Cecilia Volume 1
Frances Burney

Part 5 out of 7

"And that," said Cecilia, "seems a method expressly devised for
keeping you eternally comfortless: pardon me, however, for speaking
so openly, but I fear Mr Harrel himself must be even still less
attentive and accurate in his affairs, or he could not so frequently
be embarrassed. And what is to be the result? look but, my dear
Priscilla, a little forward, and you will tremble at the prospect
before you!"

Mrs Harrel seemed frightened at this speech, and begged to know what
she would have them do?

Cecilia then, with equal wisdom and friendliness, proposed a general
reform in the household, the public and private expences of both;
she advised that a strict examination might be made into the state
of their affairs, that all their bills should be called in, and
faithfully paid, and that an entire new plan of life should be
adopted, according to the situation of their fortune and income when
cleared of all incumbrances.

"Lord, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs Harrel, with a look of astonishment,
"why Mr Harrel would no more do all this than fly! If I was only to
make such a proposal, I dare say he would laugh in my face."

"And why?"

"Why?--why because it would seem such an odd thing--it's what nobody
thinks of--though I am sure I am very much obliged to you for
mentioning it. Shall we go down stairs? I think I heard somebody
come in.

"No matter who comes in," said Cecilia, "reflect for a moment upon
my proposal, and, at least, if you disapprove it, suggest something
more eligible."

"Oh, it's a very good proposal, that I agree," said Mrs Harrel,
looking very weary, "but only the thing is it's quite impossible."

"Why so? why is it impossible?"

"Why because--dear, I don't know--but I am sure it is."

"But what is your reason? What makes you sure of it?"

"Lord, I can't tell--but I know it is--because--I am very certain it

Argument such as this, though extremely fatiguing to the
understanding of Cecilia, had yet no power to _blunt her
purpose_: she warmly expostulated against the weakness of her
defence, strongly represented the imprudence of her conduct, and
exhorted her by every tie of justice, honour and discretion to set
about a reformation.

"Why what can I do?" cried Mrs Harrel, impatiently, "one must live a
little like other people. You would not have me stared at, I
suppose; and I am sure I don't know what I do that every body else
does not do too."

"But were it not better," said Cecilia, with more energy, "to think
less of _other people_, and more of _yourself?_ to consult
your own fortune, and your own situation in life, instead of being
blindly guided by those of _other people_? If, indeed, _other
people_ would be responsible for your losses, for the diminution
of your wealth, and for the disorder of your affairs, then might you
rationally make their way of life the example of yours: but you
cannot flatter yourself such will be the case; you know better; your
losses, your diminished fortune, your embarrassed circumstances will
be all your own! pitied, perhaps, by some, but blamed by more, and
assisted by none!"

"Good Lord, Miss Beverley!" cried Mrs Harrel, starting, "you talk
just as if we were ruined!"

"I mean not that," replied Cecilia, "but I would fain, by pointing
out your danger, prevail with you to prevent in time so dreadful a

Mrs Harrel, more affronted than alarmed, heard this answer with much
displeasure, and after a sullen hesitation, peevishly said, "I must
own I don't take it very kind of you to say such frightful things to
me; I am sure we only live like the rest of the world, and I don't
see why a man of Mr Harrel's fortune should live any worse. As to
his having now and then a little debt or two, it is nothing but what
every body else has. You only think it so odd, because you a'n't
used to it: but you are quite mistaken if you suppose he does not
mean to pay, for he told me this morning that as soon as ever he
receives his rents, he intends to discharge every bill he has in the

"I am very glad to hear it," answered Cecilia, "and I heartily wish
he may have the resolution to adhere to his purpose. I feared you
would think me impertinent, but you do worse in believing me unkind:
friendship and good-will could alone have induced me to hazard what
I have said to you. I must, however, have done; though I cannot
forbear adding that I hope what has already passed will sometimes
recur to you."

They then separated; Mrs Harrel half angry at remonstrances she
thought only censorious, and Cecilia offended at her pettishness and
folly, though grieved at her blindness.

She was soon, however, recompensed for this vexation by a visit from
Mrs Delvile, who, finding her alone, sat with her some time, and by
her spirit, understanding and elegance, dissipated all her chagrin.

From another circumstance, also, she received much pleasure, though
a little perplexity; Mr Arnott brought her word that Mr Belfield,
almost quite well, had actually left his lodgings, and was gone into
the country.

She now half suspected that the account of his illness given her by
young Delvile, was merely the effect of his curiosity to discover
her sentiments of him; yet when she considered how foreign to his
character appeared every species of artifice, she exculpated him
from the design, and concluded that the impatient spirit of Belfield
had hurried him away, when really unfit for travelling. She had no
means, however, to hear more of him now he had quitted the town, and
therefore, though uneasy, she was compelled to be patient.

In the evening she had again a visit from Mr Monckton, who, though
he was now acquainted how much she was at home, had the forbearance
to avoid making frequent use of that knowledge, that his attendance
might escape observation.

Cecilia, as usual, spoke to him of all her affairs with the utmost
openness; and as her mind was now chiefly occupied by her
apprehensions for the Harrels, she communicated to him the
extravagance of which they were guilty, and hinted at the distress
that from time to time it occasioned; but the assistance she had
afforded them her own delicacy prevented her mentioning.

Mr Monckton scrupled not from this account instantly to pronounce
Harrel a _ruined man_; and thinking Cecilia, from her
connection with him, in much danger of being involved in his future
difficulties, he most earnestly exhorted her to suffer no inducement
to prevail with her to advance him any money, confidently affirming
she would have little chance of being ever repaid.

Cecilia listened to this charge with much alarm, but readily
promised future circumspection. She confessed to him the conference
she had had in the morning with Mrs Harrel, and after lamenting her
determined neglect of her affairs, she added, "I cannot but own that
my esteem for her, even more than my affection, has lessened almost
every day since I have been in her house; but this morning, when I
ventured to speak to her with earnestness, I found her powers of
reasoning so weak, and her infatuation to luxury and expence so
strong, that I have ever since felt ashamed of my own discernment in
having formerly selected her for my friend."

"When you gave her that title," said Mr Monckton, "you had little
choice in your power; her sweetness and good-nature attracted you;
childhood is never troubled with foresight, and youth is seldom
difficult: she was lively and pleasing, you were generous and
affectionate; your acquaintance with her was formed while you were
yet too young to know your own worth, your fondness of her grew from
habit, and before the inferiority of her parts had weakened your
regard, by offending your judgment, her early marriage separated you
from her entirely. But now you meet again the scene is altered;
three years of absence spent in the cultivation of an understanding
naturally of the first order, by encreasing your wisdom, has made
you more fastidious; while the same time spent by her in mere
idleness and shew, has hurt her disposition, without adding to her
knowledge, and robbed her of her natural excellencies, without
enriching her with acquired ones. You see her now with impartiality,
for you see her almost as a stranger, and all those deficiencies
which retirement and inexperience had formerly concealed, her
vanity, and her superficial acquaintance with the world, have now
rendered glaring. But folly weakens all bands: remember, therefore,
if you would form a solid friendship, to consult not only the heart
but the head, not only the temper, but the understanding."

"Well, then," said Cecilia, "at least it must be confessed I have
judiciously chosen _you_!"

"You have, indeed, done me the highest honour," he answered.

They then talked of Belfield, and Mr Monckton confirmed the account
of Mr Arnott, that he had left London in good health. After which,
he enquired if she had seen any thing more of the Delviles?

"Yes," said Cecilia, "Mrs. Delvile called upon me this morning. She
is a delightful woman; I am sorry you know her not enough to do her

"Is she civil to you?"

"Civil? she is all kindness!"

"Then depend upon it she has something in view: whenever that is not
the case she is all insolence. And Mr Delvile,--pray what do you
think of him?"

"O, I think him insufferable! and I cannot sufficiently thank you
for that timely caution which prevented my change of habitation. I
would not live under the same roof with him for the world!"

"Well, and do you not now begin also to see the son properly?"

"Properly? I don't understand you."

"Why as the very son of such parents, haughty and impertinent."

"No, indeed; he has not the smallest resemblance [to] his father,
and if he resembles his mother, it is only what every one must wish
who impartially sees her."

"You know not that family. But how, indeed, should you, when they
are in a combination to prevent your getting that knowledge? They
have all their designs upon you, and if you are not carefully upon
your guard, you will be the dupe to them."

"What can you possibly mean?"

"Nothing but what every body else must immediately see; they have a
great share of pride, and a small one of wealth; you seem by fortune
to be flung in their way, and doubtless they mean not to neglect so
inviting an opportunity of repairing their estates."

"Indeed you are mistaken; I am certain they have no such intention:
on the contrary, they all even teasingly persist in thinking me
already engaged elsewhere."

She then gave him a history of their several suspicions.

"The impertinence of report," she added, "has so much convinced them
that Sir Robert Floyer and Mr Belfield fought merely as rivals, that
I can only clear myself of partiality for one of them, to have it
instantly concluded I feel it for the other. And, far from seeming
hurt that I appear to be disposed of, Mr Delvile openly seconds the
pretensions of Sir Robert, and his son officiously persuades me that
I am already Mr Belfield's."

"Tricks, nothing but tricks to discover your real situation."

He then gave her some general cautions to be upon her guard against
their artifices, and changing the subject, talked, for the rest of
his visit, upon matters of general entertainment.



Cecilia now for about a fortnight passed her time without incident;
the Harrels continued their accustomed dissipation, Sir Robert
Floyer, without even seeking a private conference, persevered in his
attentions, and Mr Arnott, though still silent and humble, seemed
only to live by the pleasure of beholding her. She spent two whole
days with Mrs Delvile, both of which served to confirm her
admiration of that lady and of her son; and she joined the parties
of the Harrels, or stayed quietly at home, according to her spirits
and inclinations: while she was visited by Mr Monckton often enough
to satisfy him with her proceedings, yet too seldom to betray either
to herself or to the world any suspicion of his designs.

