With this intention, and every faculty of her mind absorbed in
reflecting upon the reasons which gave rise to it, she returned to
Portman-square.
As her chair was carried into the hall, she observed, with some
alarm, a look of consternation among the servants, and an appearance
of confusion in the whole house. She was proceeding to her own room,
intending to enquire of her maid if any evil had happened, when she
was crossed upon the stairs by Mr Harrel, who passed her with an air
so wild and perturbed, that he hardly seemed to know her.
Frightened and amazed, she stopt short, irresolute which way to go;
but, hastily returning, he beckoned her to follow him.
She obeyed, and he led her to the library. He then shut the door,
and abruptly seizing her hand, called out, “Miss Beverley, I am
ruined!—I am undone!—I am blasted for ever!”
“I hope not, Sir!” said Cecilia, extremely terrified, “I hope not!
Where is Mrs Harrel?”
“O I know not! I know not!” cried he, in a frantic manner, “but I
have not seen her,—I cannot see her,—I hope I shall never see her
more!—”
“O fie! fie!” said Cecilia, “let me call her, I beg; you should
consult with her in this distress, and seek comfort from her
affection.”
“From her affection?” repeated he, fiercely, “from her hatred you
mean! do you not know that she, too, is ruined? Oh past redemption
ruined!—and yet that I should hesitate, that I should a moment
hesitate to conclude the whole business at once!”
“How dreadful!” cried Cecilia, “what horrible thing has happened?”
“I have undone Priscilla!” cried he, “I have blasted my credit! I
have destroyed—no, not yet quite destroyed myself!”
“O yet nor ever!” cried Cecilia, whose agitation now almost equalled
his own, “be not so desperate, I conjure you! speak to me more
intelligibly,—what does all this mean? How has it come to pass?”
“My debts!—my creditors!—one way only,” striking his hand upon his
forehead, “is left for me!”
“Do not say so, Sir!” said Cecilia, “you shall find many ways; pray
have courage! pray speak calmly; and if you will but be more
prudent, will but, in future, better regulate your affairs, I will
myself undertake—”
She stopt; checked in the full career of her overflowing compassion,
by a sense of the worthlessness of its object; and by the
remembrance of the injunctions of Mr Monckton.
“What will you undertake?” cried he, eagerly, “I know you are an
angel!—tell me, what will you undertake?”
“I will,—” said Cecilia, hesitating, “I will speak to Mr Monckton,
—I will consult—”
“You may as well consult with every cursed creditor in the house!”
interrupted he; “but do so, if you please; my disgrace must perforce
reach him soon, and a short anticipation is not worth begging off.”
“Are your creditors then actually in the house?”
“O yes, yes! and therefore it is high time I should be out of it!—
Did you not see them?—Do they not line the hall?—They threaten me
with three executions before night!—three executions unless I
satisfy their immediate demands!—”
“And to what do their demands amount?”
“I know not!—I dare not ask!—to some thousand pounds, perhaps,—
and I have not, at this minute, forty guineas in the house!”
“Nay, then,” cried Cecilia, retreating, “I can indeed do nothing! if
their demands are so high, I ought to do nothing.”
She would then have quitted him, not more shocked at his situation,
than indignant at the wilful extravagance which had occasioned it.
“Stay,” cried he, “and hear me!” then, lowering his voice, “seek
out,” he continued, “your unfortunate friend,—go to the poor ruined
Priscilla,—prepare her for tidings of horror! and do not, though
you renounce Me, do not abandon Her!”
Then, fiercely passing her, he was himself leaving the room; but
Cecilia, alarmed by the fury of his manner, called out, “What is it
you mean? what tidings of horror? whither are you going?”
“To hell!” cried he, and rushed out of the apartment.
Cecilia screamed aloud, and conjuring him to hear her, ran after
him; he paid her no regard, but, flying faster than she had power to
pursue, reached his own dressing-room, shut himself into it with
violence, and just as she arrived at the door, turned the key, and
bolted it.
Her terror was now inexpressible; she believed him in the very act
of suicide, and her refusal of assistance seemed the signal for the
deed: her whole fortune, at that moment, was valueless and
unimportant to her, compared with the preservation of a fellow-creature: she called out with all the vehemence of agony to beg he
would open the door, and eagerly promised by all that was sacred to
do everything in her power to save him.
At these words he opened it; his face was totally without colour,
and he grasped a razor in his hand.
“You have stopt me,” said he, in a voice scarce audible, “at the
very moment I had gathered courage for the blow: but if indeed you
will assist me, I will shut this up,—if not, I will steep it in my
blood!”
