TOM JONES
PART 41
Chapter vii. — In which Mr Western pays a visit to his sister, in company with Mr Blifil.
Mrs
Western was reading a lecture on prudence, and matrimonial politics, to her
niece, when her brother and Blifil broke in with less ceremony than the laws of
visiting require. Sophia no sooner saw Blifil than she turned pale, and almost
lost the use of all her faculties; but her aunt, on the contrary, waxed red,
and, having all her faculties at command, began to exert her tongue on the
squire.
“Brother,”
said she, “I am astonished at your behaviour; will you never learn any regard
to decorum? Will you still look upon every apartment as your own, or as
belonging to one of your country tenants? Do you think yourself at liberty to
invade the privacies of women of condition, without the least decency or
notice?”——“Why, what a pox is the matter now?” quoth the squire; “one would
think I had caught you at—“—“None of your brutality, sir, I beseech you,”
answered she.——“You have surprized my poor niece so, that she can hardly, I
see, support herself.——Go, my dear, retire, and endeavour to recruit your
spirits; for I see you have occasion.” At which words Sophia, who never
received a more welcome command, hastily withdrew.
“To be
sure, sister,” cries the squire, “you are mad, when I have brought Mr Blifil
here to court her, to force her away.”
“Sure,
brother,” says she, “you are worse than mad, when you know in what situation
affairs are, to——I am sure I ask Mr Blifil’s pardon, but he knows very well to
whom to impute so disagreeable a reception. For my own part, I am sure I shall
always be very glad to see Mr Blifil; but his own good sense would not have
suffered him to proceed so abruptly, had you not compelled him to it.”
Blifil
bowed and stammered, and looked like a fool; but Western, without giving him
time to form a speech for the purpose, answered, “Well, well, I am to blame, if
you will, I always am, certainly; but come, let the girl be fetched back again,
or let Mr Blifil go to her.——He’s come up on purpose, and there is no time to
be lost.”
“Brother,”
cries Mrs Western, “Mr Blifil, I am confident, understands himself better than
to think of seeing my niece any more this morning, after what hath happened.
Women are of a nice contexture; and our spirits, when disordered, are not to be
recomposed in a moment. Had you suffered Mr Blifil to have sent his compliments
to my niece, and to have desired the favour of waiting on her in the afternoon,
I should possibly have prevailed on her to have seen him; but now I despair of
bringing about any such matter.”
“I am very
sorry, madam,” cried Blifil, “that Mr Western’s extraordinary kindness to me,
which I can never enough acknowledge, should have occasioned—” “Indeed, sir,”
said she, interrupting him, “you need make no apologies, we all know my brother
so well.”
“I don’t
care what anybody knows of me,” answered the squire;——“but when must he come to
see her? for, consider, I tell you, he is come up on purpose, and so is
Allworthy.”—“Brother,” said she, “whatever message Mr Blifil thinks proper to
send to my niece shall be delivered to her; and I suppose she will want no
instructions to make a proper answer. I am convinced she will not refuse to see
Mr Blifil at a proper time.”—“The devil she won’t!” answered the
squire.—“Odsbud!—Don’t we know—I say nothing, but some volk are wiser than all
the world.——If I might have had my will, she had not run away before: and now I
expect to hear every moment she is guone again. For as great a fool as some
volk think me, I know very well she hates——” “No matter, brother,” replied Mrs
Western, “I will not hear my niece abused. It is a reflection on my family. She
is an honour to it; and she will be an honour to it, I promise you. I will pawn
my whole reputation in the world on her conduct.——I shall be glad to see you,
brother, in the afternoon; for I have somewhat of importance to mention to
you.—At present, Mr Blifil, as well as you, must excuse me; for I am in haste
to dress.” “Well, but,” said the squire, “do appoint a time.” “Indeed,” said
she, “I can appoint no time. I tell you I will see you in the afternoon.”—“What
the devil would you have me do?” cries the squire, turning to Blifil; “I can no
more turn her, than a beagle can turn an old hare. Perhaps she will be in a
better humour in the afternoon.”—“I am condemned, I see, sir, to misfortune,”
answered Blifil; “but I shall always own my obligations to you.” He then took a
ceremonious leave of Mrs Western, who was altogether as ceremonious on her
part; and then they departed, the squire muttering to himself with an oath,
that Blifil should see his daughter in the afternoon.