Her L200 pounds however, which was to have been returned at the end
if the first week, though a fortnight was now elapsed, had not even
been mentioned; she began to grow very impatient, but not knowing
what course to pursue, and wanting courage to remind Mr Harrel of
his promise, she still waited the performance of it without

At this time, preparations were making in the family for removing to
Violet-bank to spend the Easter holidays: but Cecilia, who was too
much grieved at such perpetual encrease of unnecessary expences to
have any enjoyment in new prospects of entertainment, had at present
some business of her own which gave her full employment.

The poor carpenter, whose family she had taken under her protection,
was just dead, and, as soon as the last duties had been paid him,
she sent for his widow, and after trying to console her for the loss
she had suffered, assured her she was immediately ready to fulfil
the engagement into which she had entered, of assisting her to
undertake some better method of procuring a livelihood; and
therefore desired to know in what manner she could serve her, and
what she thought herself able to do.

The good woman, pouring forth thanks and praises innumerable,
answered that she had a Cousin, who had offered, for a certain
premium, to take her into partnership in a small haberdasher's shop.
"But then, madam," continued she, "it's quite morally impossible I
should raise such a sum, or else, to be sure, such a shop as that,
now I am grown so poorly, would be quite a heaven upon earth to me:
for my strength, madam, is almost all gone away, and when I do any
hard work, it's quite a piteous sight to see me, for I am all in a
tremble after it, just as if I had an ague, and yet all the time my
hands, madam, will be burning like a coal!"

"You have indeed been overworked," said Cecilia, "and it is high
time your feeble frame should have some rest. What is the sum your
cousin demands?"

"O madam, more than I should be able to get together in all my life!
for earn what I will, it goes as fast as it conies, because there's
many mouths, and small pay, and two of the little ones that can't
help at all;--and there's no Billy, madam, to work for us now!"

"But tell me, what is the sum?"

"Sixty pound, madam."

"You shall have it!" cried the generous Cecilia, "if the situation
will make you happy, I will give it you myself."

The poor woman wept her thanks, and was long before she could
sufficiently compose herself to answer the further questions of
Cecilia, who next enquired what could be done with the children? Mrs
Hill, however, hitherto hopeless of such a provision for herself,
had for them formed no plan. She told her, therefore, to go to her
cousin, and consult upon this subject, as well as to make
preparations for her own removal.

The arrangement of this business now became her favourite
occupation. She went herself to the shop, which was a very small one
in Fetter-lane, and spoke with Mrs Roberts, the cousin; who agreed
to take the eldest girl, now sixteen years of age, by way of helper;
but said she had room for no other: however, upon Cecilia's offering
to raise the premium, she consented that the two little children
should also live in the house, where they might be under the care of
their mother and sister.

There were still two others to be disposed of; but as no immediate
method of providing for them occurred to Cecilia, she determined,
for the present, to place them in some cheap school, where they
might be taught plain work, which could not but prove a useful
qualification for whatever sort of business they might hereafter

Her plan was to bestow upon Mrs Hill and her children L100 by way of
putting them all into a decent way of living; and, then, from time
to time, to make them such small presents as their future exigencies
or changes of situation might require.

Now, therefore, payment from Mr Harrel became immediately necessary,
for she had only L50 of the L600 she had taken up in her own
possession, and her customary allowance was already so appropriated
that she could make from it no considerable deduction.

There is something in the sight of laborious indigence so affecting
and so respectable, that it renders dissipation peculiarly
contemptible, and doubles the odium of extravagance: every time
Cecilia saw this poor family, her aversion to the conduct and the
principles of Mr Harrel encreased, while her delicacy of shocking or
shaming him diminished, and she soon acquired for them what she had
failed to acquire for herself, the spirit and resolution to claim
her debt.

One morning, therefore, as he was quitting the breakfast room, she
hastily arose, and following, begged to have a moment's discourse
with him. They went together to the library, and after some
apologies, and much hesitation, she told him she fancied he had
forgotten the L200 which she had lent him.

"The L200," cried he; "O, ay, true!--I protest it had escaped me.
Well, but you don't want it immediately?"

"Indeed I do, if you can conveniently spare it."

"O yes, certainly!--without the least doubt!--Though now I think of
it--it's extremely unlucky, but really just at this time--why did
not you put me in mind of it before?"

"I hoped you would have remembered it yourself."

"I could have paid you two days ago extremely well--however, you
shall certainly have it very soon, that you may depend upon, and a
day or two can make no great difference to you."

He then wished her good morning, and left her.

Cecilia, very much provoked, regretted that she had ever lent it at
all, and determined for the future strictly to follow the advice of
Mr. Monckton in trusting him no more.

Two or three days passed on, but still no notice was taken either of
the payment or of the debt. She then resolved to renew her
application, and be more serious and more urgent with him; but she
found, to her utter surprise, this was not in her power, and that
though she lived under the same roof with him, she had no
opportunity to enforce her claim. Mr. Harrel, whenever she desired
to speak with him, protested he was so much hurried he had not a
moment to spare: and even when, tired of his excuses, she pursued
him out of the room, he only quickened his speed, smiling, however,
and bowing, and calling out "I am vastly sorry, but I am so late now
I cannot stop an instant; however, as soon as I come back, I shall
be wholly at your command."

When he came back, however, Sir Robert Floyer, or some other
gentleman, was sure to be with him, and the difficulties of
obtaining an audience were sure to be encreased. And by this method,
which he constantly practised, of avoiding any private conversation,
he frustrated all her schemes of remonstrating upon his delay, since
her resentment, however great, could never urge her to the
indelicacy of dunning him in presence of a third person.

She was now much perplext herself how to put into execution her
plans for the Hills: she knew it would be as vain to apply for money
to Mr. Briggs, as for payment to Mr. Harrel. Her word, however, had
been given, and her word she held sacred: she resolved, therefore,
for the present, to bestow upon them the 50 pounds she still retained,
and, if the rest should be necessary before she became of age, to
spare it, however inconveniently, from her private allowance, which,
by the will of her uncle, was 500 pounds a year, 250 pounds of which
Mr Harrel received for her board and accommodations.

Having settled this matter in her own mind, she went to the lodging
of Mrs Hill, in order to conclude the affair. She found her and all
her children, except the youngest, hard at work, and their honest
industry so much strengthened her compassion, that her wishes for
serving them grew every instant more liberal.

Mrs Hill readily undertook to make her cousin accept half the
premium for the present, which would suffice to fix her, with three
of her children, in the shop: Cecilia then went with her to Fetter-
lane, and there, drawing up herself an agreement for their entering
into partnership, she made each of them sign it and take a copy, and
kept a third in her own possession: after which, she gave a
promissory note to Mrs Roberts for the rest of the money.

She presented Mrs Hill, also, with 10 pounds to clothe them all
decently, and enable her to send two of the children to school;
and assured her that she would herself pay for their board and
instruction, till she should be established in her business, and
have power to save money for that purpose.

She then put herself into a chair to return home, followed by the
prayers and blessings of the whole family.



Never had the heart of Cecilia felt so light, so gay, so glowing as
after the transaction of this affair: her life had never appeared to
her so important, nor her wealth so valuable. To see five helpless
children provided for by herself, rescued from the extremes of
penury and wretchedness, and put in a way to become useful to
society, and comfortable to themselves; to behold their feeble
mother, snatched from the hardship of that labour which, over-
powering her strength, had almost destroyed her existence, now
placed in a situation where a competent maintenance might be earned
without fatigue, and the remnant of her days pass in easy
employment--to view such sights, and have power to say "_These
deeds are mine!_" what, to a disposition fraught with tenderness
and benevolence, could give purer self-applause, or more exquisite

Such were the pleasures which regaled the reflections of Cecilia
when, in her way home, having got out of her chair to walk through
the upper part of Oxford Street, she was suddenly met by the old
gentleman whose emphatical addresses to her had so much excited her

He was passing quick on, but stopping the moment he perceived her,
he sternly called out "Are you proud? are you callous? are you hard
of heart so soon?"

"Put me, if you please, to some trial!" cried Cecilia, with the
virtuous courage of a self-acquitting conscience.

"I already have!" returned he, indignantly, "and already I have
found you faulty!"

"I am sorry to hear it," said the amazed Cecilia, "but at least I
hope you will tell me in what?"

"You refused me admittance," he answered, "yet I was your friend,
yet I was willing to prolong the term of your genuine
[tranquillity]! I pointed out to you a method of preserving peace
with your own soul; I came to you in behalf of the poor, and
instructed you how to merit their prayers; you heard me, you were
susceptible, you complied! I meant to have repeated the lesson, to
have tuned your whole heart to compassion, and to have taught you
the sad duties of sympathising humanity. For this purpose I called
again, but again I was not admitted! Short was the period of my
absence, yet long enough for the completion of your downfall!"

"Good heaven," cried Cecilia, "how dreadful is this language! when
have you called, Sir? I never heard you had been at the house. Far
from refusing you admittance, I wished to see you."

"Indeed?" cried he, with some softness, "and are you, in truth, not
proud? not callous? not hard of heart? Follow me, then, and visit
the humble and the poor, follow me, and give comfort to the fallen
and dejected!"

At this invitation, however desirous to do good, Cecilia started;
the strangeness of the inviter, his flightiness, his authoritative
manner, and the uncertainty whither or to whom he might carry her,
made her fearful of proceeding: yet a benevolent curiosity to see as
well as serve the objects of his recommendation, joined to the
eagerness of youthful integrity to clear her own character from the
aspersion of hard-heartedness, soon conquered her irresolution, and
making a sign to her servant to keep near her, she followed as her
conductor led.

He went on silently and solemnly till he came to Swallow-street,
then turning into it, he stopt at a small and mean-looking house,
knocked at the door, and without asking any question of the man who
opened it, beckoned her to come after him, and hastened up some
narrow winding stairs.

