Chapter viii.

Further continuation.

The gentleman who now arrived was no other than Mr Western. He no

sooner saw Allworthy, than, without considering in the least the

presence of Mrs Waters, he began to vociferate in the following

manner: “Fine doings at my house! A rare kettle of fish I have

discovered at last! who the devil would be plagued with a daughter?”

“What's the matter, neighbour?” said Allworthy. “Matter enough,”

answered Western: “when I thought she was just a coming to; nay, when

she had in a manner promised me to do as I would ha her, and when I

was a hoped to have had nothing more to do than to have sent for the

lawyer, and finished all; what do you think I have found out? that the

little b-- hath bin playing tricks with me all the while, and carrying

on a correspondence with that bastard of yours. Sister Western, whom I

have quarrelled with upon her account, sent me word o't, and I ordered

her pockets to be searched when she was asleep, and here I have got un

signed with the son of a whore's own name. I have not had patience to

read half o't, for 'tis longer than one of parson Supple's sermons;

but I find plainly it is all about love; and indeed what should it be

else? I have packed her up in chamber again, and to-morrow morning

down she goes into the country, unless she consents to be married

directly, and there she shall live in a garret upon bread and water

all her days; and the sooner such a b-- breaks her heart the better,

though, d--n her, that I believe is too tough. She will live long

enough to plague me.” “Mr Western,” answered Allworthy, “you know I

have always protested against force, and you yourself consented that

none should be used.” “Ay,” cries he, “that was only upon condition

that she would consent without. What the devil and doctor Faustus!

shan't I do what I will with my own daughter, especially when I desire

nothing but her own good?” “Well, neighbour,” answered Allworthy, “if

you will give me leave, I will undertake once to argue with the young

lady.” “Will you?” said Western; “why that is kind now, and

neighbourly, and mayhap you will do more than I have been able to do

with her; for I promise you she hath a very good opinion of you.”

“Well, sir,” said Allworthy, “if you will go home, and release the

young lady from her captivity, I will wait upon her within this

half-hour.” “But suppose,” said Western, “she should run away with un

in the meantime? For lawyer Dowling tells me there is no hopes of

hanging the fellow at last; for that the man is alive, and like to do

well, and that he thinks Jones will be out of prison again presently.”

“How!” said Allworthy; “what, did you employ him then to enquire or to

do anything in that matter?” “Not I,” answered Western, “he mentioned

it to me just now of his own accord.” “Just now!” cries Allworthy,

“why, where did you see him then? I want much to see Mr Dowling.”

“Why, you may see un an you will presently at my lodgings; for there

is to be a meeting of lawyers there this morning about a mortgage.

'Icod! I shall lose two or dree thousand pounds, I believe, by that

honest gentleman, Mr Nightingale.” “Well, sir,” said Allworthy, “I

will be with you within the half-hour.” “And do for once,” cries the

squire, “take a fool's advice; never think of dealing with her by

gentle methods, take my word for it those will never do. I have tried

'um long enough. She must be frightened into it, there is no other

way. Tell her I'm her father; and of the horrid sin of disobedience,

and of the dreadful punishment of it in t'other world, and then tell

her about being locked up all her life in a garret in this, and being

kept only on bread and water.” “I will do all I can,” said Allworthy;

“for I promise you there is nothing I wish for more than an alliance

with this amiable creature.” “Nay, the girl is well enough for matter

o' that,” cries the squire; “a man may go farther and meet with worse

meat; that I may declare o'her, thof she be my own daughter. And if

she will but be obedient to me, there is narrow a father within a

hundred miles o' the place, that loves a daughter better than I do;

but I see you are busy with the lady here, so I will go huome and

expect you; and so your humble servant.”