“I will! I will!” cried Cecilia, “I will do every thing you desire!”
“And quickly?”
“Immediately.”
“Before my disgrace is known? and while all may yet be hushed up?”
“Yes, yes! all—any—every thing you wish!”
“Swear, then!”
Here Cecilia drew back; her recollection returned as her terror
abated, and her repugnance to entering into an engagement for she
knew not what, with a man whose actions she condemned, and whose
principles she abhorred, made all her fright now give way to
indignation, and, after a short pause, she angrily answered, “No,
Sir, I will not swear!—but yet, all that is reasonable, all that is
friendly—”
“Hear me swear, then!” interrupted he, furiously, “which at this
moment I do, by every thing eternal, and by every thing infernal,
that I will not outlive the seizure of my property, and that the
moment I am informed there is an execution in my house, shall be the
last of my existence!”
“What cruelty! what compulsion! what impiety!” cried Cecilia: “give
me, however, that horrible instrument, and prescribe to me what
conditions you please.”
A noise was now heard below stairs, at which Cecilia, who had not
dared call for help lest he should quicken his desperation, was
secretly beginning to rejoice, when, starting at the sound, he
exclaimed, “I believe you are too late!—the ruffians have already
seized my house!” then, endeavouring to force her out of the room,
“Go,” he cried, “to my wife;—I want to be alone!”
“Oh give me first,” cried she, “that weapon, and I will take what
oath you please!”
“No, no!—go,—leave me,—” cried he, almost breathless with
emotion, “I must not now be trifled with.”
“I do not trifle! indeed I do not!” cried Cecilia, holding by his
arm: “try, put me to the proof!”
“Swear, solemnly swear, to empty my house of these creditors this
moment!”
“I do swear,” cried she, with energy, “and Heaven prosper me as I am
sincere!”
“I see, I see you are an angel!” cried he, rapturously, “and as such
I worship and adore you! O you have restored me to life, and rescued
me from perdition!”
“Give me, then, that fatal instrument!”
“That instrument,” returned he, “is nothing, since so many others
are in my power; but you have now taken from me all desire of using
them. Go, then, and stop those wretches from coming to me,—send
immediately for the Jew!—he will advance what money you please,—my
man knows where to find him; consult with Mr Arnott,—speak a word
of comfort to Priscilla,—but do nothing, nothing at all, till you
have cleared my house of those cursed scoundrels!”
Cecilia, whose heart sunk within her at the solemn promise she had
given, the mention of the Jew, and the arduous task she had
undertaken, quitted him without reply, and was going to her own
room, to compose her hurried spirits, and consider what steps she
had to take, when hearing the noise in the hall grow louder, she
stopt to listen, and catching some words that greatly alarmed her,
went half way down stairs, when she was met by Davison, Mr Harrel’s
man, of whom she enquired into the occasion of the disturbance.
He answered that he must go immediately to his master, for the
bailiffs were coming into the house.
“Let him not know it if you value his life!” cried she, with new
terror. “Where is Mr Arnott? call him to me,—beg him to come this
moment;—I will wait for him here.”
The man flew to obey her; and Cecilia, finding she had time neither
for deliberation nor regret, and dreading lest Mr Harrel, by hearing
of the arrival of the bailiffs, should relapse into despair,
determined to call to her aid all the courage, prudence, and
judgment she possessed, and, since to act she was compelled,
endeavour with her best ability, to save his credit, and retrieve
his affairs.
The moment Mr Arnott came, she ordered Davison to hasten to his
master, and watch his motions.
Then, addressing Mr Arnott, “Will you. Sir,” she said, “go and tell
those people that if they will instantly quit the house, every thing
shall be settled, and Mr Harrel will satisfy their demands?”
“Ah madam!” cried Mr Arnott, mournfully, “and how? he has no means
to pay them, and I have none—without ruin to myself,—to help him!”
“Send them but away,” said Cecilia, “and I will myself be your
security that your promise shall not be disgraced.”
“Alas, madam,” cried he, “what are you doing? well as I wish to Mr
Harrel, miserable as I am for my unfortunate sister, I yet cannot
bear that such goodness, such beneficence should be injured!”
Cecilia, however, persisted, and with evident reluctance he obeyed
her.
While she waited his return, Davison came from Mr Harrel, who had
ordered him to run instantly for the Jew.
Good Heaven, thought Cecilia, that a man so wretchedly selfish and
worldly, should dare, with all his guilt upon his head,
Mr Arnott was more than half an hour with the people; and when, at
last, he returned, his countenance immediately proclaimed the ill
success of his errand. The creditors, he said, declared they had so
frequently been deceived, that they would not dismiss the bailiffs,
or retire themselves, without actual payment.