Cecilia again hesitated; but when she recollected that this old man,
though little known, was frequently seen, and though with few people
acquainted, was by many personally recognized, she thought it
impossible he could mean her any injury. She ordered her servant,
however, to come in, and bid him keep walking up and down the stairs
till she returned to him. And then she obeyed the directions of her

He proceeded till he came to the second floor, then, again beckoning
her to follow him, he opened a door, and entered a small and very
meanly furnished apartment.

And here, to her infinite astonishment, she perceived, employed in
washing some china, a very lovely young woman, [genteelly] dressed,
and appearing hardly seventeen years of age.

The moment they came in, with evident marks of confusion, she
instantly gave over her work, hastily putting the basin she was
washing upon the table, and endeavouring to hide the towel with
which she was wiping it behind her chair.

The old gentleman, advancing to her with quickness, said, "How is he
now? Is he better? will he live?"

"Heaven forbid he should not!" answered the young woman with
emotion, "but, indeed, he is no better!"

"Look here," said he, pointing to Cecilia, "I have brought you one
who has power to serve you, and to relieve your distress: one who is
rolling in affluence, a stranger to ill, a novice in the world;
unskilled in the miseries she is yet to endure, unconscious of the
depravity into which she is to sink! receive her benefactions while
yet she is untainted, satisfied that while, she aids you, she is
blessing herself!"

The young woman, blushing and abashed, said, "You are very good to
me, Sir, but there is no occasion--there is no need--I have not any
necessity--I am far from being so very much in want--"

"Poor, simple soul!" interrupted the old man, "and art thou ashamed
of poverty? Guard, guard thyself from other shames, and the
wealthiest may envy thee! Tell her thy story, plainly, roundly,
truly; abate nothing of thy indigence, repress nothing of her
liberality. The Poor not impoverished by their own Guilt, are Equals
of the Affluent, not enriched by their own Virtue. Come, then, and
let me present ye to each other! young as ye both are, with many
years and many sorrows to encounter, lighten the burthen of each
other's cares, by the heart-soothing exchange of gratitude for

He then took a hand of each, and joining them between his own,
"_You_," he continued, "who, though rich, are not hardened, and
you, who though poor, are not debased, why should ye not love, why
should ye not cherish each other? The afflictions of life are
tedious, its joys are evanescent; ye are now both young, and, with
little to enjoy, will find much to suffer. Ye are both, too, I
believe, innocent--Oh could ye always remain so!--Cherubs were ye
then, and the sons of men might worship you!"

He stopt, checked by his own rising emotion; but soon resuming his
usual austerity, "Such, however," he continued, "is not the
condition of humanity; in pity, therefore, to the evils impending
over both, be kind to each other! I leave you together, and to your
mutual tenderness I recommend you!"

Then, turning particularly to Cecilia, "Disdain not," he said, "to
console the depressed; look upon her without scorn, converse with
her without contempt: like you, she is an orphan, though not like
you, an heiress;--like her, you are fatherless, though not like her
friendless! If she is awaited by the temptations of adversity, you,
also, are surrounded by the corruptions of prosperity. Your fall is
most probable, her's most excusable;--commiserate _her_
therefore now,--by and by she may commiserate _you_?"

And with these words he left the room.

A total silence for some time succeeded his departure: Cecilia found
it difficult to recover from the surprise into which she had been
thrown sufficiently for speech: in following her extraordinary
director, her imagination had painted to her a scene such as she had
so lately quitted, and prepared her to behold some family in
distress, some helpless creature in sickness, or some children in
want; but of these to see none, to meet but one person, and that one
fair, young, and delicate,--an introduction so singular to an object
so unthought of, deprived her of all power but that of shewing her

Mean while the young woman looked scarcely less surprised, and
infinitely more embarrassed. She surveyed her apartment with
vexation, and her guest with confusion; she had listened to the
exhortation of the old man with visible uneasiness, and now he was
gone, seemed overwhelmed with shame and chagrin.

Cecilia, who in observing these emotions felt both her curiosity and
her compassion encrease, pressed her hand as she parted with it,
and, when a little recovered, said, "You must think this a strange
intrusion; but the gentleman who brought me hither is perhaps so
well known to you, as to make his singularities plead with you their
own apology."

"No indeed, madam," she answered, bashfully, "he is very little
known to me; but he is very good, and very desirous to do me
service:--not but what I believe he thinks me much worse off than I
really am, for, I assure you, madam, whatever he has said, I am not
ill off at all--hardly."

The various doubts to her disadvantage, which had at first, from her
uncommon situation, arisen in the mind of Cecilia, this anxiety to
disguise, not display her distress, considerably removed, since it
cleared her of all suspicion of seeking by artifice and imposition
to play upon her feelings.

With a gentleness, therefore, the most soothing, she replied, "I
should by no means have broken in upon you thus unexpectedly, if I
had not concluded my conductor had some right to bring me. However,
since we are actually met, let us remember his injunctions, and
endeavour not to part till, by a mutual exchange of good-will, each
has added a friend to the other."

"You are condescending, indeed, madam," answered the young woman,
with an air the most humble, "looking as you look, to talk of a
friend when you come to such a place as this! up two pair of stairs!
no furniture! no servant! every thing in such disorder!--indeed I
wonder at Mr. Albany! he should not--but he thinks every body's
affairs may be made public, and does not care what he tells, nor who
hears him;--he knows not the pain he gives, nor the mischief he may

"I am very much concerned," cried Cecilia, more and more surprised
at all she heard, "to find I have been thus instrumental to
distressing you. I was ignorant whither I was coming, and followed
him, believe me, neither from curiosity nor inclination, but simply
because I knew not how to refuse him. He is gone, however, and I
will therefore relieve you by going too: but permit me to leave
behind me a small testimony that the intention of my coming was not
mere impertinence."

She then took out her purse; but the young woman, starting back with
a look of resentful mortification, exclaimed, "No, madam! you are
quite mistaken; pray put up your purse; I am no beggar! Mr Albany
has misrepresented me, if he has told you I am."

Cecilia, mortified in her turn at this unexpected rejection of an
offer she had thought herself invited to make, stood some moments
silent; and then said, "I am far from meaning to offend you, and I
sincerely beg your pardon if I have misunderstood the charge just
now given to me."

"I have nothing to pardon, madam," said she, more calmly, "except,
indeed, to Mr Albany; and to him, 'tis of no use to be angry, for he
minds not what I say! he is very good, but he is very strange, for
he thinks the whole world made to live in common, and that every one
who is poor should ask, and every one who is rich should give: he
does not know that there are many who would rather starve."

"And are you," said Cecilia, half-smiling, "of that number?"

"No, indeed, madam! I have not so much greatness of mind. But those
to whom I belong have more fortitude and higher spirit. I wish I
could imitate them!"

Struck with the candour and simplicity of this speech, Cecilia now
felt a warm desire to serve her, and taking her hand, said, "Forgive
me, but though I see you wish me gone, I know not how to leave you:
recollect, therefore, the charge that has been given to us both, and
if you refuse my assistance one way, point out to me in what other I
may offer it."

"You are very kind, madam," she answered, "and I dare say you are
very good; I am sure you look so, at least. But I want nothing; I do
very well, and I have hopes of doing better. Mr Albany is too
impatient. He knows, indeed, that I am not extremely rich, but he is
much to blame if he supposes me therefore an object of charity, and
thinks me so mean as to receive money from a stranger."

"I am truly sorry," cried Cecilia, "for the error I have committed,
but you must suffer me to make my peace with you before we part:
yet, till I am better known to you, I am fearful of proposing terms.
Perhaps you will permit me to leave you my direction, and do me the
favour to call upon me yourself?"

"O no, madam! I have a sick relation whom I cannot leave: and
indeed, if he were well, he would not like to have me make an
acquaintance while I am in this place."

"I hope you are not his only nurse? I am sure you do not look able
to bear such fatigue. Has he a physician? Is he properly attended?"

"No, madam; he has no physician, and no attendance at all!"

"And is it possible that in such a situation you can refuse to be
assisted? Surely you should accept some help for him, if not for

"But what will that signify when, if I do, he will not make use of
it? and when he had a thousand and a thousand times rather die, than
let any one know he is in want?"

"Take it, then, unknown to him; serve him without acquainting him
you serve him. Surely you would not suffer him to perish without

"Heaven forbid! But what can I do? I am under his command, madam,
not he under mine!"

"Is he your father?--Pardon my question, but your youth seems much
to want such a protector."

"No, madam, I have no father! I was happier when I had! He is my

"And what is his illness?"

"A fever."

"A fever, and without a physician! Are you sure, too, it is not

"O yes, too sure!"

"Too sure? how so?"

"Because I know too well the occasion of it!"

"And what is the occasion?" cried Cecilia, again taking her hand,
"pray trust me; indeed you shall not repent your confidence. Your
reserve hitherto has only raised you in my esteem, but do not carry
it so far as to mortify me by a total rejection of my good offices."

"Ah madam!" said the young woman, sighing, "you ought to be good, I
am sure, for you will draw all out of me by such kindness as this!
the occasion was a neglected wound, never properly healed."

"A wound? is he in the army?"

"No,--he was shot through the side in a duel."

"In a duel?" exclaimed Cecilia, "pray what is his name?"

"O that I must not tell you! his name is a great secret now, while
he is in this poor place, for I know he had almost rather never see
the light again than have it known."

"Surely, surely," cried Cecilia, with much emotion, "he cannot--I
hope he cannot be Mr Belfield?"

"Ah Heaven!" cried the young woman, screaming, "do you then know

Here, in mutual astonishment, they looked at each other.

"You are then," said Cecilia, "the sister of Mr Belfield? And Mr
Belfield is thus sick, his wound is not yet healed,--and he is
without any help!"

"And who, madam, are _you_?" cried she, "and how is it you know

"My name is Beverley."

"Ah!" exclaimed she again, "I fear I have done nothing but mischief!
I know very well who you are now, madam, but if my brother discovers
that I have betrayed him, he will take it very unkind, and perhaps
never forgive me."