As soon as Mr Western was gone Mrs Waters said, “I see, sir, the

squire hath not the least remembrance of my face. I believe, Mr

Allworthy, you would not have known me neither. I am very considerably

altered since that day when you so kindly gave me that advice, which I

had been happy had I followed.” “Indeed, madam,” cries Allworthy, “it

gave me great concern when I first heard the contrary.” “Indeed, sir,”

says she, “I was ruined by a very deep scheme of villany, which if you

knew, though I pretend not to think it would justify me in your

opinion, it would at least mitigate my offence, and induce you to pity

me: you are not now at leisure to hear my whole story; but this I

assure you, I was betrayed by the most solemn promises of marriage;

nay, in the eye of heaven I was married to him; for, after much

reading on the subject, I am convinced that particular ceremonies are

only requisite to give a legal sanction to marriage, and have only a

worldly use in giving a woman the privileges of a wife; but that she

who lives constant to one man, after a solemn private affiance,

whatever the world may call her, hath little to charge on her own

conscience.” “I am sorry, madam,” said Allworthy, “you made so ill a

use of your learning. Indeed, it would have been well that you had

been possessed of much more, or had remained in a state of ignorance.

And yet, madam, I am afraid you have more than this sin to answer

for.” “During his life,” answered she, “which was above a dozen years,

I most solemnly assure you I had not. And consider, sir, on my behalf,

what is in the power of a woman stript of her reputation and left

destitute; whether the good-natured world will suffer such a stray

sheep to return to the road of virtue, even if she was never so

desirous. I protest, then, I would have chose it had it been in my

power; but necessity drove me into the arms of Captain Waters, with

whom, though still unmarried, I lived as a wife for many years, and

went by his name. I parted with this gentleman at Worcester, on his

march against the rebels, and it was then I accidentally met with Mr

Jones, who rescued me from the hands of a villain. Indeed, he is the

worthiest of men. No young gentleman of his age is, I believe, freer

from vice, and few have the twentieth part of his virtues; nay,

whatever vices he hath had, I am firmly persuaded he hath now taken a

resolution to abandon them.” “I hope he hath,” cries Allworthy, “and I

hope he will preserve that resolution. I must say, I have still the

same hopes with regard to yourself. The world, I do agree, are apt to

be too unmerciful on these occasions; yet time and perseverance will

get the better of this their disinclination, as I may call it, to

pity; for though they are not, like heaven, ready to receive a

penitent sinner; yet a continued repentance will at length obtain

mercy even with the world. This you may be assured of, Mrs Waters,

that whenever I find you are sincere in such good intentions, you

shall want no assistance in my power to make them effectual.”

Mrs Waters fell now upon her knees before him, and, in a flood of

tears, made him many most passionate acknowledgments of his goodness,

which, as she truly said, savoured more of the divine than human

nature.

Allworthy raised her up, and spoke in the most tender manner, making

use of every expression which his invention could suggest to comfort

her, when he was interrupted by the arrival of Mr Dowling, who, upon

his first entrance, seeing Mrs Waters, started, and appeared in some

confusion; from which he soon recovered himself as well as he could,

and then said he was in the utmost haste to attend counsel at Mr

Western's lodgings; but, however, thought it his duty to call and

acquaint him with the opinion of counsel upon the case which he had

before told him, which was that the conversion of the moneys in that

case could not be questioned in a criminal cause, but that an action

of trover might be brought, and if it appeared to the jury to be the

moneys of plaintiff, that plaintiff would recover a verdict for the

value.

