Do not talk to me of affection, madam, said Cecilia, turning away from her; whatever you had for me is past,even your esteem is gone,you may pity me, indeed, but your pity is mixed with contempt, and I am not so abject as to find comfort from exciting it.
O little, cried Mrs Delvile, looking at her with the utmost tenderness, little do you see the state of my heart, for never have you appeared to me so worthy as at this moment! In tearing you from my son, I partake all the wretchedness I give, but your own sense of duty must something plead for the strictness with which I act up to mine.
She then moved towards the door.
Is your carriage, madam, said Cecilia, struggling to disguise her inward anguish under an appearance of sullenness, in waiting?
Mrs Delvile then came back, and holding out her hand, while her eyes glistened with tears, said, To part from you thus frigidly, while my heart so warmly admires you, is almost more than I can endure. Oh gentlest Cecilia! condemn not a mother who is impelled to this severity, who performing what she holds to be her duty, thinks the office her bitterest misfortune, who forsees in the rage of her husband, and the resistance of her son, all the misery of domestic contention, and who can only secure the honour of her family by destroying its peace!You will not, then, give me your hand?
Cecilia, who had affected not to see that she waited for it, now coldly put it out, distantly [courtseying], and seeking to preserve her steadiness by avoiding to speak. Mrs Delvile took it, and as she repeated her adieu, affectionately pressed it to her lips; Cecilia, starting, and breathing short, from encreasing yet smothered agitation, called out Why, why this condescension?pray,I entreat you, madam!
Heaven bless you, my love! said Mrs Delvile, dropping a tear upon the hand she still held, heaven bless you, and restore the tranquillity you so nobly deserve!
Ah madam! cried Cecilia, vainly striving to repress any longer the tears which now forced their way down her cheeks, why will you break my heart with this kindness! why will you still compel me to love!when now I almost wish to hate you!
No, hate me not, said Mrs Delvile, kissing from her cheeks the tears that watered them, hate me not, sweetest Cecilia, though in wounding your gentle bosom, I am almost detestable to myself. Even the cruel scene which awaits me with my son will not more deeply afflict me. But adieu,I must now prepare for him!
She then left the room: but Cecilia, whose pride had no power to resist this tenderness, ran hastily after her, saying Shall I not see you again, madam?
You shall yourself decide, answered she; if my coming will not give you more pain than pleasure, I will wait upon you whenever you please.
Cecilia sighed and paused; she knew not what to desire, yet rather wished any thing to be done, than quietly to sit down to uninterrupted reflection.
Shall I postpone quitting this place, continued Mrs Delvile, till to-morrow morning, and will you admit me this afternoon, should I call upon you again?
I should be sorry, said she, still hesitating, to detain you,
You will rejoice me, cried Mrs Delvile, by bearing me in your sight.
And she then went into her carriage.
Cecilia, unfitted to attend her old friend, and unequal to the task of explaining to her the cruel scene in which she had just been engaged, then hastened to her own apartment. Her hitherto stifled emotions broke forth in tears and repinings: her fate was finally determined, and its determination was not more unhappy than humiliating; she was openly rejected by the family whose alliance she was known to wish; she was compelled to refuse the man of her choice, though satisfied his affections were her own. A misery so peculiar she found hard to support, and almost bursting with conflicting passions, her heart alternately swelled from offended pride, and sunk from disappointed tenderness.
CHAPTER iv. A PERTURBATION
Cecelia was still in this tempestuous state, when a message was brought her that a gentleman was below stairs, who begged to have the honour of seeing her. She concluded he was Delvile, and the thought of meeting him merely to communicate what must so bitterly afflict him, redoubled her distress, and she went down in an agony of perturbation and sorrow.
He met her at the door, where, before he could speak, Mr Delvile, she cried, in a hurrying manner, why will you come? Why will you thus insist upon seeing me, in defiance of every obstacle, and in contempt of my prohibition?
Good heavens, cried he, amazed, whence this reproach? Did you not permit me to wait upon you with the result of my enquiries? Had I not your consentbut why do you look thus disturbed?Your eyes are red,you have been weeping.Oh my Cecilia! have I any share in your sorrow?Those tears, which never flow weakly, tell me, have theyhas one of them been shed upon my account?
And what, cried she, has been the result of your enquiries?Speak quick, for I wish to know,and in another instant I must be gone.
How strange, cried the astonished Delvile, is this language! how strange are these looks! What new has come to pass? Has any fresh calamity happened? Is there yet some evil which I do not expect?
Why will you not answer first? cried she; when I have spoken, you will perhaps be less willing.
You terrify, you shock, you amaze me! What dreadful blow awaits me? For what horror are you preparing me?That which I have just experienced, and which tore you from me even at the foot of the altar, still remains inexplicable, still continues to be involved in darkness and mystery; for the wretch who separated us I have never been able to discover.
Have you procured, then, no intelligence?
No, none; though since we parted I have never rested a moment.
Make, then, no further enquiry, for now all explanation would be useless. That we were parted, we know, though why we cannot tell: but that again we shall ever meet
She, stopt; her streaming eyes cast upwards, and a deep sigh bursting from her heart.
Oh what, cried Delvile, endeavouring to take her hand, which she hastily withdrew from him, what does this mean? loveliest, dearest Cecilia, my betrothed, my affianced wife! why flow those tears which agony only can wring from you? Why refuse me that hand which so lately was the pledge of your faith? Am I not the same Delvile to whom so few days since you gave it? Why will you not open to him your heart? Why thus distrust his honour, and repulse his tenderness? Oh why, giving him such exquisite misery, refuse him the smallest consolation?
What consolation, cried the weeping Cecilia, can I give? Alas! it is not, perhaps, you who most want it!
Here the door was opened by one of the Miss Charltons, who came into the room with a message from her grandmother, requesting to see Cecilia. Cecilia, ashamed of being thus surprised with Delvile, and in tears, waited not either to make any excuse to him, or any answer to Miss Charlton, but instantly hurried out of the room;not, however, to her old friend, whom now less than ever she could meet, but to her own apartment, where a very short indulgence of grief was succeeded by the severest examination of her own conduct.
A retrospection of this sort rarely brings much subject of exultation, when made with the rigid sincerity of secret impartiality: so much stronger is our reason than our virtue, so much higher our sense of duty than our performance!