"Be not alarmed," cried Cecilia; "rest assured he shall never know
it. Is he not now in the country?"

"No, madam, he is now in the very next room."

"But what is become of the surgeon who used to attend him, and why
does he not still visit him?"

"It is in vain, now, to hide any thing from you; my brother deceived
him, and said he was going out of town merely to get rid of him."

"And what could induce him to act so strangely?"

"A reason which you, madam, I hope, will never know, Poverty!--he
would not run up a bill he could not pay."

"Good Heaven!--But what can be done for him? He must not be suffered
to linger thus; we must contrive some method of relieving and
assisting him, whether he will consent or not."

"I fear that will not be possible. One of his friends has already
found him out, and has written him the kindest letter! but he would
not answer it, and would not see him, and was only fretted and

"Well," said Cecilia, "I will not keep you longer, lest he should be
alarmed by your absence. To-morrow morning, with your leave, I will
call upon you again, and then, I hope, you will permit me to make
some effort to assist you."

"If it only depended upon me, madam," she answered, "now I have the
honour to know who you are, I believe I should not make much
scruple, for I was not brought up to notions so high as my brother.
Ah! happy had it been for him, for me, for all his family, if he had
not had them neither!"

Cecilia then repeated her expressions of comfort and kindness, and
took her leave.

This little adventure gave her infinite concern; all the horror
which the duel had originally occasioned her, again returned; she
accused herself with much bitterness for having brought it on; and
finding that Mr Belfield was so cruelly a sufferer both in his
health and his affairs, she thought it incumbent upon her to relieve
him to the utmost of her ability.

His sister, too, had extremely interested her; her youth, and the
uncommon artlessness of her conversation, added to her melancholy
situation, and the loveliness of her person, excited in her a desire
to serve, and an inclination to love her; and she determined, if she
found her as deserving as she seemed engaging, not only to assist
her at present, but, if her distresses continued, to received her
into her own house in future.

Again she regretted the undue detention of her L200. What she now
had to spare was extremely inadequate to what she now wished to
bestow, and she looked forward to the conclusion of her minority
with encreasing eagerness. The generous and elegant plan of life she
then intended to pursue, daily gained ground in her imagination, and
credit in her opinion.



The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, Cecilia went in a
chair to Swallow-street; she enquired for Miss Belfield, and was
told to go up stairs: but what was her amazement to meet, just
coming out of the room into which she was entering, young Delvile!

They both started, and Cecilia, from the seeming strangeness of her
situation, felt a confusion with which she had hitherto been
unacquainted. But Delvile, presently recovering from his surprise,
said to her, with an expressive smile, "How good is Miss Beverley
thus to visit the sick! and how much better might I have had the
pleasure of seeing Mr Belfield, had I but, by prescience, known her
design, and deferred my own enquiries till he had been revived by

And then, bowing and wishing her good morning, he glided past her.

Cecilia, notwithstanding the openness and purity of her intentions,
was so much disconcerted by this unexpected meeting, and pointed
speech, that she had not the presence of mind to call him back and
clear herself: and the various interrogatories and railleries which
had already passed between them upon the subject of Mr Belfield,
made her suppose that what he had formerly suspected he would now
think confirmed, and conclude that all her assertions of
indifference, proceeded merely from that readiness at hypocrisy upon
particular subjects, of which he had openly accused her whole Sex.

This circumstance and this apprehension took from her for a while
all interest in the errand upon which she came; but the benevolence
of her heart soon brought it back, when, upon going into the room,
she saw her new favourite in tears.

"What is the matter?" cried she, tenderly; "no new affliction I hope
has happened? Your brother is not worse?"

"No, madam, he is much the same; I was not then crying for him."

"For what then? tell me, acquaint me with your sorrows, and assure
yourself you tell them to a friend."

"I was crying, madam, to find so much goodness in the world, when I
thought there was so little! to find I have some chance of being
again happy, when I thought I was miserable for ever! Two whole
years have I spent in nothing but unhappiness, and I thought there
was nothing else to be had; but yesterday, madam, brought me you,
with every promise of nobleness and protection; and to-day, a friend
of my brother's has behaved so generously, that even my brother has
listened to him, and almost consented to be obliged to him!"

"And have you already known so much sorrow," said Cecilia, "that
this little dawn of prosperity should wholly overpower your spirits?
Gentle, amiable girl! may the future recompense you for the past,
and may Mr Albany's kind wishes be fulfilled in the reciprocation of
our comfort and affection!"

They then entered into a conversation which the sweetness of
Cecilia, and the gratitude of Miss Belfield, soon rendered
interesting, friendly and unreserved: and in a very short time,
whatever was essential in the story or situation of the latter was
fully communicated. She gave, however, a charge the most earnest,
that her brother should never be acquainted with the confidence she
had made.

Her father, who had been dead only two years, was a linen-draper in
the city; he had six daughters, of whom herself was the youngest,
and only one son. This son, Mr Belfield, was alike the darling of
his father, mother, and sisters: he was brought up at Eaton, no
expence was spared in his education, nothing was denied that could
make him happy. With an excellent understanding he had uncommon
quickness of parts, and his progress in his studies was rapid and
honourable: his father, though he always meant him for his successor
in his business, heard of his improvement with rapture, often
saying, "My boy will be the ornament of the city, he will be the
best scholar in any shop in London."

He was soon, however, taught another lesson; when, at the age of
sixteen, he returned home, and was placed in the shop, instead of
applying his talents, as his father had expected, to trade, he both
despised and abhorred the name of it; when serious, treating it with
contempt, when gay, with derision.

He was seized, also, with a most ardent desire to finish his
education, like those of his school-fellows who left Eaton at the
same time, at one of the Universities; and, after many difficulties,
this petition, at the intercession of his mother, was granted, old
Mr Belfield telling him he hoped a little more learning would give
him a little more sense, and that when he became a _finished
student_, he would not only know the true value of business, but
understand how to get money, and make a bargain, better than any man
whatsoever within Temple Bar.

These expectations, equally shortsighted, were also equally
fallacious with the former: the son again returned, and returned, as
his father had hoped, a _finished student_; but, far from being
more tractable, or better disposed for application to trade, his
aversion to it now was more stubborn, and his opposition more hardy
than ever. The young men of fashion with whom he had formed
friendships at school, or at the University, and with whom, from the
indulgence of his father, he was always able to vie in expence, and
from the indulgence of Nature to excel in capacity, earnestly sought
the continuance of his acquaintance, and courted and coveted the
pleasure of his conversation: but though he was now totally
disqualified for any other society, he lost all delight in their
favour from the fear they should discover his abode, and sedulously
endeavoured to avoid even occasionally meeting them, lest any of his
family should at the same time approach him: for of his family,
though wealthy, worthy, and independent, he was now so utterly
ashamed, that the mortification the most cruel he could receive, was
to be asked his address, or told he should be visited.

Tired, at length, of evading the enquiries made by some, and forcing
faint laughs at the detection made by others, he privately took a
lodging at the west end of the town, to which he thence forward
directed all his friends, and where, under various pretences, he
contrived to spend the greatest part of his time.

In all his expensive deceits and frolics, his mother was his never-
failing confidant and assistant; for when she heard that the
companions of her son were men of fashion, some born to titles,
others destined to high stations, she concluded he was in the
certain road to honour and profit, and frequently distressed
herself, without ever repining, in order to enable him to preserve
upon equal terms, connections which she believed so conducive to his
future grandeur.

In this wild and unsettled manner he passed some time, struggling
incessantly against the authority of his father, privately abetted
by his mother, and constantly aided and admired by his sisters:
till, sick of so desultory a way of life, he entered himself a
volunteer in the army.

How soon he grew tired of this change has already been related,
[Footnote: Book 1, Chap. II.] as well as his reconciliation with
his father, and his becoming a student at the Temple: for the father
now grew as weary of opposing, as the young man of being opposed.

Here, for two or three years, he lived in happiness uninterrupted;
he extended his acquaintance among the great, by whom he was no
sooner known than caressed and admired, and he frequently visited
his family, which, though he blushed to own in public, he
affectionately loved in private. His profession, indeed, was but
little in his thoughts, successive engagements occupying almost all
his hours. Delighted with the favour of the world, and charmed to
find his presence seemed the signal for entertainment, he soon
forgot the uncertainty of his fortune, and the inferiority of his
rank: the law grew more and more fatiguing, pleasure became more and
more alluring, and, by degrees, he had not a day unappropriated to
some party or amusement; voluntarily consigning the few leisure
moments his gay circle afforded him, to the indulgence of his fancy
in some hasty compositions in verse, which were handed about in
manuscript, and which contributed to keep him in fashion.

Such was his situation at the death of his father; a new scene was
then opened to him, and for some time he hesitated what course to

Old Mr Belfield, though he lived in great affluence, left not behind
him any considerable fortune, after the portions of his daughters,
to each of whom he bequeathed L2000, had been deducted from it. But
his stock in trade was great, and his business was prosperous and

His son, however, did not merely want application and fortitude to
become his successor, but skill and knowledge; his deliberation,
therefore, was hasty, and his resolution improvident; he determined
to continue at the Temple himself, while the shop, which he could by
no means afford to relinquish, should be kept up by another name,
and the business of it be transacted by an agent; hoping thus to
secure and enjoy its emoluments, without either the trouble or the
humiliation of attendance.

But this scheme, like most others that have their basis in vanity,
ended in nothing but mortification and disappointment: the shop
which under old Mr. Belfield had been flourishing and successful,
and enriched himself and all his family, could now scarce support
the expences of an individual. Without a master, without that
diligent attention to its prosperity which the interest of
possession alone can give, and the authority of a principal alone
can enforce, it quickly lost its fame for the excellence of its
goods, and soon after its customers from the report of its
declension. The produce, therefore, diminished every month; he was
surprised, he was provoked; he was convinced he was cheated, and
that his affairs were neglected; but though he threatened from time
to time to enquire into the real state of the business, and
investigate the cause of its decay, he felt himself inadequate to
the task; and now first lamented that early contempt of trade, which
by preventing him acquiring some knowledge of it while he had youth
and opportunity, made him now ignorant what redress to seek, though
certain of imposition and injury.

