starting up with a wild Confusion) Lost! say'st thou in the _Adriatick_? Your Son lost in the _Adriatick_?' 'Yes, yes,' said _Rinaldo_, 'too surely lost in the _Adriatick_.' 'O ye impartial Powers (said _Dangerfield_), why did you not reveal this before? Or why not always conceal it? How happy had been the Discovery some few Hours ago, and how Tragical is it now? For know,'

continued he, addressing himself to _Rinaldo_, 'know that my suppos'd Father, who was a _Turky_ Merchant, upon his Death-bed call'd me to him, and told me 'twas time to undeceive me, I was not his Son, he found me in the _Adriatick_ Sea, ty'd to two Planks in his Voyage from _Smyrna_ to _London_; having no Children, he educated me as his own, and finding me worth his Care, left me all his Inheritance with this dying Command, that I shou'd seek my Parents at _Venice_.' _Belvideera_ hearkning all this while to the lamentable Story, then conjectured whence proceeded the natural Affection the whole Family bore him, and embracing him, cry'd out, 'Oh my unhappy Brother.' _Maria_ all the while had strong and wild Convulsions of Sorrow within her, 'till the working Force of her Anguish racking at once all the Pa.s.sages of her Breast, by a violent Impulse, broke the Ligament that doubled in her Tongue, and she burst out with this Exclamation; 'Oh! Incest, Incest.' _Dangerfield_ eccho'd that Outcry with this, 'O! Horror, Horror, I have enjoy'd my Sister, and murder'd my Father.' _Maria_ running distracted about the Chamber, at last spy'd _Dangerfield's_ Sword, by which he had supported himself into the House, and catching it up, reeking with the Blood of her Father, plung'd it into her Heart, and throwing herself into _Dangerfield's_ Arms, calls out, 'O my Brother, O my Love,' and expir'd. All the Neighbourhood was soon alarm'd by the Out-cries of the Family. I lodged within three Doors of _Rinaldo's_ House, and running presently thither, saw a more b.l.o.o.d.y Tragedy in Reality, than what the most moving Scene ever presented; the Father and Daughter were both dead, the unfortunate Son was gasping out his last, and the surviving Sister most miserable, because she must survive such Misfortunes, cry'd to me; 'O! behold the Fate of your wretched Countryman.' I cou'd make no Answer, being struck dumb by the Horror of such woeful Objects; but _Dangerfield_ hearing her name his Country, turning towards me, with a languis.h.i.+ng and weak Tone, 'Madam,' said he, 'I was your Countryman, and wou'd to Heavens I were so still; if you hear my Story mention'd, on your Return to _England_, pray give these strange Turns of my Fate not the Name of Crimes, but favour them with the Epithet of Misfortunes; my Name is not Dangerfield, but _Cla_--' His Voice there fail'd him, and he presently dy'd; Death seeming more favourable than himself, concealing the fatal Author of so many Misfortunes, for I cou'd never since learn out his Name; but have done him the justice, I hope, to make him be pity'd for his Misfortunes, not hated for his Crimes. _Francisco_ being sent for, had _Gonzago_ and _Erizo_ apprehended, condemn'd, and executed. _Belvideera_ consign'd all her Father's Estate over to her Uncle, reserving only a Competency to maintain her a Recluse all the rest of her Life.

NOTES: The Dumb Virgin.

p. 429 _Dangerfield._ This name is not to be found in any one of Mrs.

Behn's plays, but as it does occur in Sedley's _Bellamira; or, The Mistress_ (1687), one can only conclude that Aphra gave it to Sir Charles and altered her own character's nomenclature. Mrs. Behn, it may be remembered, was more than once extraordinarily careless with regard to the names of the Dramatis Personae in her comedies. A striking example occurs in _Sir Patient Fancy_, where the 'precise clerk' is called both Abel and Bartholomew. In _The Feign'd Curtezans_ Silvio and Sabina are persistently confused, and again, in _The Town Fop_ (Vol. III, p. 15 and p. 20), the name Dresswell is retained for Friendlove. Sedley's _Bellamira_ is derived from Terence's _Eunuchus_, and Dangerfield is Thraso; the Pyrgopolinices, Miles Gloriosus, of Plautus.

Cross-Reference from Introduction: _The Dumb Virgin_

Beginning: Consanguinity and love which are treated in this novel so romantically and with such tragic catastrophe had already been dealt with in happier mood by Mrs. Behn in _The Dutch Lover_. _Vide_ Note on the Source of that play, Vol. I, p. 218.