Allworthy, without making any answer to this, bolted the door, and

then, advancing with a stern look to Dowling, he said, “Whatever be

your haste, sir, I must first receive an answer to some questions. Do

you know this lady?”--“That lady, sir!” answered Dowling, with great

hesitation. Allworthy then, with the most solemn voice, said, “Look

you, Mr Dowling, as you value my favour, or your continuance a moment

longer in my service, do not hesitate nor prevaricate; but answer

faithfully and truly to every question I ask.----Do you know this

lady?”--“Yes, sir,” said Dowling, “I have seen the lady.” “Where,

sir?” “At her own lodgings.”--“Upon what business did you go thither,

sir; and who sent you?” “I went, sir, to enquire, sir, about Mr

Jones.” “And who sent you to enquire about him?” “Who, sir? why, sir,

Mr Blifil sent me.” “And what did you say to the lady concerning that

matter?” “Nay, sir, it is impossible to recollect every word.” “Will

you please, madam, to assist the gentleman's memory?” “He told me,

sir,” said Mrs Waters, “that if Mr Jones had murdered my husband, I

should be assisted by any money I wanted to carry on the prosecution,

by a very worthy gentleman, who was well apprized what a villain I had

to deal with. These, I can safely swear, were the very words he

spoke.”--“Were these the words, sir?” said Allworthy. “I cannot charge

my memory exactly,” cries Dowling, “but I believe I did speak to that

purpose.”--“And did Mr Blifil order you to say so?” “I am sure, sir, I

should not have gone on my own accord, nor have willingly exceeded my

authority in matters of this kind. If I said so, I must have so

understood Mr Blifil's instructions.” “Look you, Mr Dowling,” said

Allworthy; “I promise you before this lady, that whatever you have

done in this affair by Mr Blifil's order I will forgive, provided you

now tell me strictly the truth; for I believe what you say, that you

would not have acted of your own accord and without authority in this

matter.----Mr Blifil then likewise sent you to examine the two fellows

at Aldersgate?”--“He did, sir.” “Well, and what instructions did he

then give you? Recollect as well as you can, and tell me, as near as

possible, the very words he used.”--“Why, sir, Mr Blifil sent me to

find out the persons who were eye-witnesses of this fight. He said, he

feared they might be tampered with by Mr Jones, or some of his

friends. He said, blood required blood; and that not only all who

concealed a murderer, but those who omitted anything in their power to

bring him to justice, were sharers in his guilt. He said, he found you

was very desirous of having the villain brought to justice, though it

was not proper you should appear in it.” “He did so?” says

Allworthy.--“Yes, sir,” cries Dowling; “I should not, I am sure, have

proceeded such lengths for the sake of any other person living but

your worship.”--“What lengths, sir?” said Allworthy.--“Nay, sir,”

cries Dowling, “I would not have your worship think I would, on any

account, be guilty of subornation of perjury; but there are two ways

of delivering evidence. I told them, therefore, that if any offers

should be made them on the other side, they should refuse them, and

that they might be assured they should lose nothing by being honest

men, and telling the truth. I said, we were told that Mr Jones had

assaulted the gentleman first, and that, if that was the truth, they

should declare it; and I did give them some hints that they should be

no losers.”--“I think you went lengths indeed,” cries

Allworthy.--“Nay, sir,” answered Dowling, “I am sure I did not desire

them to tell an untruth;----nor should I have said what I did, unless

it had been to oblige you.”--“You would not have thought, I believe,”

says Allworthy, “to have obliged me, had you known that this Mr Jones

was my own nephew.”--“I am sure, sir,” answered he, “it did not become

me to take any notice of what I thought you desired to

conceal.”--“How!” cries Allworthy, “and did you know it then?”--“Nay,

sir,” answered Dowling, “if your worship bids me speak the truth, I am

sure I shall do it.--Indeed, sir, I did know it; for they were almost

the last words which Madam Blifil ever spoke, which she mentioned to

me as I stood alone by her bedside, when she delivered me the letter I

brought your worship from her.”--“What letter?” cries Allworthy.--“The

letter, sir,” answered Dowling, “which I brought from Salisbury, and

which I delivered into the hands of Mr Blifil.”--“O heavens!” cries

Allworthy: “Well, and what were the words? What did my sister say to

you?”--“She took me by the hand,” answered he, “and, as she delivered

me the letter, said, `I scarce know what I have written. Tell my

brother, Mr Jones is his nephew--He is my son.--Bless him,' says she,

and then fell backward, as if dying away. I presently called in the

people, and she never spoke more to me, and died within a few minutes

afterwards.”--Allworthy stood a minute silent, lifting up his eyes;

and then, turning to Dowling, said, “How came you, sir, not to deliver

me this message?” “Your worship,” answered he, “must remember that you

was at that time ill in bed; and, being in a violent hurry, as indeed

I always am, I delivered the letter and message to Mr Blifil, who told

me he would carry them both to you, which he hath since told me he

did, and that your worship, partly out of friendship to Mr Jones, and

partly out of regard to your sister, would never have it mentioned,

and did intend to conceal it from the world; and therefore, sir, if

you had not mentioned it to me first, I am certain I should never have

thought it belonged to me to say anything of the matter, either to

your worship or any other person.”

