Chapter v.

A short account of the history of Mrs Miller.

Jones this day eat a pretty good dinner for a sick man, that is to

say, the larger half of a shoulder of mutton. In the afternoon he

received an invitation from Mrs Miller to drink tea; for that good

woman, having learnt, either by means of Partridge, or by some other

means natural or supernatural, that he had a connexion with Mr

Allworthy, could not endure the thoughts of parting with him in an

angry manner.

Jones accepted the invitation; and no sooner was the tea-kettle

removed, and the girls sent out of the room, than the widow, without

much preface, began as follows: “Well, there are very surprizing

things happen in this world; but certainly it is a wonderful business

that I should have a relation of Mr Allworthy in my house, and never

know anything of the matter. Alas! sir, you little imagine what a

friend that best of gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, sir, I am

not ashamed to own it; it is owing to his goodness that I did not long

since perish for want, and leave my poor little wretches, two

destitute, helpless, friendless orphans, to the care, or rather to the

cruelty, of the world.

“You must know, sir, though I am now reduced to get my living by

letting lodgings, I was born and bred a gentlewoman. My father was an

officer of the army, and died in a considerable rank: but he lived up

to his pay; and, as that expired with him, his family, at his death,

became beggars. We were three sisters. One of us had the good luck to

die soon after of the small-pox; a lady was so kind as to take the

second out of charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The mother of

this lady had been a servant to my grand-mother; and, having inherited

a vast fortune from her father, which he had got by pawnbroking, was

married to a gentleman of great estate and fashion. She used my sister

so barbarously, often upbraiding her with her birth and poverty,

calling her in derision a gentlewoman, that I believe she at length

broke the heart of the poor girl. In short, she likewise died within a

twelvemonth after my father. Fortune thought proper to provide better

for me, and within a month from his decease I was married to a

clergyman, who had been my lover a long time before, and who had been

very ill used by my father on that account: for though my poor father

could not give any of us a shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately,

considered us, and would have had us consider ourselves, as highly as

if we had been the richest heiresses. But my dear husband forgot all

this usage, and the moment we were become fatherless he immediately

renewed his addresses to me so warmly, that I, who always liked, and

now more than ever esteemed him, soon complied. Five years did I live

in a state of perfect happiness with that best of men, till at

last--Oh! cruel! cruel fortune, that ever separated us, that deprived

me of the kindest of husbands and my poor girls of the tenderest

parent.--O my poor girls! you never knew the blessing which ye

lost.--I am ashamed, Mr Jones, of this womanish weakness; but I shall

never mention him without tears.” “I ought rather, madam,” said Jones,

“to be ashamed that I do not accompany you.” “Well, sir,” continued

she, “I was now left a second time in a much worse condition than

before; besides the terrible affliction I was to encounter, I had now

two children to provide for; and was, if possible, more pennyless than

ever; when that great, that good, that glorious man, Mr Allworthy, who

had some little acquaintance with my husband, accidentally heard of my

distress, and immediately writ this letter to me. Here, sir, here it

is; I put it into my pocket to shew it you. This is the letter, sir; I

must and will read it to you.

“'Madam,

“'I heartily condole with you on your late grievous loss, which your

own good sense, and the excellent lessons you must have learnt from

the worthiest of men, will better enable you to bear than any advice

which I am capable of giving. Nor have I any doubt that you, whom I

have heard to be the tenderest of mothers, will suffer any

immoderate indulgence of grief to prevent you from discharging your

duty to those poor infants, who now alone stand in need of your

tenderness.

“`However, as you must be supposed at present to be incapable of

much worldly consideration, you will pardon my having ordered a

person to wait on you, and to pay you twenty guineas, which I beg

you will accept till I have the pleasure of seeing you, and believe

me to be, madam, &c.'

“This letter, sir, I received within a fortnight after the irreparable

loss I have mentioned; and within a fortnight afterwards, Mr

Allworthy--the blessed Mr Allworthy, came to pay me a visit, when he

placed me in the house where you now see me, gave me a large sum of

money to furnish it, and settled an annuity of £50 a-year upon me,

which I have constantly received ever since. Judge, then, Mr Jones, in

what regard I must hold a benefactor, to whom I owe the preservation

of my life, and of those dear children, for whose sake alone my life

is valuable. Do not, therefore, think me impertinent, Mr Jones (since

I must esteem one for whom I know Mr Allworthy hath so much value), if

I beg you not to converse with these wicked women. You are a young

gentleman, and do not know half their artful wiles. Do not be angry

with me, sir, for what I said upon account of my house; you must be

sensible it would be the ruin of my poor dear girls. Besides, sir, you

cannot but be acquainted that Mr Allworthy himself would never forgive

my conniving at such matters, and particularly with you.”

“Upon my word, madam,” said Jones, “you need make no farther apology;

nor do I in the least take anything ill you have said; but give me

leave, as no one can have more value than myself for Mr Allworthy, to

deliver you from one mistake, which, perhaps, would not be altogether

for his honour; I do assure you, I am no relation of his.”

“Alas! sir,” answered she, “I know you are not, I know very well who

you are; for Mr Allworthy hath told me all; but I do assure you, had

you been twenty times his son, he could not have expressed more regard

for you than he hath often expressed in my presence. You need not be

ashamed, sir, of what you are; I promise you no good person will

esteem you the less on that account. No, Mr Jones, the words

`dishonourable birth' are nonsense, as my dear, dear husband used to

say, unless the word `dishonourable' be applied to the parents; for

the children can derive no real dishonour from an act of which they

are intirely innocent.”

Here Jones heaved a deep sigh, and then said, “Since I perceive,

madam, you really do know me, and Mr Allworthy hath thought proper to

mention my name to you; and since you have been so explicit with me as

to your own affairs, I will acquaint you with some more circumstances

concerning myself.” And these Mrs Miller having expressed great desire

and curiosity to hear, he began and related to her his whole history,

without once mentioning the name of Sophia.

There is a kind of sympathy in honest minds, by means of which they

give an easy credit to each other. Mrs Miller believed all which Jones

told her to be true, and exprest much pity and concern for him. She

was beginning to comment on the story, but Jones interrupted her; for,

as the hour of assignation now drew nigh, he began to stipulate for a

second interview with the lady that evening, which he promised should

be the last at her house; swearing, at the same time, that she was one

of great distinction, and that nothing but what was intirely innocent

was to pass between them; and I do firmly believe he intended to keep

his word.

Mrs Miller was at length prevailed on, and Jones departed to his

chamber, where he sat alone till twelve o'clock, but no Lady Bellaston

appeared.

As we have said that this lady had a great affection for Jones, and as

it must have appeared that she really had so, the reader may perhaps

wonder at the first failure of her appointment, as she apprehended him

to be confined by sickness, a season when friendship seems most to

require such visits. This behaviour, therefore, in the lady, may, by

some, be condemned as unnatural; but that is not our fault; for our

business is only to record truth.