“Tell them, then, Sir,” said Cecilia,” to send me their accounts,
and, if it be possible, I will discharge them directly.”
Mr Arnott’s eyes were filled with tears at this declaration, and he
protested, be the consequence to himself what it might, he would pay
away every shilling he was worth, rather than witness such
injustice.
“No,” cried Cecilia, exerting more spirit, that she might shock him
less, “I did not save Mr Harrel, to destroy so much better a man!
you have suffered but too much oppression already; the present evil
is mine; and from me, at least, none I hope will ever spread to Mr
Arnott.”
Mr Arnott could not bear this; he was struck with grief, with
admiration, and with gratitude, and finding his tears now refused to
be restrained, he went to execute her commission in silent
dejection.
The dejection, however, was encreased, though his tears were
dispersed, when he returned; “Oh madam!” he cried, “all your
efforts, generous as they are, will be of no avail! the bills even
now in the house amount to more than L7000!”
Cecilia, amazed and confounded, started and clasped her hands,
calling out, “What must I do! to what have I bound myself! and how
can I answer to my conscience,—to my successors, such a disposal,
such an abuse of so large a part of my fortune!”
Mr Arnott could make no answer; and they stood looking at each other
in silent irresolution, till Davison brought intelligence that the
Jew was already come, and waited to speak with her.
“And what can I say to him?” cried she, more and more agitated; “I
understand nothing of usury; how am I to deal with him?”
Mr Arnott then confessed that he should himself have instantly been
bail for his brother, but that his fortune, originally not large,
was now so much impaired by the many debts which from time to time
he had paid for him, that as he hoped some day to have a family of
his own, he dare not run a risk by which he might be utterly ruined,
and the less, as his sister had at Violet Bank been prevailed upon
to give up her settlement.
This account, which explained the late uneasiness of Mrs Harrel,
still encreased the distress of Cecilia; and every moment she
obtained for reflection, augmented her reluctance to parting with
so large a sum of money for so worthless an object, and added
strength to her resentment for the unjustifiable menaces which had
extorted from her such a promise. Yet not an instant would she
listen to Mr Arnott’s offer of fulfilling her engagement, and
charged him, as he considered her own self-esteem worth her keeping,
not to urge to her a proposal so ungenerous and selfish.
Davison now came again to hasten her, and said that the Jew was with
his master, and they both impatiently expected her.
Cecilia, half distracted with her uncertainty how to act, changed
colour at this message, and exclaimed “Oh Mr Arnott, run I beseech
you for Mr Monckton! bring him hither directly,—if any body can
save me it is him; but if I go back to Mr Harrel, I know it will be
all over!”
“Certainly,” said Mr Arnott, “I will run to him this moment.”
“Yet no!—stop!—” cried the trembling Cecilia, “he can now do me no
good,—his counsel will arrive too late to serve me,—it cannot call
back the oath I have given! it cannot, compulsatory as it was, make
me break it, and not be miserable for ever!”
This idea sufficed to determine her; and the apprehension of self-reproach, should the threat of Mr Harrel be put in execution, was
more insupportable to her blameless and upright mind, than any loss
or diminution which her fortune could sustain.
Slowly however, with tardy and unwilling steps, her judgment
repugnant, and her spirit repining, she obeyed the summons of Mr
Harrel, who, impatient of her delay, came forward to meet her.
“Miss Beverley,” he cried, “there is not a moment to be lost; this
good man will bring you any sum of money, upon a proper
consideration, that you will command; but if he is not immediately
commissioned, and these cursed fellows are not got out of my house,
the affair will be blown,”—”and what will follow,” added he,
lowering his voice, “I will not again frighten you by repeating,
though I shall never recant.”
Cecilia turned from him in horror; and, with a faltering voice and
heavy heart, entreated Mr Arnott to settle for her with the Jew.
Large as was the sum, she was so near being of age, and her security
was so good, that the transaction was soon finished: 7500 pounds was
received of the Jew, Mr Harrel gave Cecilia his bond for the
payment, the creditors were satisfied, the bailiffs were dismissed,
and the house was soon restored to its customary appearance of
splendid gaiety.
Mrs Harrel, who during this scene had shut herself up in her own
room to weep and lament, now flew to Cecilia, and in a transport of
joy and gratitude, thanked her upon her knees for thus preserving
her from utter ruin: the gentle Mr Arnott seemed uncertain whether
most to grieve or rejoice; and Mr Harrel repeatedly protested she
should have the sole guidance of his future conduct.
