EXHIBITING AN INTERVIEW, WHICH, IT IS TO BE HOPED, WILL INTEREST THE CURIOSITY OF THE READER.
The mind of the delicate Aurelia was strangely agitated1 by the intelligence which she received with her pocket-book from Dolly. Confounded as she was by the nature of her situation, she at once perceived that she could not, with any regard to the dictates2 of gratitude3, refuse complying with the request of Sir Launcelot; but, in the first hurry of her emotion, she directed Dolly to beg, in her name, that she might be excused for wearing a mask at the interview which he desired, as she had particular reasons, which concerned her peace, for retaining that disguise. Our adventurer submitted to this preliminary with a good grace, as he had nothing in view but the injunction of his order, and the duties of humanity; and he was admitted without further preamble5.
When he entered the room, he could not help being struck with the presence of Aurelia. Her stature6 was improved since he had seen her; her shape was exquisitely7 formed; and she received him with an air of dignity, which impressed him with a very sublime8 idea of her person and character. She was no less affected9 at the sight of our adventurer, who, though cased in armour10, appeared with his head uncovered; and the exercise of travelling had thrown such a glow of health and vivacity11 on his features, which were naturally elegant and expressive12, that we will venture to say, there was not in all England a couple that excelled this amiable13 pair in personal beauty and accomplishments14. Aurelia shone with all the fabled15 graces of nymph or goddess; and to Sir Launcelot might be applied16 what the divine poet Ariosto says of the Prince Zerbino:
Natura il fece e poi ruppe la stampa
When Nature stamp’d him, she the die destroy’d.
Our adventurer having made his obeisance17 to this supposed Miss Meadows, told her, with an air of pleasantry, that although he thought himself highly honoured in being admitted to her presence, and allowed to pay his respects to her, as superior beings are adored, unseen; yet his pleasure would receive a very considerable addition, if she would be pleased to withdraw that invidious veil, that he might have a glimpse of the divinity which it concealed18. Aurelia immediately took off her mask, saying with a faltering19 accent, “I cannot be so ungrateful as to deny such a small favour to a gentleman who has laid me under the most important obligations.”
The unexpected apparition20 of Miss Aurelia Darnel, beaming with all the emanations of ripened21 beauty, blushing with all the graces of the most lovely confusion, could not but produce a violent effect upon the mind of Sir Launcelot Greaves. He was, indeed, overwhelmed with a mingled22 transport of astonishment23, admiration24, affection, and awe25. The colour vanished from his cheeks, and he stood gazing upon her, in silence, with the most emphatic26 expression of countenance27.
Aurelia was infected by his disorder28. She began to tremble, and the roses fluctuated on her face. “I cannot forget,” said she, “that I owe my life to the courage and humanity of Sir Launcelot Greaves, and that he at the same time rescued from the most dreadful death a dear and venerable parent.”—“Would to Heaven she still survived!” cried our adventurer, with great emotion. “She was the friend of my youth, the kind patroness of my felicity! My guardian29 angel forsook30 me when she expired! Her last injunctions are deep engraver31 on my heart!”
While he pronounced these words, she lifted her handkerchief to her fair eyes, and, after some pause, proceeded in a tremulous tone, “I hope, sir, —I hope you have—I should be sorry—Pardon me, sir, I cannot reflect upon such an interesting subject unmoved”—Here she fetched a deep sigh, that was accompanied by a flood of tears; while the knight32 continued to bend his eyes upon her with the utmost eagerness of attention.
Having recollected33 herself a little, she endeavoured to shift the conversation: “You have been abroad since I had the pleasure to see you —I hope you were agreeably amused in your travels.”—“No, madam,” said our hero, drooping34 his head; “I have been unfortunate.” When she, with the most enchanting35 sweetness of benevolence36, expressed her concern to hear he had been unhappy, and her hope that his misfortunes were not past remedy; he lifted up his eyes, and fixing them upon her again, with a look of tender dejection, “Cut off,” said he, “from the possession of what my soul held most dear, I wished for death, and was visited by distraction37. I have been abandoned by my reason—my youth is for ever blasted.”
