During the rest of the ride not another word was Said;
Mrs Harrel wept, her husband guarded a gloomy silence,
and Cecilia most unpleasantly passed her time between
anxious suspicions of some new scheme, and a terrified
wonder in what all these transactions would terminate.
A MAN OF BUSINESS.
When they entered Vauxhall, Mr Harrel endeavoured
to dismiss his moroseness, and affecting his usual
gaiety, struggled to recover his spirits; but the
effort was vain, he could neither talk nor look like
himself, and though from time to time he resumed his
air of wonted levity, he could not support it, but
drooped and hung his head in evident despondency.
He made them take several turns in the midst of the
company, and walked so fast that they could hardly
keep pace with him, as if he hoped by exercise to
restore his vivacity; but every attempt failed, he
sunk and grew sadder, and muttering between his teeth
“this is not to be borne!” he hastily
called to a waiter to bring him a bottle of champagne.
Of this he drank glass after glass, notwithstanding
Cecilia, as Mrs Harrel had not courage to speak, entreated
him to forbear. He seemed, however, not to hear
her; but when he had drunk what he thought necessary
to revive him, he conveyed them into an unfrequented
part of the garden, and as soon as they were out of
sight of all but a few stragglers, he suddenly stopt,
and, in great agitation, said, “my chaise will
soon be ready, and I shall take of you a long farewell!—
all my affairs are unpropitious to my speedy return:—the
wine is now mounting into my head, and perhaps I may
not be able to say much by and by. I fear I have
been cruel to you, Priscilla, and I begin to wish
I had spared you this parting scene; yet let it not
be banished your remembrance, but think of it when
you are tempted to such mad folly as has ruined us.”
Mrs Harrel wept too much to make any answer; and turning
from her to Cecilia, “Oh Madam,” he cried,
“to you, indeed, I dare not speak!
I have used you most unworthily, but I pay for it all!
I ask you not to pity or forgive me, I know it is
impossible you should do either.”
“No,” cried the softened Cecilia, “it
is not impossible, I do both at this moment, and I
hope—”
“Do not hope,” interrupted he, “be
not so angelic, for I cannot bear it! benevolence
like yours should have fallen into worthier hands.
But come, let us return to the company. My head
grows giddy, but my heart is still heavy; I must make
them more fit companions for each other.”
He would then have hurried them back; but Cecilia,
endeavouring to stop him, said “You do not mean,
I hope, to call for more wine?”