If Mr
Western was little pleased with this interview, Blifil was less. As to the
former, he imputed the whole behaviour of his sister to her humour only, and to
her dissatisfaction at the omission of ceremony in the visit; but Blifil saw a
little deeper into things. He suspected somewhat of more consequence, from two
or three words which dropt from the lady; and, to say the truth, he suspected
right, as will appear when I have unfolded the several matters which will be
contained in the following chapter.
Chapter viii. — Schemes of Lady Bellaston for the ruin of Jones.
Love had
taken too deep a root in the mind of Lord Fellamar to be plucked up by the rude
hands of Mr Western. In the heat of resentment he had, indeed, given a
commission to Captain Egglane, which the captain had far exceeded in the
execution; nor had it been executed at all, had his lordship been able to find
the captain after he had seen Lady Bellaston, which was in the afternoon of the
day after he had received the affront; but so industrious was the captain in
the discharge of his duty, that, having after long enquiry found out the
squire’s lodgings very late in the evening, he sat up all night at a tavern,
that he might not miss the squire in the morning, and by that means missed the
revocation which my lord had sent to his lodgings.
In the
afternoon then next after the intended rape of Sophia, his lordship, as we have
said, made a visit to Lady Bellaston, who laid open so much of the character of
the squire, that his lordship plainly saw the absurdity he had been guilty of
in taking any offence at his words, especially as he had those honourable
designs on his daughter. He then unbosomed the violence of his passion to Lady
Bellaston, who readily undertook the cause, and encouraged him with certain
assurance of a most favourable reception from all the elders of the family, and
from the father himself when he should be sober, and should be made acquainted
with the nature of the offer made to his daughter. The only danger, she said,
lay in the fellow she had formerly mentioned, who, though a beggar and a vagabond,
had, by some means or other, she knew not what, procured himself tolerable
cloaths, and past for a gentleman. “Now,” says she, “as I have, for the sake of
my cousin, made it my business to enquire after this fellow, I have luckily
found out his lodgings;” with which she then acquainted his lordship. “I am
thinking, my lord,” added she “(for this fellow is too mean for your personal
resentment), whether it would not be possible for your lordship to contrive
some method of having him pressed and sent on board a ship. Neither law nor
conscience forbid this project: for the fellow, I promise you, however well
drest, is but a vagabond, and as proper as any fellow in the streets to be
pressed into the service; and as for the conscientious part, surely the preservation
of a young lady from such ruin is a most meritorious act; nay, with regard to
the fellow himself, unless he could succeed (which Heaven forbid) with my
cousin, it may probably be the means of preserving him from the gallows, and
perhaps may make his fortune in an honest way.”
Lord
Fellamar very heartily thanked her ladyship for the part which she was pleased
to take in the affair, upon the success of which his whole future happiness
entirely depended. He said, he saw at present no objection to the pressing
scheme, and would consider of putting it in execution. He then most earnestly
recommended to her ladyship to do him the honour of immediately mentioning his
proposals to the family; to whom he said he offered a carte blanche, and
would settle his fortune in almost any manner they should require. And after
uttering many ecstasies and raptures concerning Sophia, he took his leave and
departed, but not before he had received the strongest charge to beware of
Jones, and to lose no time in securing his person, where he should no longer be
in a capacity of making any attempts to the ruin of the young lady.
The moment
Mrs Western was arrived at her lodgings, a card was despatched with her
compliments to Lady Bellaston; who no sooner received it than, with the
impatience of a lover, she flew to her cousin, rejoiced at this fair
opportunity, which beyond her hopes offered itself, for she was much better
pleased with the prospect of making the proposals to a woman of sense, and who
knew the world, than to a gentleman whom she honoured with the appellation of
Hottentot; though, indeed, from him she apprehended no danger of a refusal.
The two
ladies being met, after very short previous ceremonials, fell to business,
which was indeed almost as soon concluded as begun; for Mrs Western no sooner
heard the name of Lord Fellamar than her cheeks glowed with pleasure; but when
she was acquainted with the eagerness of his passion, the earnestness of his
proposals, and the generosity of his offer, she declared her full satisfaction
in the most explicit terms.
