Cecilia, however, would listen to no such proposal;
she saw the firmness of Delvile in his resolution
to avoid her, and knew that policy, as well as propriety,
made it necessary she should part with what she could
only retain to remind her of one whom she now most
wished to forget.
AN INCIDENT.
The spirits of Cecilia, however, internally failed
her: she considered her separation from Delvile
to be now, in all probability, for life, since she
saw that no struggle either of interest, inclination,
or health, could bend him from his purpose; his mother,
too, seemed to regard his name and his existence as
equally valuable, and the scruples of his father she
was certain would be still more insurmountable.
Her own pride, excited by theirs, made her, indeed,
with more anger than sorrow, see this general consent
to abandon her; but pride and anger both failed when
she considered the situation of his health; sorrow,
there, took the lead, and admitted no partner:
it represented him to her not only as lost to herself,
but to the world; and so sad grew her reflections,
and so heavy her heart, that, to avoid from Mrs Charlton
observations which pained her, she stole into a summer-house
in the garden the moment she had done tea, declining
any companion but her affectionate Fidel.
Her tenderness and her sorrow found here a romantic
consolation, in complaining to him of the absence
of his master, his voluntary exile, and her fears
for his health: calling upon him to participate
in her sorrow, and lamenting that even this little
relief would soon be denied her; and that in losing
Fidel no vestige of Mortimer, but in her own breast,
would remain; “Go, then, dear Fidel,” she
cried, “carry back to your master all that nourishes
his remembrance! Bid him not love you the less
for having some time belonged to Cecilia; but never
may his proud heart be fed with the vain glory of knowing
how fondly for his sake she has cherished you!
Go, dear Fidel, guard him by night, and follow him
by day; serve him with zeal, and love him with fidelity;—oh
that his health were invincible as his pride!—
there, alone, is he vulnerable—”
Here Fidel, with a loud barking, suddenly sprang away
from her, and, as she turned her eyes towards the
door to see what had thus startled him, she beheld
standing there, as if immoveable, young Delvile himself!
Her astonishment at this sight almost bereft her of
her understanding; it appeared to her supernatural,
and she rather believed it was his ghost than himself.
Fixed in mute wonder, she stood still though terrified,
her eyes almost bursting from their sockets to be satisfied
if what they saw was real.
Delvile, too, was some time speechless; he looked
not at her, indeed, with any doubt of her existence,
but as if what he had heard was to him as amazing
as to her what she saw. At length, however, tormented
by the dog, who jumpt up to him, licked his hands,
and by his rapturous joy forced himself into notice,
he was moved to return his caresses, saying, “Yes,
dear Fidel! you have a claim indeed to my attention,
and with the fondest gratitude will I cherish you ever!”