This promise, the hope of his amendment, and the joy she had
expanded, somewhat revived the spirits of Cecilia; who, however,
deeply affected by what had passed, hastened from them all to her
own room.
She had now parted with 8050 pounds to Mr Harrel, without any security
when or how it was to be paid; and that ardour of benevolence which
taught her to value her riches merely as they enabled her to do good
and generous actions, was here of no avail to console or reward her,
for her gift was compelled, and its receiver was all but detested.
“How much better,” cried she, “would this have been bestowed upon
the amiable Miss Belfield! or upon her noble-minded, though proud-spirited brother! and how much less a sum would have made the
virtuous and industrious Hills easy and happy for life! but here, to
become the tool of the extravagance I abhor! to be made responsible
for the luxury I condemn! to be liberal in opposition to my
principles, and lavish in defiance of my judgment!—Oh that my much-deceived Uncle had better known to what dangerous hands he committed
me! and that my weak and unhappy friend had met with a worthier
protector of her virtue and safety!”
As soon, however, as she recovered from the first shock of her
reflections, she turned her thoughts from herself to the formation
of some plan that might, at least, render her donation of serious
and lasting use. The signal service she had just done them gave her
at present an ascendency over the Harrels, which she hoped, if
immediately exerted, might prevent the return of so calamitous a
scene, by engaging them both to an immediate change of conduct. But
unequal herself to contriving expedients for this purpose that might
not easily be controverted, she determined to send the next morning
a petition to Mr Monckton to call upon her, reveal to him the whole
transaction, and entreat him to suggest to her what, with most
probability of success, she might offer to their consideration.
While this was passing in her mind, on the evening of the day in
which she had so dearly purchased the right of giving counsel, she
was summoned to tea.
She found Mr Harrel and his lady engaged in earnest discourse; as
soon as she appeared, the former said, “My dear Miss Beverley, after
the extraordinary kindness you have shewn me this morning, you will
not, I am sure, deny me one trifling favour which I mean to ask this
evening.”
“No,” said Mrs Harrel, “that I am sure she will not, when she knows
that our future appearance in the world depends upon her granting
it.”
“I hope, then,” said Cecilia, “I shall not wish to refuse it.”
“It is nothing in the world,” said Mr Harrel, “but to go with us to-night to the Pantheon.”
Cecilia was struck with the utmost indignation at this proposal;
that the man who in the morning had an execution in his house,
should languish in the evening for the amusement of a public place,
—that he who but a few hours before was plunging uncalled into
eternity, should, while the intended instrument of death was yet
scarce cold from the grasp of his hand, deliberately court a return
of his distress, by instantly recurring to the methods which had
involved him in it, irritated and shocked her beyond even a wish of
disguising her displeasure, and therefore, after an expressive
silence, she gave a cold, but absolute denial.
“I see,” said Mr Harrel, somewhat confused, “you do not understand
the motives of our request. The unfortunate affair of this morning
is very likely to spread presently all over the town; the only
refutation that can be given to it, is by our all appearing in
public before any body knows whether to believe it or not.”
“Do, my dearest friend,” cried his lady, “oblige me by your
compliance; indeed our whole reputation depends upon it. I made an
engagement yesterday to go with Mrs Mears, and if I disappoint her,
every body will be guessing the reason.”
“At least,” answered Cecilia, “my going can answer no purpose to
you: pray, therefore, do not ask me; I am ill disposed for such sort
of amusement, and have by no means your opinion of its necessity.”
“But if we do not all go,” said Mr Harrel, “we do almost
nothing: you are known to live with us, and, your appearance at this
critical time is important to our credit. If this misfortune gets
wind, the consequence is that every dirty tradesman in town to whom
I owe a shilling, will be forming the same cursed combination those
scoundrels formed this morning, of coming in a body, and waiting for
their money, or else bringing an execution into my house.. The only
way to silence report is by putting a good face upon the matter at
once, and shewing ourselves to the world as if nothing had happened.
Favour us, therefore, to-night with your company, which is really
important to us, or ten to one, but in another fortnight, I shall be
just in the same scrape.”
Cecilia, however incensed at this intelligence that his debts were
still so numerous, felt now so much alarmed at the mention of an
execution, as if she was in actual danger of ruin herself.
Terrified, therefore, though not convinced, she yielded to their
persuasions, and consented to accompany them.
They soon after separated to make some alteration in their dress,
and then, calling in their way for Mrs Mears, they proceeded to the
Pantheon.
Footnotes
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