Vol. I, p. 218, beginning of ”Source” section:

Mrs. Behn founded the plot of _The Dutch Lover_ upon the stories of Eufemie and Theodore, Don Jame and Frederic, in a pseudo-Spanish novel ent.i.tled '_The History of Don Fenise_, a new Romance written in Spanish by Francisco de Las Coveras, And now Englished by a Person of Honour, London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley,' 8vo, 1651.

THE WANDERING BEAUTY.

I was not above twelve Years old, as near as I can remember, when a Lady of my Acquaintance, who was particularly concern'd in many of the Pa.s.sages, very pleasantly entertain'd me with the Relation of the young Lady _Arabella's_ Adventures, who was eldest Daughter to Sir _Francis Fairname_, a Gentleman of a n.o.ble Family, and of a very large Estate in the West of _England_, a true Church-Man, a great Loyalist, and a most discreetly-indulgent Parent; nor was his Lady any Way inferiour to him in every Circ.u.mstance of Virtue. They had only two Children more, and those were of the soft, unhappy s.e.x too; all very beautiful, especially _Arabella_, and all very much alike; piously educated, and courtly too, of naturally-virtuous Principles and Inclinations.

'Twas about the sixteenth Year of her Age, that Sir _Robert Richland_, her Father's great Friend and inseparable Companion, but superiour to him in Estate as well as Years, felt the resistless Beauty of this young Lady raging and burning in his aged Veins, which had like to have been as fatal to him, as a Consumption, or his Climacterical Year of Sixty Three, in which he dy'd, as I am told, though he was then hardly Sixty.

However, the Winter Medlar would fain have been inoculated in the Summer's Nacturine. His unseasonable Appet.i.te grew so strong and inordinate, that he was oblig'd to discover it to Sir _Francis_; who, though he lov'd him very sincerely, had yet a Regard to his Daughter's Youth, and Satisfaction in the Choice of a Husband; especially, when he consider'd the great Disproportion in their Age, which he rightly imagin'd would be very disagreeable to _Arabella's_ Inclinations: This made him at first use all the most powerful and perswading Arguments in his Capacity, to convince Sir _Robert_ of the Inequality of such a Match, but all to no Purpose; for his Pa.s.sion increasing each Day more violently, the more a.s.siduously, and with the greater Vehemence, he press'd his Friend to use his Interest and Authority with his Lady and Daughter, to consent to his almost unnatural Proposition; offering this as the most weighty and prevailing Argument, (which undoubtedly it was,) That since he was a Batchelor, he would settle his whole Estate upon her, if she surviv'd him, on the Day of Marriage, not desiring one Penny as a Portion with her. This Discourse wrought so powerfully with her Mother, that she promis'd the old Lover all the a.s.sistance he could hope or expect from her: In order to which, the next Day she acquainted her fair Daughter with the Golden Advantage she was like to have, if she would but consent _to lye by the Parchment that convey'd them to her_.

The dear, fair Creature, was so surpriz'd at this Overture made by her Mother, that her Roses turn'd all into Lillies, and she had like to have swoon'd away; but having a greater Command of her Pa.s.sions than usually our s.e.x have, and chiefly Persons of her Age, she, after some little Disorder, which by no Means she could dissemble, she made as dutiful a Return to her Mother's Proposition, as her Aversion to it would permit; and, for that Time, got Liberty to retreat, and lament in private the Misfortune which she partly fore-saw was impending. But her Grief (alas) was no Cure of her Malady; for the next Day she was again doubly attack'd by her Father and Mother, with all the Reasons that Interest and Duty could urge, which she endeavour'd to obviate by all the Arguments that Nature and Inclination could offer; but she found them all in vain, since they continu'd their ungrateful Solicitations for several Days together, at the End of which, they both absolutely commanded her to prepare her self for her Nuptials with Sir _Robert_; so that finding her self under a Necessity of complying, or at least of seeming so, she made 'em hope, that her Duty had overcome her Aversion; upon which she had a whole Week's Liberty to walk where she would, unattended, or with what Company she pleas'd, and to make Visits to whom she had a Mind, either of her Relations or Acquaintance thereabouts; tho' for three or four Days before, she was strictly confin'd to her Chamber.