But yet, however disturbed by alarming suggestions in his hours of
retirement, no alteration was made in the general course of his
life; he was still the darling of his friends, and the leader in all
parties, and still, though his income was lessened, his expences

Such were his circumstances at the time Cecilia first saw him at the
house of Mr. Monckton: from which, two days after her arrival in
town, he was himself summoned, by an information that his agent had
suddenly left the kingdom.

The fatal consequence of this fraudulent elopement was immediate

His spirits, however, did not yet fail him; as he had never been the
nominal master of the shop, he escaped all dishonour from its ruin,
and was satisfied to consign what remained to the mercy of the
creditors, so that his own name should not appear in the

Three of his sisters were already extremely well married to
reputable tradesmen; the two elder of those who were yet single were
settled with two of those who were married, and Henrietta, the
youngest, resided with her mother, who had a comfortable annuity,
and a small house at Padington.

Bereft thus through vanity and imprudence of all the long labours of
his father, he was now compelled to think seriously of some actual
method of maintenance; since his mother, though willing to sacrifice
to him even the nourishment which sustained her, could do for him
but little, and that little he had too much justice to accept. The
law, even to the most diligent and successful, is extremely slow of
profit, and whatever, from his connections and abilities might be
hoped hereafter, at present required an expence which he was no
longer able to support.

It remained then to try his influence with his friends among the
great and the powerful.

His canvas proved extremely honourable; every one promised
something, and all seemed delighted to have an opportunity of
serving him.

Pleased with finding the world so much better than report had made
it, he now saw the conclusion of his difficulties in the prospect of
a place at court.

Belfield, with half the penetration with which he was gifted, would
have seen in any other man the delusive idleness of expectations no
better founded; but though discernment teaches us the folly of
others, experience singly can teach us our own! he flattered himself
that his friends had been more wisely selected than the friends of
those who in similar circumstances had been beguiled, and he
suspected not the fraud of his vanity, till he found his invitations
daily slacken, and that his time was at his own command.

All his hopes now rested upon one friend and patron,

Mr Floyer, an uncle of Sir Robert Floyer, a man of power in the
royal household, with whom he had lived in great intimacy, and who
at this period had the disposal of a place which he solicited. The
only obstacle that seemed in his way was from Sir Robert himself,
who warmly exerted his interest in favour of a friend of his own. Mr
Floyer, however, assured Belfield of the preference, and only begged
his patience till he could find some opportunity of appeasing his

And this was the state of his affairs at the time of his quarrel at
the Opera-house. Already declared opponents of each other, Sir
Robert felt double wrath that for _him_ Cecilia should reject
his civilities; while Belfield, suspecting he presumed upon his
known dependence on his uncle to affront him, felt also double
indignation at the haughtiness of his behaviour. And thus, slight as
seemed to the world the cause of their contest, each had private
motives of animosity that served to stimulate revenge.

The very day after this duel, Mr Floyer wrote him word that he was
now obliged in common decency to take the part of his nephew, and
therefore had already given the place to the friend he had

This was the termination of his hopes, and the signal of his ruin!
To the pain of his wound he became insensible, from the superior
pain of this unexpected miscarriage; yet his pride still enabled him
to disguise his distress, and to see all the friends whom this
accident induced to seek him, while from the sprightliness he forced
in order to conceal his anguish, he appeared to them more lively and
more entertaining than ever.

But these efforts, when left to himself and to nature, only sunk him
the deeper in sadness; he found an immediate change in his way of
life was necessary, yet could not brook to make it in sight of those
with whom he had so long lived in all the brilliancy of equality. A
high principle of honour which still, in the midst of his gay
career, had remained uncorrupted, had scrupulously guarded him from
running in debt, and therefore, though of little possessed, that
little was strictly his own. He now published that he was going out
of town for the benefit of purer air, discharged his surgeon, took a
gay leave of his friends, and trusting no one with his secret but
his servant, was privately conveyed to mean and cheap lodgings in

Here, shut up from every human being he had formerly known, he
purposed to remain till he grew better, and then again to seek his
fortune in the army.

His present situation, however, was little calculated to contribute
to his recovery; the dismission of the surgeon, the precipitation of
his removal, the inconveniencies of his lodgings, and the
unseasonable deprivation of long customary indulgencies, were
unavoidable delays of his amendment; while the mortification of his
present disgrace, and the bitterness of his late disappointment,
preyed incessantly upon his mind, robbed him of rest, heightened his
fever, and reduced him by degrees to a state so low and dangerous,
that his servant, alarmed for his life, secretly acquainted his
mother with his illness and retreat.

The mother, almost distracted by this intelligence, instantly, with
her daughter, flew to his lodgings. She wished to have taken him
immediately to her house at Padington, but he had suffered so much
from his first removal, that he would not consent to another. She
would then have called in a physician, but he refused even to see
one; and she had too long given way to all his desires and opinions,
to have now the force of mind for exerting the requisite authority
of issuing her orders without consulting him.

She begged, she pleaded, indeed, and Henrietta joined in her
entreaties; but sickness and vexation had not rendered him tame,
though they had made him sullen: he resisted their prayers, and
commonly silenced them by assurances that their opposition to the
plan he had determined to pursue, only inflamed his fever, and
retarded his recovery.

The motive of an obduracy so cruel to his friends was the fear of a
detection which he thought not merely prejudicial to his affairs,
but dishonourable to his character: for, without betraying any
symptom of his distress, he had taken a general leave of his
acquaintance upon pretence of going out of town, and he could ill
endure to make a discovery which would at once proclaim his
degradation and his deceit.

Mr. Albany had accidentally broken in upon him, by mistaking his
room for that of another sick person in the same house, to whom his
visit had been intended; but as he knew and reverenced that old
gentleman, he did not much repine at his intrusion.

He was not so easy when the same discovery was made by young
Delvile, who, chancing to meet his servant in the street, enquired
concerning his master's health, and surprising from him its real
state, followed him home; where, soon certain of the change in his
affairs by the change of his habitation, he wrote him a letter, in
which, after apologizing for his freedom, he warmly declared that
nothing could make him so happy as being favoured with his commands,
if, either through himself or his friends, he could be so fortunate
as to do him any service.

Belfield, deeply mortified at this detection of his situation,
returned only a verbal answer of cold thanks, and desired he would
not speak of his being in town, as he was not well enough to be

This reply gave almost equal mortification to young Delvile, who
continued, however, to call at the door with enquiries how he went
on, though he made no further attempt to see him.

Belfield, softened at length by the kindness of this conduct,
determined to admit him; and he was just come from paying his first
visit, when he was met by Cecilia upon the stairs.

His stay with him had been short, and he had taken no notice either
of his change of abode, or his pretence of going into the country;
he had talked to him only in general terms, and upon general
subjects, till he arose to depart, and then he re-urged his offers
of service with so much openness and warmth, that Belfield, affected
by his earnestness, promised he would soon see him again, and
intimated to his delighted mother and sister, that he would frankly
consult with him upon his affairs.

Such was the tale which, with various minuter circumstances, Miss
Belfield communicated to Cecilia. "My mother," she added, "who never
quits him, knows that you are here, madam, for she heard me talking
with somebody yesterday, and she made me tell her all that had
passed, and that you said you would come again this morning."

Cecilia returned many acknowledgments for this artless and
unreserved communication, but could not, when it was over, forbear
enquiring by what early misery she had already, though so very
young, spent _two years in nothing but unhappiness_?

"Because," she answered, "when my poor father died all our family
separated, and I left every body to go and live with my mother at
Padington; and I was never a favourite with my mother--no more,
indeed, was any body but my brother, for she thinks all the rest of
the world only made for his sake. So she used to deny both herself
and me almost common necessaries, in order to save up money to make
him presents: though, if he had known how it was done, he would only
have been angry instead of taking them. However, I should have
regarded nothing that had but been for his benefit, for I loved him
a great deal more than my own convenience; but sums that would
distress us for months to save up, would by him be spent in a day,
and then thought of no more! Nor was that all--O no! I had much
greater uneasiness to suffer; for I was informed by one of my
brothers-in-law how ill every thing went, and that certain ruin
would come to my poor brother from the treachery of his agent; and
the thought of this was always preying upon my mind, for I did not
dare tell it my mother, for fear it should put her out of humour,
for, sometimes, she is not very patient; and it mattered little what
any of us said to my brother, for he was too gay and too confident
to believe his danger."

"Well but," said Cecilia, "I hope, now, all will go better; if your
brother will consent to see a physician--"

"Ah, madam! that is the thing I fear he never will do, because of
being seen in these bad lodgings. I would kneel whole days to
prevail with him, but he is unused to controul, and knows not how to
submit to it; and he has lived so long among the great, that he
forgets he was not born as high as themselves. Oh that he had never
quitted his own family! If he had not been spoilt by ambition, he
had the best heart and sweetest disposition in the world. But living
always with his superiors, taught him to disdain his own relations,
and be ashamed of us all; and yet now, in the hour of his distress--
who else comes to help him?"

Cecilia then enquired if she wanted not assistance for herself and
her mother, observing that they did not seem to have all the
conveniencies to which they were entitled.

"Why indeed, madam," she replied, with an ingenuous smile, "when you
first came here I was a little like my brother, for I was sadly
ashamed to let you see how ill we lived! but now you know the worst,
so I shall fret about it no more."

"But this cannot be your usual way of life; I fear the misfortunes
of Mr Belfield have spread a ruin wider than his own."