The tender heart of Aurelia could bear no more—her knees began to totter38, the lustre39 vanished from her eyes, and she fainted in the arms of her attendant. Sir Launcelot, aroused by this circumstance, assisted Dolly in seating her mistress on a couch, where she soon recovered, and saw the knight on his knees before her. “I am still happy,” said he, “in being able to move your compassion40, though I have been held unworthy of your esteem41.”—“Do me justice,” she replied; “my best esteem has been always inseparably connected with the character of Sir Launcelot Greaves.”—“Is it possible?” cried our hero; “then surely I have no reason to complain. If I have moved your compassion, and possess your esteem, I am but one degree short of supreme42 happiness—that, however, is a gigantic step. O Miss Darnel! when I remember that dear, that melancholy43 moment.”—So saying he gently touched her hand, in order to press it to his lips, and perceived on her finger the very individual ring which he had presented in her mother’s presence, as an interchanged testimony44 of plighted45 faith. Starting at the well-known object, the sight of which conjured46 up a strange confusion of ideas, “This,” said he, “was once the pledge of something still more cordial than esteem.” Aurelia, blushing at this remark, while her eyes lightened with unusual vivacity, replied, in a severer tone, “Sir, you best know how it lost its original signification.”—“By Heaven! I do not, madam!” exclaimed our adventurer. “With me it was ever held a sacred idea throned within my heart, cherished with such fervency47 of regard, with such reverence48 of affection, as the devout49 anchorite more unreasonably50 pays to those sainted reliques that constitute the object of his adoration51.”—“And, like those reliques,” answered Miss Darnel, “I have been insensible of my votary’s devotion. A saint I must have been, or something more, to know the sentiments of your heart by inspiration.”
“Did I forbear,” said he, “to express, to repeat, to enforce the dictates of the purest passion that ever warmed the human breast, until I was denied access, and formally discarded by that cruel dismission?”—“I must beg your pardon, sir,” cried Aurelia, interrupting him hastily, “I know not what you mean.”—“That fatal sentence,” said he, “if not pronounced by your own lips, at least written by your own fair hand, which drove me out an exile for ever from the paradise of your affection.”—“I would not,” she replied, “do Sir Launcelot Greaves the injury to suppose him capable of imposition; but you talk of things to which I am an utter stranger. I have a right, sir, to demand of your honour, that you will not impute52 to me your breaking off a connexion, which—I would—rather wish—had never”——“Heaven and earth! what do I hear?” cried our impatient knight; “have I not the baleful letter to produce? What else but Miss Darnel’s explicit53 and express declaration could have destroyed the sweetest hope that ever cheered my soul; could have obliged me to resign all claim to that felicity for which alone I wished to live; could have filled my bosom54 with unutterable sorrow and despair; could have even divested55 me of reason, and driven me from the society of men, a poor, forlorn, wandering lunatic, such as you see me now prostrate56 at your feet; all the blossoms of my youth withered57, all the honours of my family decayed?”
Aurelia looking wishfully at her lover, “Sir,” said she, “you overwhelm me with amazement58 and anxiety! you are imposed upon, if you have received any such letter. You are deceived, if you thought Aurelia Darnel could be so insensible, ungrateful, and—inconstant.”
This last word she pronounced with some hesitation59, and a downcast look, while her face underwent a total suffusion60, and the knight’s heart began to palpitate with all the violence of emotion. He eagerly imprinted61 a kiss upon her hand, exclaiming, in interrupted phrase, “Can it be possible?—Heaven grant—Sure this is no illusion!—O madam!—shall I call you my Aurelia? My heart is bursting with a thousand fond thoughts and presages62. You shall see that dire4 paper which has been the source of all my woes—it is the constant companion of my travels—last night I nourished my chagrin63 with the perusal64 of its horrid65 contents.”
Aurelia expressed great impatience66 to view the cruel forgery67, for such she assured him it must be. But he could not gratify her desire, till the arrival of his servant with the portmanteau. In the meantime, tea was called. The lovers were seated. He looked and languished68; she flushed and faltered69. All was doubt and delirium70, fondness and flutter. Their mutual71 disorder communicated itself to the kind-hearted sympathising Dolly, who had been witness to the interview, and deeply affected at the disclosure of the scene. Unspeakable was her surprise, when she found her mistress, Miss Meadows, was no other than the celebrated72 Aurelia Darnel, whose eulogium she had heard so eloquently73 pronounced by her sweetheart, Mr. Thomas Clarke; a discovery which still more endeared her lady to her affection. She had wept plentifully74 at the progress of their mutual explanation, and was now so disconcerted, that she scarce knew the meaning of the orders she had received. She set the kettle on the table, and placed the tea-board on the fire. Her confusion, by attracting the notice of her mistress, helped to relieve her from her own embarrassing situation. She, with her own delicate hands, rectified75............