After Dinner, on the third Day of her Enlargement, being Summer Time, she propos'd to her Mother that she would take a Walk to a Cousin of hers, who liv'd about four Miles thence, to intreat her to be one of her Bride-Maids, being then in a careless plain Dress, and having before discours'd very pleasantly and freely of her Wedding-Day, of what Friends she would have invited to that Solemnity, and what Hospitality Sir _Robert_ should keep when she was marry'd to him: All which was highly agreeable to her Parents, who then could not forbear thanking and kissing her for it, which she return'd to 'em both with a Shower of Tears. This did not a little surprize 'em at first, but asking her what could cause such Signs of Sorrow, after so chearful a Discourse on the late Subject? She answer'd, 'That the Thoughts of her going now suddenly to live from so dear and tender a Father and Mother, were the sole Occasion of such Expressions of Grief.' This affectionate Reply did amply satisfy their Doubts; and she presently took Leave of 'em, after having desir'd that they would not be uneasy if she should not return 'till a little before 'twas dark, or if her Cousin should oblige her to stay all Night with her; which they took for a discreet Caution in her, considering that young Maidens love dearly to talk of Marriage Affairs, especially when so near at Hand: And thus easily parted with her, when they had walk'd with her about a Mile, over a Field or two of their own.

Never before that Time was the dear Creature glad that her Father and Mother had left her, unless when they had press'd her to a Marriage with the old Knight. They were therefore no sooner got out of Sight, e're she took another Path, that led cross the Country, which she persu'd 'till past eight at Night, having walk'd ten Miles since two a Clock, when Sir _Francis_ and her Mother left her: She was just now got to a little Cottage, the poor, but cleanly Habitation of a Husbandman and his Wife, who had one only Child, a Daughter, about the Lady _Arabella's_ Age and Stature. 'Twas happy for her she got thither before they were a Bed; for her soft and beautiful Limbs began now to be tir'd, and her tender Feet to be gall'd. To the good Woman of the House she applies her self, desiring Entertainment for that Night, offering her any reasonable Satisfaction. The good Wife, at first Sight of her, had Compa.s.sion of her, and immediately bid her walk in, telling her, that she might lye with her Daughter, if she pleas'd, who was very cleanly, tho' not very vine. The good Man of the House came in soon after, was very well pleas'd with his new Guest; so to Supper they went very seasonably; for the poor young Lady, who was e'en ready to faint with Thirst, and not overcharg'd with what she had eaten the Day before. After Supper they ask'd her whence she came, and how she durst venture to travel alone, and a Foot? To which she reply'd, That she came from a Relation who liv'd at _Exeter_, with whom she had stay'd 'till she found she was burthensome: That she was of _Welsh_ Parents, and of a good Family; but her Father dying, left a cruel Mother-in-Law, with whom she could by no Means continue, especially since she would have forc'd her to marry an old Man, whom it was impossible she should love, tho' he was very rich: That she was now going to seek her Fortune in _London_, where she hop'd, at least, to get her a good Service. They all seem'd to pity her very heartily; and, in a little Time after, they went to their two several Apartments, in one of which _Arabella_ and the Damsel of the House went to Bed, where the young Lady slept soundly, notwithstanding the Hardness of her Lodging. In the Morning, about Four, according to her laudable Custom, the young hardy Maiden got up to her daily Employment; which waken'd _Arabella_, who presently bethought her self of an Expedient for her more secure and easy Escape from her Parents Pursuit and Knowledge, proposing to her Bedfellow an Exchange of their Wearing-Apparel. The Heiress and Hope of that little Family was extreamly fond of the Proposal, and ran immediately to acquaint her Mother with it, who was so well pleas'd, that she could hardly believe it, when the young Lady confirm'd it, and especially, when she understood the Exchange was to be made on even Hands. 'If you be in earnest, Forsooth, (said the Mother) you shall e'en have her Sunday-Cloaths.' 'Agreed (return'd _Arabella_) but we must change s.h.i.+fts too; I have now a Couple about me, new and clean, I do a.s.sure you: For my Hoods and Head-dress you shall give me two Pinners, and her best Straw-Hat; and for my Shoes, which I have not worn above a Week, I will have her Holliday Shoes.' 'A Match, indeed, young Mistress,' cry'd the good Wife. So without more Ceremony, the young unhappy Lady was attir'd in her Bedfellow's Country Weeds, by Help of the Mother and Daughter. Then, after she had taken her Leave of the good old Man too, she put a broad round s.h.i.+lling into his Wife's Hand, as a Reward for her Supper and Lodging, which she would fain have return'd, but t'other would not receive it. 'Nay, then, by the Mackins, (said her Hostess) you shall take a Breakfast e're you go, and a Dinner along with you, for Fear you should be sick by the Way.' _Arabella_ stay'd to eat a Mess of warm Milk, and took some of their Yesterday's Provision with her in a little course Linnen Bag. Then asking for the direct Road to _London_, and begging a few green Wall-nuts, she took her last Farewel of them.

