Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle. Charlotte Smith
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was delivered, and the discomposed looks of the distressed Elkerton, explained the matter to the whole company; and the laugh became general.
Elkerton, tho' not easily disconcerted, could not stand it. After a sort of apology to Delamere, he endeavoured to reassume his consequence. But he had been too severely mortified; and in a few minutes arose, and under pretence of being engaged to a rout in town, went away, nobody attempting to stop him.
Rochely, who hated Elkerton, could not forbear to triumph in this discomfiture. He spoke very severely of him as a forward, impertinent, silly fellow, who was dissipating his fortune.
The old citizen heartily joined in exclaiming against such apostates from the frugality of their ancestors. 'Sir,' said he to Rochely, 'we all know that you are a prudent man; and that cash at your house is, as it were, in the Bank. Sir, you do honour to the city; but as to that there Mr. Elkerton, one must be cautious; but for my part, I wonder how some people go on. To my certain knowledge his father didn't die so rich as was supposed—no—not by a many thousands. Sir, I remember him—(and I am not ashamed to say it, for every body knows I have got my money honestly, and that it's all of my own getting)—but, Sir, I remember that man's father, and not a many years ago neither, carrying out parcels, and sweeping the shop for old Jonathan Huggins. You knew old Jonathan Huggins: he did not die, I think, 'till about the year forty-one or two. You remember him, to be sure?'
Rochely, ever tremblingly alive when his age was called in question, yet fearing to deny a fact which he apprehended the other would enter into a convincing detail to prove, answered that 'he slightly remembered him when he was quite a boy.'
But his evasion availed him nothing. The old citizen, Mr. Rugby, was now got upon his own ground; and most inhumanly for the feelings of poor Rochely, began to relate in whose mayoralty old Jonathan Huggins was sheriff, and when he was mayor; who he married; who married his daughters; and how he acquired an immense fortune, all by frugality at setting out; and how one of his daughters, who had married a Lord against the old man's will, had spent more in one night than his father did in a twelvemonth.
Delamere, who sat execrating both Jonathan Huggins and his historian, at length lost all patience; and said to Emmeline, in an half whisper, 'I can bear this no longer: leave these tedious old fools, and let me speak to you for two minutes only.'
Emmeline knew not how to refuse, without hazarding some extravagance on the part of Delamere. But as she did not like the appearance of leaving the room abruptly, she desired Mrs. Ashwood would give her permission to order candles in the parlour, as Mr. Delamere wished to speak with her alone.
As soon as the servant informed her they were ready, she went down: and Delamere followed her, having first wished Mrs. Ashwood a good night; who was too much displeased with the little attention he had shewn her, to ask him to supper, tho' she was very desirous of having a man of his fashion in the list of her acquaintance.
Delamere and Emmeline were no sooner alone, than he began to renew, with every argument he thought likely to move her, his entreaties for a private marriage. He swore that he neither could or would live without her, and that her refusal would drive him to some act of desperation.
Emmeline feared her resolution would give way; for the comparison between the people she had lately been among, and Delamere, was infinitely favourable to him. Such unabated love, in a man who might chuse among the fairest and most fortunate of women, was very seducing; and the advantages of being his wife, instead of continuing in the precarious situation she was now in, would have determined at once a mind more attentive to pecuniary or selfish motives.
But Emmeline, unshaken by such considerations, was liable to err only from the softness of her heart.
Delamere unhappy—Delamere wearing out in hopeless solicitude the bloom of life, was the object she found it most difficult to contend with: and feeble would have been her defence, had she not considered herself as engaged in honour to Lord Montreville to refuse his son, and still more engaged to respect the peace of the family of her dear Augusta.
Strengthened by these reflections, she refused, tho' in the gentlest manner, to listen to such proposals; reproached him, tho' with more tenderness in her voice and manner than she had yet shewn, for having left Audley Hall without the concurrence of Lord Montreville; and entreated him to return, and try to forget her.
'Let me perish if I do!' eagerly answered Delamere. 'No, Emmeline; if you determine to push me to extremities, to you only will be the misery imputable, when my mistaken parents, in vain repentance, hang over the tomb of their only son, and see the last of his family in an early grave. It is in your power only to save me—You refuse—farewel, then—I wish no future regret may embitter your life, and that you may find consolation in being the wife of some one of those persons who are, I see, offering you all that riches can bestow. Farewel, lovely, inhuman girl! be happy if you can—after having sacrificed to a mistaken point of honour, the repose and the life of him who lived only to adore you.'
So saying, he suddenly opened the door, and was leaving the room. But Emmeline, who shuddered at the picture he had drawn of his despair, and saw such traces of its reality on his countenance, caught his arm.
'Stay! Mr. Delamere,' cried she, 'stay yet a moment!'
'For what purpose?' answered he, 'since you refuse to hear me?'
He turned back, however, into the room; and Emmeline, who fancied she saw him the victim of his unfortunate love, could no longer command her tears.
Delamere threw himself at her feet, and embraced her knees.
'Oh Emmeline!' cried he, weeping also, 'hear me for the last time. Either consent to be mine, or let me take an eternal adieu!'
'What would you have me do? good God! what is it you expect of me?'
'To go with me to Scotland to-morrow—to night—directly!'
'Oh, no! no!—Does not Lord Montreville depend upon my honour?—can I betray a trust reposed in me?'
'Chimeras all; founded in tyranny on his part, and weakness on yours. He had no right to exact such a promise; you had no right to give it. But however, send to him again to say I have seen you—summons him hither to divide us—you may certainly do so if you please; but Lord Montreville will no longer have a son; at least England, nor Europe, will contain him no longer—I will go where my father shall hear no more of me.'
'Will it content you if I promise you not to write to Lord Montreville, nor to cause him to be written to; and to see you again?'
'When?'
'To-morrow—whenever you please.'
Delamere, catching at this faint ray of hope, promised, if she would allow him to come thither when he would, he would endeavour to be calm. He made her solemnly protest that she would neither write to Lord Montreville, or procure another to do it; and that she would not leave Mrs. Ashwood without letting him know when and whither she went; and if by any accident his father heard of his having found her, that she would enter into no new engagements to conceal herself from him.
Having procured from her these assurances, which he knew she would not violate, and having obtained her consent to see him early the next morning, he at her request agreed to take his leave; which he did with less pain than he had ever before felt at quitting her; carrying with him the delightful hope that he had made an impression on her heart, and secure of seeing her the next day, he went home comparatively happy.
Emmeline, who had wept excessively, was very unfit to return to the company; but she thought her not appearing again among them would be yet more singular. She therefore composed herself as well as she could; and after staying a few minutes to recollect her scattered spirits, she entered the room where they were at cards.
Rochely, who was playing at whist with Mrs. Ashwood, Mr. Rugby, and Mr. Hanbury, looked anxiously at her eyes; and presently losing all attention to what he was about, and forgetting his game, he played so extremely ill, that he lost the rubber.
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