The World's Greatest Books - Volume 2 Part 27

EVELINA TO MR. VILLARS

Bristol Hotwells.--Lord Orville is coming to Bristol with his sister, Lady Louisa Larpent. They are to be at the Honourable Mrs. Beaumont's, and it will be impossible to avoid seeing him, as Mrs. Selwyn is very well acquainted with Mrs. Beaumont.

This morning I accompanied Mrs. Selwyn to Clifton Hill, where, beautifully situated, is the house of Mrs. Beaumont. As we entered the house I summoned all my resolution to my aid, determined rather to die than to give Lord Orville reason to attribute my weakness to a wrong cause. On his seeing me, he suddenly exclaimed, "Miss Anville!" and then he advanced and made his compliments to me with a countenance open, manly, and charming, a smile that indicated pleasure, and eyes that sparkled with delight. The very tone of his voice seemed flattering as he congratulated himself upon his good fortune in meeting with me.

During our ride home Mrs. Selwyn asked me if my health would now permit me to give up my morning walks to the pump-room for the purpose of spending a week at Clifton; and as my health is now very well established, to-morrow, my dear sir, we are to be actually the guests of Mrs. Beaumont. I am not much delighted at this scheme, for greatly as I am flattered by the attention of Lord Orville, I cannot expect him to support it as long as a week.

We were received by Mrs. Beaumont with great civility, and by Lord Orville with something more.

The attention with which he honours me seems to result from a benevolence of heart that proves him as much a stranger to caprice as to pride. I am now not merely easy, but even gay in his presence; such is the effect of true politeness that it banishes all restraint and embarra.s.sment.

_VI.--A Happy Ending_

EVELINA TO MR. VILLARS

And now, my dearest sir, if the perturbation of my spirits will allow me, I will finish my last letter from Clifton Hill.

This morning, when I went downstairs, Lord Orville was the only person in the parlour. I felt no small confusion at seeing him alone after having recently avoided him.

As soon as the usual compliments were over, I would have left the room, but he stopped me.

"I have for some time past most ardently desired an opportunity of speaking to you."

I said nothing, so he went on.

"I have been so unfortunate as to forfeit your friends.h.i.+p; your eye shuns mine, and you sedulously avoid my conversation."

I was extremely disconcerted at this grave, but too just accusation, but I made no answer.

"Tell me, I beseech you, what I have done, and how to deserve your pardon."

"Oh, my lord!" I cried, "I have never dreamt of offence; if there is any pardon to be asked it is rather for me than for you to ask it."

"You are all sweetness and condescension!" cried he; "but will you pardon a question essentially important to me? Had, or had not, Sir Clement Willoughby any share in causing your inquietude?"

"No, my lord!" answered I, with firmness, "none in the world. He is the last man who would have any influence over my conduct."

Just then Mrs. Beaumont opened the door, and in a few minutes we went in to breakfast. When she spoke of my journey a cloud overspread the countenance of Lord Orville, and on Mrs. Selwyn asking me to seek some books for her in the parlour, I was followed by Lord Orville. He shut the door, and approached me with a look of great anxiety.

"You are going, then," he cried, taking my hand, "and you give me not the smallest hope of your return?"

"Oh, my lord!" I said, "surely your lords.h.i.+p is not so cruel as to mock me!"

"Mock you!" repeated he earnestly. "No, I revere you! You are dearer to me than language has the power of telling!"

I cannot write the scene that followed, though every word is engraved on my heart; but his protestations, his expressions, were too flattering for repet.i.tion; nor would he suffer me to escape until he had drawn from me the most sacred secret of my heart!

To be loved by Lord Orville, to be the honoured choice of his n.o.ble heart--my happiness seems too infinite to be borne.

I could not write yesterday, so violent was the agitation of my mind, but I will not now lose a moment till I have hastened to my best friend an account of the transactions of the day.

Mrs. Selwyn and I went early in Mrs. Beaumont's chariot to see my father, Sir John Belmont What a moment for your Evelina when, taking my hand, she led me forward into his presence. An involuntary scream escaped me; covering my face with my hands, I sank on the floor.

He had, however, seen me first, for in a voice scarce articulate he exclaimed, "My G.o.d! does Caroline Evelyn still live? Lift up thy head, if my sight has not blasted thee, thou image of my long-lost Caroline!"

Affected beyond measure, I half arose and embraced his knees.

"Yes, yes," cried he, looking earnestly in my face, "I see thou art her child! She lives, she is present to my view!"

"Yes, sir," cried I, "it is your child if you will own her!"

He knelt by my side, and folded me in his arms. "Own thee!" he repeated, "yes, my poor girl, and heaven knows with what bitter contrition!"

All is over, my dearest sir, and the fate of your Evelina is decided!

This morning, with tearful joy, and trembling grat.i.tude, she united herself for ever with the object of her dearest, eternal affection.

I have time for no more; the chaise now waits which is to conduct me to dear Berry Hill and the arms of the best of men.

WILLIAM CARLETON

The Black Prophet

William Carleton, the Irish novelist, was born in Co. Tyrone on February 20, 1794. His father was a small farmer, the father of fourteen children, of whom William was the youngest.

After getting some education, first from a hedge schoolmaster, and then from Dr. Keenan of Gla.s.slough, Carleton set out for Dublin and obtained a tutors.h.i.+p. In 1830 he collected a number of sketches, and these were published under the t.i.tle of "Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry," and at once enjoyed considerable popularity. In 1834 came "Tales of Ireland," and from that time forward till his death Carleton produced with great industry numerous short stories and novels, though none of his work after 1848 is worthy of his reputation. "The Black Prophet" was published in 1847, and Carleton believed rightly that it was his best work. It was written in a season of unparalleled scarcity and dest.i.tution, and the pictures and scenes represented were those which he himself witnessed in 1817 and 1822. Many of Carleton's novels have been translated into French, German, and Italian, and they will always stand for faithful and powerful pictures of Irish life and character. Carleton died in Dublin on January 30, 1869.

_I.--The Murders in the Glen_

The cabin of Donnel M'Gowan, the Black Prophet, stood at the foot of a hill, near the mouth of a gloomy and desolate glen.

In this glen, not far from the cabin, two murders had been committed twenty years before. The one was that of a carman, and the other a man named Sullivan; and it was supposed they had been robbed. Neither of the bodies had ever been found. Sullivan's hat and part of his coat had been found on the following day in a field near the cabin, and there was a pool of blood where his foot-marks were deeply imprinted. A man named Dalton had been taken up under circ.u.mstances of great suspicion for this latter murder, for Dalton was the last person seen in Sullivan's company, and both men had been drinking together in the market. A quarrel had ensued, blows had been exchanged, and Dalton had threatened him in very strong language.

No conviction was possible because of the disappearance of the body, but Dalton had remained under suspicion, and the glen, with its dark and gloomy aspect, was said to be haunted by Sullivan's spirit, and to be accursed as the scene of crime and supernatural appearances.