Near Twelve at Noon she came to a pleasant Meadow, through which there ran a little Rivulet of clear Water, about nine miles from her last Lodging, but quite out of the Way to _London_. Here she sate down, and after drinking some of the Water out of the Hollow of her Hand, she open'd her Bag, and made as good a Meal as the Courseness of the Fare, and the Niceness of her Appet.i.te would permit: After which, she bruis'd the outward green Sh.e.l.ls of a Wall-nut or two, and smear'd her lovely Face, Hands, and Part of her Arms, with the Juice; then looking into the little purling Stream, that seem'd to murmur at the Injury she did to so much Beauty, she sigh'd and wept, to think to what base Extremities she was now likely to be reduc'd! That she should be forc'd to stain that Skin which Heaven had made so pure and white! 'But ah! (cry'd she to her self) if my Disobedience to my Parents had not stain'd my Conscience worse, this needed not to have been done.' Here she wept abundantly again; then, drying her Eyes, she wash'd her Feet to refresh 'em, and thence continu'd her Journey for ten Miles more, which she compa.s.s'd by seven a Clock; when she came to a Village, where she got Entertainment for that Night, paying for it, and the next Morning, before Six, as soon as she had fill'd her little Bag with what good Chear the Place afforded, she wander'd on 'till Twelve again, still crossing the Country, and taking her Course to the Northern Parts of _England_, which doubtless was the Reason her Father and his Servants miss'd of her in their Pursuit; for he imagin'd that for certain she had taken her nearest Way to _London_. After she had refresh'd her self for an Hour's Time by the Side of a Wood, she arose and wander'd again near twelve Miles by eight a Clock, and lodg'd at a good substantial Farmer's.

Thus she continu'd her Errantry for above a Fortnight, having no more Money than just thirty s.h.i.+llings, half of which brought her to Sir _Christian Kindly's_ House in _Lancas.h.i.+re_. 'Twas near five a Clock in the Afternoon when she reach'd that happy Port, when, coming to the Hall Door, she enquir'd for the Lady of the House, who happily was just coming into the Hall with a little Miss in her Arms, of about four Years old, very much troubled with weak and sore Eyes: The fair Wanderer, addressing her self to the Lady with all the Humility and Modesty imaginable, begg'd to know if her Ladys.h.i.+p had any Place in her Family vacant, in which she might do her Service? To which the Lady return'd, (by Way of Question) Alas! poor Creature! what canst thou do? Any thing, may it please your Ladys.h.i.+p, (reply'd the disguis'd Beauty) any thing within my Strength and my Knowledge, I mean, Madam. Thou say'st well, (said the Lady) and I'm sorry I have not any vacant for thee. I beseech your Ladys.h.i.+p then (said _Arabella_) let me lodge in your Barn to-Night; for I am told it is a great Way hence to any Town, and I have but little Money. In my Barn, poor Girl! (cry'd the Lady, looking very earnestly on her) ay, G.o.d forbid else, unless we can find a better Lodging for thee.

