Tales and Novels Volume VIII Part 81

"Oh!" said she, "what are these voices?--Whither are you taking me?--For Heaven's sake do not let any body see me!"

I a.s.sured her that she should go directly to her own apartment, and that no human being should approach her without her express permission.

Alas! it happened at this very moment that all my children came running with the utmost gaiety into the hall to meet us, and the very circ.u.mstance which I had been so anxious to prevent happened--little Julia was amongst them. The gaiety of the children suddenly ceased the moment they saw Lady V---- coming up the steps--they were struck with her melancholy air and countenance: she, leaning upon my arm, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, let me lead her in, and sunk upon the first chair she came to. I made a sign to the children to retire; but the moment they began to move, Lady V---- looked up--saw her daughter--and now for the first time burst into tears The little girl did not recollect her poor mother till she heard the sound of her voice; and then she threw her arms round her neck, crying, "Is it you, mamma?"--and all the children immediately crowded round and asked, "if this was the same Lady V---- who used to play with them?"

It is impossible to describe the effect these simple questions had on Julia: a variety of emotions seemed struggling in her countenance; she rose and made an attempt to break from the children, but could not--she had not strength to support herself. We carried her away and put her to bed; she took no notice of any body, nor did she even seem to know that I was with her: I thought she was insensible, but as I drew the curtains I heard her give a deep sigh.

I left her, and carried away her little girl, who had followed us up stairs and begged to stay with her mother; but I was apprehensive that the sight of her might renew her agitation.

After I was gone, they told me that she was perfectly still, with her eyes closed; and I stayed away some time in hopes that she might sleep: however, about midnight she sent to beg to speak to me: she was very ill--she beckoned to me to sit down by her bedside--every one left the room; and when Julia saw herself alone with me, she took my hand, and in a low but calm voice she said, "I have not many hours to live--my heart is broken--I wished to see you, to thank you whilst it was yet in my power." She pressed my hand to her trembling lips: "Your kindness,"

added she, "touches me more than all the rest; but how ashamed you must be of such a friend! Oh, Caroline! to die a disgrace to all who ever loved me!"

The tears trickled down her face, and choked her utterance: she wiped them away hastily. "But it is not now a time," said she, "to think of myself--can I see my daughter?" The little girl was asleep: she was awakened, and I brought her to her mother. Julia raised herself in her bed, and summoning up all her strength, "My dearest friend!" said she, putting her child's hand into mine, "when I am gone, be a mother to this child--let her know my whole history, let nothing be concealed from her.

Poor girl! you will live to blush at your mother's name." She paused and leaned back: I was going to take the child away, but she held out her arms again for her, and kissed her several times. "Farewell!" said she; "I shall never see you again." The little girl burst into tears. Julia wished to say something more--she raised herself again--at last she uttered these words with energy:--"My love, _be good and happy_;"

she then sunk down on the pillow quite exhausted--she never spoke afterwards: I took her hand--it was cold--her pulse scarcely beat--her eyes rolled without meaning--in a few moments she expired.

Painful as it has been to me to recall the circ.u.mstances of her death to my imagination, I have given your lords.h.i.+p this exact and detailed account of my unfortunate friend's behaviour in her last moments.

Whatever may have been her errors, her soul never became callous from vice. The sense of her own ill conduct, was undoubtedly the immediate cause of her illness, and the remorse which had long preyed upon her mind, at length brought her to the grave--

I have the honour to be, My lord, &c. CAROLINE.

_Written in 1787._ _Published in 1795._