"No indeed; he took care from the first not to involve us in his
hazards, for he is very generous, madam, and very noble in all his
notions, and could behave to us all no better about money matters
than he has ever done. But from the moment we came to this dismal
place, and saw his distress, and that he was sunk so low who used
always to be higher than any of us, we had a sad scene indeed! My
poor mother, whose whole delight was to think that he lived like a
nobleman, and who always flattered herself that he would rise to be
as great as the company he kept, was so distracted with her
disappointment, that she would not listen to reason, but immediately
discharged both our servants, said she and I should do all the work
ourselves, hired this poor room for us to live in, and sent to order
a bill to be put upon her house at Padington, for she said she would
never return to it any more."

"But are you, then," cried Cecilia, "without any servant?"

"We have my brother's man, madam, and so he lights our fires, and
takes away some of our litters; and there is not much else to be
done, except sweeping the rooms, for we eat nothing but cold meat
from the cook shops."

"And how long is this to last?"

"Indeed I cannot tell; for the real truth is, my poor mother has
almost lost her senses; and ever since our coming here, she has been
so miserable and so complaining, that indeed, between her and my
brother, I have almost lost mine too! For when she found all her
hopes at an end, and that her darling son, instead of being rich and
powerful, and surrounded by friends and admirers, all trying who
should do the most for him, was shut up by himself in this poor
little lodging, and instead of gaining more, had spent all he was
worth at first, with not a creature to come near him, though ill,
though confined, though keeping his bed!--Oh madam, had you seen my
poor mother when she first cast her eyes upon him in that
condition!--indeed you could never have forgotten it!"

"I wonder not at her disappointment," cried Cecilia; "with
expectations so sanguine, and a son of so much merit, it might well
indeed be bitter."

"Yes, and besides the disappointment, she is now continually
reproaching herself for always complying with his humours, and
assisting him to appear better than the rest of his family, though
my father never approved her doing so. But she thought herself so
sure of his rising, that she believed we should all thank her for it
in the end. And she always used to say that he was born to be a
gentleman, and what a grievous thing it would be to have him made a

"I hope, at least, she has not the additional misery of seeing him
ungrateful for her fondness, however injudicious it may have been?"

"O no! he does nothing but comfort and cheer her! and indeed it is
very good of him, for he has owned to me in private, that but for
her encouragement, he could not have run the course he has run, for
he should have been obliged to enter into business, whether he had
liked it or not. But my poor mother knows this, though he will not
tell it her, and therefore she says that unless he gets well, she
will punish herself all the rest of her life, and never go back to
her house, and never hire another servant, and never eat any thing
but bread, nor drink any thing but water!"

"Poor unhappy woman!" cried Cecilia, "how dearly does she pay for
her imprudent and short-sighted indulgence! but surely you are not
also to suffer in the same manner?"

"No, madam, not by her fault, for she wants me to go and live with
one of my sisters: but I would not quit her for the world; I should
think myself wicked indeed to leave her now. Besides, I don't at all
repine at the little hardships I go through at present, because my
poor brother is in so much distress, that all we save may be really
turned to account; but when we lived so hardly only to procure him
luxuries he had no right to, I must own I used often to think it
unfair, and if I had not loved him dearly, I should not have borne
it so well, perhaps, as I ought."

Cecilia now began to think it high time to release her new
acquaintance by quitting her, though she felt herself so much
interested in her affairs, that every word she spoke gave her a
desire to lengthen the conversation. She ardently wished to make her
some present, but was restrained by the fear of offending, or of
being again refused; she had, however, devised a private scheme for
serving her more effectually than by the donation of a few guineas,
and therefore, after earnestly begging to hear from her if she could
possibly be of any use, she told her that she should not find her
confidence misplaced, and promising again to see her soon,
reluctantly departed.



The scheme now projected by Cecilia, was to acquaint the surgeon who
had already attended Mr. Belfield with his present situation and
address, and to desire him to continue his visits, for the payment
of which she would herself be accountable.

The raillery of young Delvile, however, had taught her to fear the
constructions of the world, and she therefore purposed to keep both
the surgeon and Mr Belfield ignorant to whom they were indebted. She
was aware, indeed, that whatever might be her management, that high-
spirited and unfortunate young man would be extremely hurt to find
himself thus detected and pursued; but she thought his life too well
worth preserving to let it be sacrificed to his pride, and her
internal conviction of being herself the immediate cause of its
present danger, gave to her an anxious and restless desire to be
herself the means of extricating him from it.

Rupil, the name of the surgeon, she had already heard mentioned by
Mr. Arnott, and in getting into her chair, she ordered Ralph, her
man, to enquire where he lived.

"I know already where he lives, madam," answered Ralph, "for I saw
his name over a door in Cavendish-street, Oxford-road; I took
particular notice of it, because it was at the house where you stood
up that day on account of the mob that was waiting to see the
malefactors go to Tyburn."

This answer unravelled to Cecilia a mystery which had long perplext
her; for the speeches of young Delvile when he had surprised her in
that situation were now fully explained. In seeing her come out of
the surgeon's house, he had naturally concluded she had only entered
it to ask news of his patient, Mr. Belfield; her protestations of
merely standing up to avoid the crowd, he had only laughed at; and
his hints at her reserve and dissimulation, were meant but to
reproach her for refusing his offer of procuring her intelligence,
at the very time when, to all appearance, she anxiously, though
clandestinely, sought it for herself.

This discovery, notwithstanding it relieved her from all suspense of
his meaning, gave her much vexation: to be supposed to take an
interest so ardent, yet so private, in the affairs of Mr Belfield,
might well authorise all suspicions of her partiality for him: and
even if any doubt had yet remained, the unlucky meeting upon the
stairs at his lodgings, would not fail to dispel it, and confirm the
notion of her secret regard. She hoped, however, to have soon some
opportunity of clearing up the mistake, and resolved in the mean
time to be studiously cautious in avoiding all appearances that
might strengthen it.

No caution, however, and no apprehension, could intimidate her
active humanity from putting into immediate execution a plan in
which she feared any delay might be fatal; and therefore the moment
she got home, she wrote the following note to the surgeon.

_"To------Rupil, Esq.

March 27, 1779_.

"A friend of Mr Belfield begs Mr Rupil will immediately call upon
that gentleman, who is in lodgings about the middle of Swallow-
street, and insist upon visiting him till he is perfectly recovered.
Mr Rupil is entreated not to make known this request, nor to receive
from Mr Belfield any return for his attendance; but to attribute the
discovery of his residence to accident, and to rest assured he shall
be amply recompensed for his time and trouble by the friend who
makes this application, and who is willing to give any security that
Mr Rupil shall think proper to mention, for the performance of this

Her next difficulty was in what manner to have this note conveyed;
to send her own servant was inevitably betraying herself, to employ
any other was risking a confidence that might be still more
dangerous, and she could not trust to the penny-post, as her
proposal required an answer. After much deliberation, she at length
determined to have recourse to Mrs Hill, to whose services she was
entitled, and upon whose fidelity she could rely.

The morning was already far advanced, but the Harrels dined late,
and she would not lose a day where even an hour might be of
importance. She went therefore immediately to Mrs. Hill, whom she
found already removed into her new habitation in Fetter-lane, and
equally busy and happy in the change of scene and of employment. She
gave to her the note, which she desired her to carry to Cavendish-
street directly, and either to deliver it into Mr. Rupil's own
hands, or to bring it back if he was out; but upon no consideration
to make known whence or from whom it came.

She then went into the back part of the shop, which by Mrs. Roberts
was called the parlour, and amused herself during the absence of her
messenger, by playing with the children.

Mrs. Hill at her return said she had found Mr. Rupil at home, and as
she refused to give the letter to the servant, she had been taken
into a room where he was talking with a gentleman, to whom, as soon
as he had read it, he said with a laugh, "Why here's another person
with the same proposal as yours! however, I shall treat you both
alike." And then he wrote an answer, which he sealed up, and bid her
take care of. This answer was as follows:

"Mr. Rupil will certainly attend Mr. Belfield, whose friends may be
satisfied he will do all in his power to recover him, without
receiving any recompense but the pleasure of serving a gentleman who
is so much beloved."

Cecilia, charmed at this unhoped for success, was making further
enquiries into what had passed, when Mrs Hill, in a low voice, said,
"There's the gentleman, madam, who was with Mr. Rupil when I gave
him the letter. I had a notion he was dodging me all the way I came,
for I saw him just behind me, turn which way I would."

Cecilia then looked--and perceived young Delvile! who, after
stopping a moment at the door, came into the shop, and desired to be
shewn some gloves, which, among other things, were laid in the

Extremely disconcerted at the sight of him, she began now almost to
fancy there was some fatality attending her acquaintance with him,
since she was always sure of meeting, when she had any reason to
wish avoiding him.

As soon as he saw he was observed by her, he bowed with the utmost
respect: she coloured in returning the salutation, and prepared,
with no little vexation, for another attack, and further [raillery],
similar to what she had already received from him: but, as soon as
he had made his purchase, he bowed to her again, and, without
speaking, left the shop.

A silence so unexpected at once astonished and disturbed her; she
again desired to hear all that had passed at Mr. Rupil's, and from
the relation gathered that Delvile had himself undertaken to be
responsible for his attendance upon Mr. Belfield.

A liberality so like her own failed not to impress her with the most
lively esteem: but this served rather to augment than lessen the
pain with which she considered the clandestine appearance she thus
repeatedly made to him. She had no doubt he had immediately
concluded she was author of the application to the surgeon, and that
he followed her messenger merely to ascertain the fact; while his
silence when he had made the discovery, she could only attribute to
his now believing that her regard for Mr Belfield was too serious
for raillery.

Doubly, however, she rejoiced at the generosity of Mr Rupil, as it
rendered wholly unnecessary her further interference: for she now
saw with some alarm the danger to which benevolence itself, directed
towards a youthful object, might expose her.



Cecilia returned home so late, that she was summoned to the dining
parlour the moment she entered the house. Her morning dress, and her
long absence, excited much curiosity in Mrs Harrel, which a quick
succession of questions evasively answered soon made general; and
Sir Robert Floyer, turning to her with a look of surprise, said, "If
you have such freaks as these, Miss Beverley, I must begin to
enquire a little more into your proceedings."