Art thou hungry or thirsty? Yes, Madam (reply'd the wandering Fair One) I could both eat and drink, if it please your Ladys.h.i.+p. The Lady commanded Victuals and Drink to be brought, and could not forbear staying in the Hall 'till she had done; when she ask'd her several Questions, as of what Country she was? To which she answer'd truly, of _Somersets.h.i.+re_. What her Parents were, and if living? To which she return'd, They were good, honest, and religious People, and she hop'd they were alive, and in as good Health as when she left 'em. After the Lady had done catechising her, _Arabella_, looking on the little Child in her Ladys.h.i.+p's Arms, said, Pardon me, Madam, I beseech you, if I am too bold in asking your Ladys.h.i.+p how that pretty Creature's Eyes came to be so bad? By an extream Cold which she took, (reply'd the Lady.) I had not presum'd (return'd t'other) to have ask'd your Ladys.h.i.+p this Question, were I not a.s.sur'd that I have an infallible Cure for the Infirmity; and if, Madam, you will be pleas'd to let me apply it, I will tell your Ladys.h.i.+p the Remedy in private. The Lady was much surpriz'd to hear a young Creature, so meanly habited, talk so genteelly; and after surveying her very strictly, said the Lady, Have you ever experienc'd it before? Yes, Madam (reply'd the fair Physician) and never without happy Success: I dare engage, Madam, (added she) that I will make 'em as well as my own, by G.o.d's Blessing, or else I will be content to lose mine, which Heaven forbid. Amen, (cry'd the good Lady) for they are very fine ones, on my Word.--Stay, Child, I will desire Sir _Christian_ to hear it with me; and if he approves it, you shall about it; and if it take good Effect, we will endeavour to requite the Care and Pains it shall cost you. Saying thus, she immediately left her, and return'd very speedily with Sir _Christian_, who having discours'd _Arabella_ for some time, with great Satisfaction and Pleasure, took her into the Parlour with his Lady, where she communicated her Secret to 'em both; which they found so innocent and reasonable, that they desir'd her to prepare it as soon as possible, and to make her Application of it with all convenient Speed; which she could not do 'till the next Morning. In the mean Time she was order'd a Lodging with the House-Maid, who reported to her Lady, That she found her a very sweet and cleanly Bed-fellow; (adding) That she never saw nor felt so white, so smooth, and soft a Skin. _Arabella_ continu'd her Remedy with such good Success, that in a Fortnight's Time little Miss's Eyes were as lively and strong as ever. This so endear'd her to the Knight and his Lady, that they created a new Office in their Family, purposely for her, which was, Attendant on their eldest Daughter _Eleanora_, a Lady much about her Years and Stature; who was so charm'd with her Conversation, that she could not stir Abroad, nor eat, nor sleep, without _Peregrina Goodhouse_ (for those were the Names she borrow'd:) Nor was her Modesty, Humility, and Sweetness of Temper, less engaging to her Fellow-Servants, who all strove which should best express their Love to her. On Festival-Days, and for the Entertainment of Strangers, she would lend her helping Hand to the Cook, and make the Sauce for every Dish, though her own Province was only to attend the young Lady, and prepare the Quidlings, and other Sweet-Meats, for the Reception of Sir _Christian's_ Friends; all which she did to Admiration.

In this State of easy Servitude she liv'd there for near three Years, very well contented at all Times, but when she bethought her self of her Father, Mother, and Sisters, courted by all the princ.i.p.al Men-Servants, whom she refus'd in so obliging a Manner, and with such sweet, obliging Words, that they could not think themselves injur'd, though they found their Addresses were in vain. Mr. _Prayfast_, the Chaplain himself, could not hold out against her Charms. For her Skin had long since recover'd its native Whiteness; nor did she need Ornaments of Cloaths to set her Beauty off, if any Thing could adorn her, since she was dress'd altogether as costly, though not so richly (perhaps) as _Eleanora_.

_Prayfast_ therefore found that the Spirit was too weak for the Flesh, and gave her very broad Signs of his Kindness in Sonnets, Anagrams, and Acrosticks, which she receiv'd very obligingly of him, taking a more convenient Time to laugh at 'em with her young Lady.

Her kind Reception of them encourag'd him to that Degree, that within a few Days after, supposing himself secure on her Side, he apply'd himself to the good old Knight, his Patron, for his Consent to a Marriage with her, who very readily comply'd with his Demands, esteeming it a very advantagious Match for _Peregrina_, and withal told him, That he would give him three hundred Pounds with her, besides the first Benefit that should fall in his Gift. But (said he) as I doubt not that you are sufficiently acquainted with her Virtues and other excellent Qualifications, 'tis necessary that you should know the worst that I can tell you of her, which is, that she came to us a meer Stranger, in a very mean, tho' cleanly Habit; and therefore, as she confesseth, we may conclude, of very humble, yet honest Parentage. A! (possibly) her Father might have been, or is, some Husbandman, or somewhat inferiour to that; for we took her up at the Door, begging one Night's Entertainment in the Barn. How, Sir! (cry'd _Prayfast_, starting) have you no better Knowledge of her Birth, than what you are pleas'd to discover now? No better, nor more (reply'd the Knight.) Alas! Sir, then (return'd the proud canonical Sort of a Farmer) she is no Wife for me; I shall dishonour my Family by marrying so basely. Were you never told any Thing of this before? (ask'd the Knight.) You know, Sir, (answer'd the Prelate that would be) that I have not had the Honour to officiate, as your Chaplain, much more than half a Year; in which Time, 'tis true, I have heard that she was receiv'd as a Stranger; but that she came in so low a Capacity I never learn'd 'till now. I find then, Parson, (said the Knight) that you do not like the Author of your Happiness, at least, who might be so, because she comes to you in such an humble Manner; I tell you the _Jews_ are miserable for the same Reason. She cannot be such perfectly to me (return'd t'other) without the Advantage of good Birth.