We have remarked somewhere already, that it is possible for a man to

convey a lie in the words of truth; this was the case at present; for

Blifil had, in fact, told Dowling what he now related, but had not

imposed upon him, nor indeed had imagined he was able so to do. In

reality, the promises which Blifil had made to Dowling were the

motives which had induced him to secrecy; and, as he now very plainly

saw Blifil would not be able to keep them, he thought proper now to

make this confession, which the promises of forgiveness, joined to the

threats, the voice, the looks of Allworthy, and the discoveries he had

made before, extorted from him, who was besides taken unawares, and

had no time to consider of evasions.

Allworthy appeared well satisfied with this relation, and, having

enjoined on Dowling strict silence as to what had past, conducted that

gentleman himself to the door, lest he should see Blifil, who was

returned to his chamber, where he exulted in the thoughts of his last

deceit on his uncle, and little suspected what had since passed

below-stairs.

As Allworthy was returning to his room he met Mrs Miller in the entry,

who, with a face all pale and full of terror, said to him, “O! sir, I

find this wicked woman hath been with you, and you know all; yet do

not on this account abandon the poor young man. Consider, sir, he was

ignorant it was his own mother; and the discovery itself will most

probably break his heart, without your unkindness.”

“Madam,” says Allworthy, “I am under such an astonishment at what I

have heard, that I am really unable to satisfy you; but come with me

into my room. Indeed, Mrs Miller, I have made surprizing discoveries,

and you shall soon know them.”

The poor woman followed him trembling; and now Allworthy, going up to

Mrs Waters, took her by the hand, and then, turning to Mrs Miller,

said, “What reward shall I bestow upon this gentlewoman, for the

services she hath done me?--O! Mrs Miller, you have a thousand times

heard me call the young man to whom you are so faithful a friend, my

son. Little did I then think he was indeed related to me at all.--Your

friend, madam, is my nephew; he is the brother of that wicked viper

which I have so long nourished in my bosom.--She will herself tell you

the whole story, and how the youth came to pass for her son. Indeed,

Mrs Miller, I am convinced that he hath been wronged, and that I have

been abused; abused by one whom you too justly suspected of being a

villain. He is, in truth, the worst of villains.”

The joy which Mrs Miller now felt bereft her of the power of speech,

and might perhaps have deprived her of her senses, if not of life, had

not a friendly shower of tears come seasonably to her relief. At

length, recovering so far from her transport as to be able to speak,

she cried, “And is my dear Mr Jones then your nephew, sir, and not the

son of this lady? And are your eyes opened to him at last? And shall I

live to see him as happy as he deserves?” “He certainly is my nephew,”

says Allworthy, “and I hope all the rest.”--“And is this the dear good

woman, the person,” cries she, “to whom all this discovery is

owing?”--“She is indeed,” says Allworthy.--“Why, then,” cried Mrs

Miller, upon her knees, “may Heaven shower down its choicest blessings

upon her head, and for this one good action forgive her all her sins,

be they never so many!”

Mrs Waters then informed them that she believed Jones would very

shortly be released; for that the surgeon was gone, in company with a

nobleman, to the justice who committed him, in order to certify that

Mr Fitzpatrick was out of all manner of danger, and to procure his

prisoner his liberty.

Allworthy said he should be glad to find his nephew there at his

return home; but that he was then obliged to go on some business of

consequence. He then called to a servant to fetch him a chair, and

presently left the two ladies together.

Mr Blifil, hearing the chair ordered, came downstairs to attend upon

his uncle; for he never was deficient in such acts of duty. He asked

his uncle if he was going out, which is a civil way of asking a man

whither he is going: to which the other making no answer, he again

desired to know when he would be pleased to return?--Allworthy made no

answer to this neither, till he was just going into his chair, and

then, turning about, he said--“Harkee, sir, do you find out, before my

return, the letter which your mother sent me on her death-bed.”

Allworthy then departed, and left Blifil in a situation to be envied

only by a man who is just going to be hanged.