"That, Sir," said Cecilia, very coldly, "would ill repay your

"When we get her to Violet Bank," cried Mr Harrel, "we shall be able
to keep a better watch over her."

"I hope so," answered Sir Robert; "though faith she has been so
demure, that I never supposed she did any thing but read sermons.
However, I find there's no going upon trust with women, any more
than with money."

"Ay, Sir Robert," cried Mrs Harrel, "you know I always advised you
not to be quite so easy, and I am sure I really think you deserve a
little severity, for not being more afraid."

"Afraid of what, madam?" cried the baronet; "of a young lady's
walking out without me? Do you think I wish to be any restraint upon
Miss Beverley's time in a morning, while I have the happiness of
waiting upon her every afternoon?"

Cecilia was thunderstruck by this speech, which not only expressed
an open avowal of his pretensions, but a confident security of his
success. She was shocked that a man of such principles should even
for a moment presume upon her favour, and irritated at the
stubbornness of Mr. Harrel in not acquainting him with her refusal.

His intimation of coming to the house for _the happiness of
waiting upon her_, made her determine, without losing a moment,
to seek herself an explanation with him: while the discovery that he
was included in the Easter party, which various other concomitant
causes had already rendered disagreeable to her, made her look
forward to that purposed expedition with nothing but unwillingness
and distaste.

But though her earnestness to conclude this affair made her now put
herself voluntarily in the way of the baronet, she found her plan
always counteracted by Mr. Harrel, who, with an officiousness too
obvious to pass for chance, constantly stopt the progress of any
discourse in which he did not himself bear a part. A more passionate
admirer might not have been so easily defeated; but Sir Robert, too
proud for solicitation, and too indolent for assiduity, was very
soon checked, because very soon wearied.

The whole evening, therefore, to her infinite mortification, passed
away without affording her any opportunity of making known to him
his mistake.

Her next effort was to remonstrate with Mr. Harrel himself; but this
scheme was not more easy of execution than the other, since Mr.
Harrel, suspecting she meant again to dun him for her money, avoided
all separate conversation with her so skilfully, that she could not
find a moment to make him hear her.

She then resolved to apply to his lady; but here her success was not
better: Mrs. Harrel, dreading another lecture upon economy,
peevishly answered to her request of a conference, that she was not
very well, and could not talk gravely.

Cecilia, justly offended with them all, had now no resource but in
Mr. Monckton, whose counsel for effectually dismissing the baronet,
she determined to solicit by the first opportunity.

The moment, therefore, that she next saw him, she acquainted him
with the speeches of Sir Robert and the behaviour of Mr. Harrel.

There needed no rhetoric to point out to Mr. Monckton the danger of
suffering such expectations, or the impropriety of her present
situation: he was struck with both in a manner the most forcible,
and spared not for warmth of expression to alarm her delicacy, or
add to her displeasure. But chiefly he was exasperated against Mr.
Harrel, assuring her there could be no doubt but that he had some
particular interest in so strenuously and artfully supporting the
pretensions of Sir Robert. Cecilia endeavoured to refute this
opinion, which she regarded as proceeding rather from prejudice than
justice; but when she mentioned that the baronet was invited to
spent the Easter holidays at Violet-Bank, he represented with such
energy the consequent constructions of the world, as well as the
unavoidable encouragement such intimacy would imply, that he
terrified her into an earnest entreaty to suggest to her some way of

"There is only one;" answered he, "you must peremptorily refuse to
go to Violet Bank yourself. If, after what has passed, you are
included in the same party with Sir Robert, you give a sanction
yourself to the reports already circulated of your engagements with
I and the effect of such a sanction will be more serious than you
can easily imagine, since the knowledge that a connection is
believed in the world, frequently, if not generally, leads by
imperceptible degrees to its real ratification."

Cecilia, with the utmost alacrity, promised implicitly to follow his
advice, whatever might be the opposition of Mr Harrel. He quitted
her, therefore, with unusual satisfaction, happy in his power over
her mind, and anticipating with secret rapture the felicity he had
in reserve from visiting her during the absence of the family.

As no private interview was necessary for making known her intention
of giving up the Easter party, which was to take place in two days'
time, she mentioned next morning her design of spending the holidays
in town, when Mr Harrel sauntered into the breakfast room to give
some commission to his lady.

At first he only laughed at her plan, gaily rallying her upon her
love of solitude; but when he found it was serious, he very warmly
opposed it, and called upon Mrs Harrel to join in his
expostulations. That lady complied, but in so faint a manner, that
Cecilia soon saw she did not wish to prevail; and with a concern,
that cost her infinite pain, now finally perceived that not only all
her former affection was subsided into indifference, but that, since
she had endeavoured to abridge her amusements, she regarded her as a
spy, and dreaded her as the censor of her conduct.

Mean while Mr Arnott, who was present, though he interfered not in
the debate, waited the event with anxiety; naturally hoping her
objections arose from her dislike of Sir Robert, and secretly
resolving to be guided himself by her motions. Cecilia at length,
tired of the importunities of Mr Harrel, gravely said, that if he
desired to hear the reasons which obliged her to refuse his request,
she was ready to communicate them.

Mr Harrel, after a little hesitation, accompanied her into another

She then declared her resolution not to live under the same roof
with Sir Robert, and very openly expressed her vexation and
displeasure, that he so evidently persisted in giving that gentleman

"My dear Miss Beverley," answered he, carelessly, "when young ladies
will not know their own minds, it is necessary some friend should
tell it them: you were certainly very favourable to Sir Robert but a
short time ago, and so, I dare say, you will be again, when you have
seen more of him."

"You amaze me, Sir!" cried Cecilia: "when was I favourable to him?
Has he not always and regularly been my aversion?"

"I fancy," answered Mr Harrel, laughing, "you will not easily
persuade him to think so; your behaviour at the Opera-house was ill
calculated to give him that notion."

"My behaviour at the Opera-house, Sir, I have already explained to
you; and if Sir Robert himself has any doubts, either from that
circumstance or from any other, pardon me if I say they can only be
attributed to your unwillingness to remove them. I entreat you,
therefore, to trifle with him no longer, nor to subject me again to
the freedom of implications extremely disagreeable to me."

"O fie, fie, Miss Beverley! after all that has passed, after his
long expectations, and his constant attendance, you cannot for a
moment think seriously of discarding him."

Cecilia, equally surprised and provoked by this speech, could not
for a moment tell how to answer it; and Mr Harrel, wilfully
misinterpreting her silence, took her hand, and said, "Come, I am
sure you have too much, honour to make a fool of such a man as Sir
Robert Floyer. There is not a woman in town who will not envy your
choice, and I assure you there is not a man in England I would so
soon recommend to you."

He would then have hurried her back to the next room; but, drawing
away her hand with undisguised resentment, "No, Sir," she cried,
"this must not pass! my positive rejection of Sir Robert the instant
you communicated to me his proposals, you can neither have forgotten
nor mistaken: and you must not wonder if I acknowledge myself
extremely disobliged by your unaccountable perseverance in refusing
to receive my answer."

"Young ladies who have been brought up in the country," returned Mr
Harrel, with his usual negligence, "are always so high flown in
their notions, it is difficult to deal with them; but as I am much
better acquainted with the world than you can be, you must give me
leave to tell you, that if, after all, you refuse Sir Robert, it
will be using him very ill."

"Why will you say so, Sir?" cried Cecilia, "when it is utterly
impossible you can have formed so preposterous an opinion. Pray hear
me, however, finally, and pray tell Sir Robert--"

"No, no," interrupted he, with affected gaiety, "you shall manage it
all your own way; I will have nothing to do with the quarrels of

And then, with a pretended laugh, he hastily left her.

Cecilia was so much incensed by this impracticable behaviour, that
instead of returning to the family, she went directly to her own
room. It was easy for her to see that Mr Harrel was bent upon using
every method he could devise, to entangle her into some engagement
with Sir Robert, and though she could not imagine the meaning of
such a scheme, the littleness of his behaviour excited her contempt,
and the long-continued error of the baronet gave her the utmost
uneasiness. She again determined to seek an explanation with him
herself, and immovably to refuse joining the party to Violet Bank.

The following day, while the ladies and Mr Arnott were at breakfast,
Mr Harrel came into the room to enquire if they should all be ready
to set off for his villa by ten o'clock the next day. Mrs Harrel and
her brother answered in the affirmative; but Cecilia was silent, and
he turned to her and repeated his question.

"Do you think me so capricious, Sir," said she, "that after telling
you but yesterday I could not be of your party, I shall tell you to-
day that I can?"

"Why you do not really mean to remain in town by yourself?" replied
he, "you cannot suppose that will be an eligible plan for a young
lady. On the contrary, it will be so very improper, that I think
myself, as your Guardian, obliged to oppose it."

Amazed at this authoritative speech, Cecilia looked at him with a
mixture of mortification and anger; but knowing it would be vain to
resist his power if he was resolute to exert it, she made not any

"Besides," he continued, "I have a plan for some alterations in the
house during my absence; and I think your room, in particular, will
be much improved by them: but it will be impossible to employ any
workmen, if we do not all quit the premises."

This determined persecution now seriously alarmed her; she saw that
Mr Harrel would omit no expedient or stratagem to encourage the
addresses of Sir Robert, and force her into his presence; and she
began next to apprehend that her connivance in his conduct might be
presumed upon by that gentleman: she resolved, therefore, as the
last and only effort in her power for avoiding him, to endeavour to
find an accommodation at the house of Mrs Delvile, during the
excursion to Violet Bank: and if, when she returned to Portman-
square, the baronet still persevered in his attendance, to entreat
her friend Mr Monckton would take upon himself the charge of
undeceiving him.