With that I'm sure she would not, return'd his Patron, and left him to go to _Peregrina_, whom he happily found alone. Child, (said he to her) have you any Obligation to Mr. _Prayfast_? As how, Sir? She ask'd. Do you love him? Have you made him any Promise of Marriage? Or has he any Way engag'd himself to you? Neither, Sir, (she answer'd.) 'Tis true, I love him as my Fellow-Servant, no otherwise. He has indeed been somewhat lavish of his Wit and Rhimes to me, which serv'd well enough to divert my young Lady and me. But of all Mankind, perhaps, he should be the last I would choose for a Husband. I thought (said the good-humour'd old Knight) that he had already obtain'd a Promise from you, since he came but just now to ask my Consent, which I freely gave him at first, upon that Thought; but he is doubtful of your Birth, and fears it may dishonour his Family, if he should marry you. On my Word, Sir, (return'd _Peregrina_, blus.h.i.+ng with Disdain, no doubt) our Families are by no Means equal. What thy Family is, I know not; (said Sir _Christian_) but I am sure thou art infinitely superiour to him in all the natural Embelishments both of Body and Mind. Be just to thy self, and be not hasty to wed: Thou hast more Merit than Wealth alone can purchase. O!

dear Sir, (she return'd) you ruin me with Obligations never to be re-paid, but in Acknowledgment, and that imperfectly too. Here they were interrupted by the young Lady, to whom she repeated the Conference betwixt Sir _Christian_ and _Prayfast_, as soon as ever Sir _Christian_ left the Room.

About a Week after, Sir _Lucius Lovewell_, (a young Gentleman, of a good Presence, Wit, and Learning enough, whose Father, dying near a Twelve-month before, had left him upwards of 3000_l._ a Year, which, too, was an excellent Accomplishment, tho' not the best; for he was admirably good-humour'd) came to visit Sir _Christian Kindly_; and, as some of the Family imagin'd, 'twas with Design to make his Addresses to the young Lady, Sir _Christian's_ Daughter. Whatever his Thoughts were, his Treatment, there, was very generous and kind. He saw the Lady, and lik'd her very well; nay, doubtless, would have admitted a Pa.s.sion for her, had not his Destiny at the same Time shewn him _Peregrina_. She was very beautiful, and he as sensible; and 'tis not to be doubted, but that he immediately took Fire. However, his Application and Courts.h.i.+p, free and unaffected, were chiefly directed to Sir _Christian's_ Daughter: Some little Respects he paid to _Peregrina_, who could not choose but look on him as a very fine, good-humour'd, and well-accomplish'd Gentleman. When the Hour came that he thought fit to retreat, Sir _Christian_ ask'd him, When he would make 'em happy again in his Conversation? To which he return'd, That since he was not above seven or eight Miles from him, and that there were Charms so attractive at Sir _Christian's_, he should take the Liberty to visit him sooner and oftener than he either expected or desir'd. T'other reply'd, That was impossible; and so, without much more Ceremony, he took his Leave of that delightful Company for two or three Days; at the End of which he return'd, with Thoughts much different from those at his first Coming thither, being strongly agitated by his Pa.s.sion for _Peregrina_. He took and made all the Opportunities and Occasions that Chance and his own Fancy could offer and present to talk to her, both before, at, and after Dinner; and his Eyes were so constantly fix'd on her, that he seem'd to observe nothing else; which was so visible to Sir _Christian_, his Lady, and Daughter, that they were convinc'd of their Error, in believing, that he came to make his Court to the young Lady. This late Discovery of the young Knight's Inclinations, was no Way unpleasant to Sir _Christian_ and his Lady; and to the young Lady it was most agreeable and obliging,

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