on. The confusion she was in hindered her from directing the chairmen where to go; so they were carrying her home again, till she saw herself at the end of the street where she lived; but then, recollecting all at once where she had appointed to meet her brothers, she ordered them to go to Golden Square.
It seemed as if fate interested itself in a peculiar manner for the mortification of this young lady; every thing contributed to give her the most poignant shock her soul could possibly sustain. It was not enough that she had heard the cruel tidings of what she looked upon as the greatest of misfortunes, her eyes must also be witness of the stabbing confirmation. The place of sale was within two houses of Sir Bazil's; but, as she had never heard where that gentleman lived, could have no apprehensions of the spectacle she was to be presented with. On her chair turning into the square, she saw that side of it, to which she had directed the men to carry her, crowded with coaches, horses, and a great concourse of people; some waiting for the bridal bounty, but more as idle spectators. At first, she imagined it was on the account of the sale; but the same instant almost shewed her her mistake.
Several footmen, with wedding-favours in their hats, two of whom she knew by their faces, as well as by their liveries, belonged to Mr. Trueworth, were just mounting their horses. The crowd was so thick about the door, that it was with some difficulty the chair passed on; and she had an opportunity of seeing much more than she desired. There were three coaches and six: in the first went Sir Bazil and the new-made Lady Loveit, the father of Miss Mabel, and a young lady whom Miss Betsy had sometimes seen in her company; in the second were seated Mr. Trueworth, his bride, Mrs. Wellair, and a grave old gentleman; the third was filled by four maid-servants, and the two valet de chambres of the two bridegrooms, with a great deal of luggage before and behind. The ladies and gentlemen were all in extreme rich riding-habits; and the footmen, eleven in number, being all in new liveries, and spruce fellows, the whole cavalcade altogether made a very genteel appearance.
Miss Betsy, in spite of the commotions in her breast, could not forbear standing a little in the hall, after she had got out of her chair; till the whole had passed. 'Well!' said she to herself, with a deep sigh, 'all is over, and I must think no more of Trueworth! But wherefore am I thus alarmed? He has long since been lost to me—nor did I love him!'
She assumed all the courage her pride could supply her with, and had tolerably composed herself before she went up into the sale-room; yet not so much but a paleness, mixed with a certain confusion, appeared in her countenance. Mr. Munden, who happened to be there, as well as her brothers, took notice of it, and asked if she was not well: to which she replied, with an uncommon presence of mind, that she was in perfect health, but had been frightened as she came along by a great black ox, who, by the carelessness of the driver, had like to have run his horns quite into the chair. Mr. Munden, who never wanted politeness, and knew how to put on the most tender air whenever he pleased, expressed an infinity of concern for the accident she mentioned: and this behaviour in him she either relished very well, or seemed to do so.
What credit her brothers gave to the story of the ox is uncertain: they, as well as all the company in the room, had been drawn to the windows by the noise of the cavalcade which had set out from Sir Bazil's. Every one was talking of it when Miss Betsy entered; and, it is very probable, the two Mr. Thoughtlesses might imagine it had an effect upon her, in spite of the indifference she had always pretended: they were, however, too prudent to take any notice, especially as Mr. Munden was present.
Whatever were the troubles of this young lady, her spirits enabled her to conceal them; and she gave her opinion of the goods to be disposed of with as much exactitude as if her mind had been taken up with no other thing.
Mr. Thoughtless made a purchase of the twelve Caesars in bronze, and two fruit-pieces of Varelst's: and Mr. Munden, on Miss Betsy's expressing her liking of two very large curious jars, bought them, and presented them to her.
Nothing material passed here: but, the sale being over for that day, every one returned to their respective habitations, or whatever business or inclination called them.
VOLUME THE FOURTH
CHAPTER I
Contains, among other particulars, an example of forgiving goodness and generosity, worthy the imitation of as many as shall read it
The constraint Miss Betsy had put on herself while in the presence of the company she had been with, had been extremely painful to her; but, when she got home, she gave a loose to tears, that common relief of sorrows: yet, amidst all those testimonies of a violent affection for Mr. Trueworth, she would not allow herself to imagine that she was possessed of any for him; nor that the vexation she was in proceeded from any other motive than that of finding a heart, that had once been devoted to her, capable of submitting to the charms of any other woman.
All she could bring herself to acknowledge was only that she had been very much to blame in treating the proposals of Mr. Trueworth in the light manner she had done: she now wondered at herself for having been so blind to the merits of Mr. Trueworth's family, estate, person, and accomplishments; and accused herself, with the utmost severity, for having rejected what, she could not but confess, would have been highly for her interest, honour, and happiness, to have accepted.
Thus deeply was she buried in a too late repentance, when a letter was brought to her, the superscription of which was wrote in a hand altogether unknown to her. On opening it, she found the contents as follows.
'Marshalsea Prison.
To Miss Betsy Thoughtless.
Madam,
After the just though severe resolution your last informed me you had taken of never seeing nor receiving any thing from me more, I tremble to approach you. Fearing you would not vouchsafe to open this, knowing from whence it came, I got a person to direct it for you; and cannot assure myself you will, even now, examine the contents so far as to see the motive which emboldens me to give you this trouble.
I have long since rendered myself unworthy your friendship—it is solely your compassion and charity that I now implore. The date of this petition, in part, will shew you the calamity I labour under. I have languished in this wretched prison for upwards of a month, for debts my luxury contracted, and which I vainly expected would be discharged by those who called themselves my admirers: but, alas! all the return they make for favours they so ardently requested, is contempt. I have been obliged to make away with every thing their gallantry bestowed, for my support.
All the partners of my guilty pleasures—all those who shared with me in my riots, are deaf to my complaints, and refuse a pitying ear to the distress they have in a great measure contributed to bring upon me. My creditors, more merciful than my friends or lovers, have consented to withdraw their actions; and I shall have my discharge on paying the fees of this loathsome prison. Three guineas will be sufficient to restore my liberty; which, if I am so fortune once more to obtain, I will think no labour, though ever so hard or abject, too much, if it can enable me to drag on my remains of life in true penitence.
Dear Madam, if, by favouring me with the sum I mention, you are so good as to open my prison-gate, Heaven will, I doubt not, reward the generous bounty: and, if the Almighty will vouchsafe to hear the prayers of an abandoned creature like me, I shall never cease to invoke his choicest blessings may be showered down on the head of my charming deliverer.
I shall send to-morrow morning a poor honest woman, whom I can confide in, for your answer. I beseech you to be assured that, if once freed from this detested place, no temptations, of what kind soever, shall ever prevail upon me to return to my yet more detested former course of life; and am determined to fly to some remote corner of the kingdom, as distant from London as from L——e; and there endeavour to earn a wretched pittance, by means how low soever I care not. Your grant of the request