As not a moment was now to be lost, Cecilia had no sooner suggested
this scheme, than she hastened to St James's-Square, to try its

She found Mrs Delvile alone, and still at breakfast.

After the first compliments were over, while she was considering in
what manner to introduce her proposal, Mrs Delvile herself led to
the subject, by saying, "I am very sorry to hear we are so soon to
lose you; but I hope Mr Harrel does not intend to make any long stay
at his villa; for if he does, I shall be half tempted to come and
run away with you from him."

"And that," said Cecilia, delighted with this opening, "would be an
honour I am _more_ than half tempted to desire."

"Why indeed your leaving London at this time," continued Mrs
Delvile, "is, for me, particularly unfortunate, as, if I could now
be favoured with your visits, I should doubly value them; for Mr
Delvile is gone to spend the holidays at the Duke of Derwent's,
whither I was not well enough to accompany him; my son has his own
engagements, and there are so few people I can bear to see, that I
shall live almost entirely alone."

"If I," cried Cecilia, "in such a situation might hope to be
admitted, how gladly for that happiness would I exchange my
expedition to Violet Bank!"

"You are very good, and very amiable," said Mrs Devile, "and your
society would, indeed, give me infinite satisfaction. Yet I am no
enemy to solitude; on the contrary, company is commonly burthensome
to me; I find few who have any power to give me entertainment, and
even of those few, the chief part have in their manners, situation,
or characters, an unfortunate something, that generally renders a
near connection with them inconvenient or disagreeable. There are,
indeed, so many drawbacks to regard and intimacy, from pride, from
propriety, and various other collateral causes, that rarely as we
meet with people of brilliant parts, there is almost ever some
objection to our desire of meeting them again. Yet to live wholly
alone is chearless and depressing; and with you, at least," taking
Cecilia's hand, "I find not one single obstacle to oppose to a
thousand inducements, which invite me to form a friendship that I
can only hope may be as lasting, as I am sure it will be pleasant."

Cecilia expressed her sense of this partiality in the warmest terms;
and Mrs Delvile, soon discovering by her manner that she took not
any delight in her intended visit to Violet Bank, began next to
question her whether it would be possible for her to give it up.

She instantly answered in the affirmative.

"And would you really be so obliging," cried Mrs Delvile, with some
surprise, "as to bestow upon me the time you had destined for this
gay excursion?"

"Most willingly," answered Cecilia, "if you are so good as to wish

"But can you also--for you must by no means remain alone in Portman
Square--manage to live entirely in my house till Mr Barrel's

To this proposal, which was what she most desired, Cecilia gave a
glad assent; and Mrs Delvile, extremely pleased with her compliance,
promised to have an apartment prepared for her immediately.

She then hastened home, to announce her new plan.

This she took occasion to do when the family was assembled at
dinner. The surprize with which she was heard was very general: Sir
Robert seemed at a loss what conclusion to draw from her
information; Mr Arnott was half elated with pleasure, and half
depressed with apprehension; Mrs Harrel wondered, without any other
sensation; and Mr Harrel himself was evidently the most concerned of
the party.

Every effort of persuasion and importunity he now essayed to prevail
upon her to give up this scheme, and still accompany them to the
villa; but she coolly answered that her engagement with Mrs Delvile
was decided, and she had appointed to wait upon her the next

When her resolution was found so steady, a general ill humour took
place of surprise: Sir Robert now had the air of a man who thought
himself affronted; Mr Arnott was wretched from a thousand
uncertainties; Mrs Harrel, indeed, was still the most indifferent;
but Mr Harrel could hardly repress his disappointment and anger.

Cecilia, however, was all gaiety and pleasure: in removing only from
the house of one guardian to another, she knew she could not be
opposed; and the flattering readiness with which Mrs Delvile had
anticipated her request, without enquiring into her motives, had
relieved her from a situation which now grew extremely distressing,
without giving to her the pain of making complaints of Mr Harrel.
The absence of Mr Delvile contributed to her happiness, and she much
rejoiced in having now the prospect of a speedy opportunity to
explain to his son, whatever had appeared mysterious in her conduct
respecting Mr Belfield. If she had any thing to regret, it was
merely the impossibility, at this time, of waiting for the counsel
of Mr Monckton.

The next morning, while the family was in the midst of preparation
for departure, she took leave of Mrs Harrel, who faintly lamented
the loss of her company, and then hastily made her compliments to Mr
Harrel and Mr Arnott, and putting herself into a chair, was conveyed
to her new habitation.

Mrs Delvile received her with the most distinguished politeness; she
conducted her to the apartment which had been prepared for her, led
her to the library, which she desired her to make use of as her own,
and gave her the most obliging charges to remember that she was in a
house of which she had the command.

Young Delvile did not make his appearance till dinner time. Cecilia,
from recollecting the strange situations in which she had lately
been seen by him, blushed extremely when she first met his eyes; but
finding him gay and easy, general in his conversation, and
undesigning in his looks, she soon recovered from her embarrassment,
and passed the rest of the day without restraint or uneasiness.

Every hour she spent with Mrs Delvile, contributed to raise in her
esteem the mind and understanding of that lady. She found, indeed,
that it was not for nothing she was accused of pride, but she found
at the same time so many excellent qualities, so much true dignity
of mind, and so noble a spirit of liberality, that however great was
the respect she seemed to demand, it was always inferior to what she
felt inclined to pay.

Nor was young Delvile less rapid in the progress he made in her
favour; his character, upon every opportunity of shewing it, rose in
her opinion, and his disposition and manners had a mingled sweetness
and vivacity that rendered his society attractive, and his
conversation spirited.

Here, therefore, Cecilia experienced that happiness she so long had
coveted in vain: her life was neither public nor private, her
amusements were neither dissipated nor retired; the company she saw
were either people of high rank or strong parts, and their visits
were neither frequent nor long. The situation she quitted gave a
zest to that into which she entered, for she was now no longer
shocked by extravagance or levity, no longer tormented with
addresses which disgusted her, nor mortified by the ingratitude of
the friend she had endeavoured to serve. All was smooth and serene,
yet lively and interesting.

Her plan, however, of clearing to young Delvile his mistakes
concerning Belfield, she could not put in execution; for he now
never led to the subject, though he was frequently alone with her,
nor seemed at all desirous to renew his former raillery, or repeat
his enquiries. She wondered at this change in him, but chose rather
to wait the revival of his own curiosity, than to distress or
perplex herself by contriving methods of explanation.

Situated thus happily, she had now one only anxiety, which was to
know whether, and in what manner, Mr Belfield had received his
surgeon, as well as the actual state of his own and his sister's
affairs: but the fear of again encountering young Delvile in
suspicious circumstances, deterred her at present from going to
their house. Yet her natural benevolence, which partial convenience
never lulled to sleep, impressing her with an apprehension that her
services might be wanted, she was induced to write to Miss Belfield,
though she forbore to visit her.

Her letter was short, but kind and to the purpose: she apologized
for her officiousness, desiring to know if her brother was better,
and entreated her, in terms the most delicate, to acquaint her if
yet she would accept from her any assistance.

She sent this letter by her servant, who, after waiting a
considerable time, brought her the following answer.

_To Miss Beverley_.

Ah madam! your goodness quite melts me! we want nothing, however,
yet, though I fear we shall not say so much longer. But though I
hope I shall never forget myself so as to be proud and impertinent,
I will rather struggle with any hardship than beg, for I will not
disoblige my poor brother by any fault that I can help, especially
now he is fallen so low. But, thank heaven, his wound has at last
been dressed, for the surgeon has found him out, and he attends him
for nothing; though my brother is willing to part with every thing
he is worth in the world, rather than owe that obligation to him:
yet I often wonder why he hates so to be obliged, for when he was
rich himself he was always doing something to oblige other people.
But I fear the surgeon thinks him very bad! for he won't speak to us
when we follow him down stairs.

I am sadly ashamed to send this bad writing, but I dare not ask my
brother for any help, because he would only be angry that I wrote
any thing about him at all; but indeed I have seen too little good
come of pride to think of imitating it; and as I have not his
genius, I am sure there is no need I should have his defects: ill,
therefore, as I write, you, madam, who have so much goodness and
gentleness, would forgive it, I believe, if it was worse, almost.
And though we are not in need of your kind offers, it is a great
comfort to me to think there is a lady in the world that, if we come
to be quite destitute, and if the proud heart of my poor unhappy
brother should be quite broke down, will look upon our distress with
pity, and generously help us from quite sinking under it.--I remain,
Madam, with the most humble respect, your ever most obliged humble

Cecilia, much moved by the simplicity of this letter, determined
that her very first visit from Portman-square should be to its fair
and innocent writer. And having now an assurance that she was in no
immediate distress, and that her brother was actually under Mr
Rupil's care, she dismissed from her mind the only subject of
uneasiness that at present had endeavoured to disturb it, and gave
herself wholly up to the delightful serenity of [unalloyed]

Few are the days of felicity unmixed which we acknowledge while we
experience, though many are those we deplore, when by sorrow taught
their value, and by misfortune, their loss. Time with Cecilia now
glided on with such rapidity, that before she thought the morning
half over, the evening was closed, and ere she was sensible the
first week was past, the second was departed for ever. More and more
pleased with the inmates of her new habitation, she found in the
abilities of Mrs Delvile sources inexhaustible of entertainment,
and, in the disposition and sentiments of her son something so
concordant to her own, that almost every word he spoke shewed the
sympathy of their minds, and almost every look which caught her eyes
was a reciprocation of intelligence. Her heart, deeply wounded of
late by unexpected indifference, and unreserved mortification, was
now, perhaps, more than usually susceptible of those penetrating and
exquisite pleasures which friendship and kindness possess the
highest powers of bestowing. Easy, gay, and airy, she only rose to
happiness, and only retired to rest; and not merely heightened was
her present enjoyment by her past disappointment, but, carrying her
retrospection to her earliest remembrance, she still found her
actual situation more peculiarly adapted to her taste and temper,
than any she had hitherto at any time experienced.


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