In the
progress of their conversation their discourse turned to Jones, and both
cousins very pathetically lamented the unfortunate attachment which both agreed
Sophia had to that young fellow; and Mrs Western entirely attributed it to the
folly of her brother’s management. She concluded, however, at last, with
declaring her confidence in the good understanding of her niece, who, though
she would not give up her affection in favour of Blifil, will, I doubt not, says
she, soon be prevailed upon to sacrifice a simple inclination to the addresses
of a fine gentleman, who brings her both a title and a large estate: “For,
indeed,” added she, “I must do Sophy the justice to confess this Blifil is but
a hideous kind of fellow, as you know, Bellaston, all country gentlemen are,
and hath nothing but his fortune to recommend him.”
“Nay,”
said Lady Bellaston, “I don’t then so much wonder at my cousin; for I promise
you this Jones is a very agreeable fellow, and hath one virtue, which the men
say is a great recommendation to us. What do you think, Mrs Western—I shall
certainly make you laugh; nay, I can hardly tell you myself for laughing—will
you believe that the fellow hath had the assurance to make love to me? But if
you should be inclined to disbelieve it, here is evidence enough, his own
handwriting, I assure you.” She then delivered her cousin the letter with the
proposals of marriage, which, if the reader hath a desire to see, he will find
already on record in the XVth book of this history.
“Upon my
word I am astonished,” said Mrs Western; “this is, indeed, a masterpiece of
assurance. With your leave I may possibly make some use of this letter.” “You
have my full liberty,” cries Lady Bellaston, “to apply it to what purpose you
please. However, I would not have it shewn to any but Miss Western, nor to her
unless you find occasion.” “Well, and how did you use the fellow?” returned Mrs
Western. “Not as a husband,” said the lady; “I am not married, I promise you,
my dear. You know, Bell, I have tried the comforts once already; and once, I
think, is enough for any reasonable woman.”
This
letter Lady Bellaston thought would certainly turn the balance against Jones in
the mind of Sophia, and she was emboldened to give it up, partly by her hopes
of having him instantly dispatched out of the way, and partly by having secured
the evidence of Honour, who, upon sounding her, she saw sufficient reason to
imagine was prepared to testify whatever she pleased.
But
perhaps the reader may wonder why Lady Bellaston, who in her heart hated
Sophia, should be so desirous of promoting a match which was so much to the
interest of the young lady. Now, I would desire such readers to look carefully
into human nature, page almost the last, and there he will find, in scarce
legible characters, that women, notwithstanding the preposterous behaviour of
mothers, aunts, &c., in matrimonial matters, do in reality think it so
great a misfortune to have their inclinations in love thwarted, that they imagine
they ought never to carry enmity higher than upon these disappointments; again,
he will find it written much about the same place, that a woman who hath once
been pleased with the possession of a man, will go above halfway to the devil,
to prevent any other woman from enjoying the same.
If he will
not be contented with these reasons, I freely confess I see no other motive to
the actions of that lady, unless we will conceive she was bribed by Lord
Fellamar, which for my own part I see no cause to suspect.
Now this
was the affair which Mrs Western was preparing to introduce to Sophia, by some
prefatory discourse on the folly of love, and on the wisdom of legal
prostitution for hire, when her brother and Blifil broke abruptly in upon her;
and hence arose all that coldness in her behaviour to Blifil, which, though the
squire, as was usual with him, imputed to a wrong cause, infused into Blifil
himself (he being a much more cunning man) a suspicion of the real truth.
Chapter ix. — In which Jones pays a visit to Mrs Fitzpatrick.
The reader
may now, perhaps, be pleased to return with us to Mr Jones, who, at the
appointed hour, attended on Mrs Fitzpatrick; but before we relate the
conversation which now past it may be proper, according to our method, to
return a little back, and to account for so great an alteration of behaviour in
this lady, that from changing her lodging principally to avoid Mr Jones, she
had now industriously, as hath been seen, sought this interview.
And here we
shall need only to resort to what happened the preceding day, when, hearing
from Lady Bellaston that Mr Western was arrived in town, she went to pay her
duty to him, at his lodgings at Piccadilly, where she was received with many
scurvy compellations too coarse to be repeated, and was even threatened to be
kicked out of doors. From hence, an old servant of her aunt Western, with whom
she was well acquainted, conducted her to the lodgings of that lady, who
treated her not more kindly, but more politely; or, to say the truth, with
rudeness in another way. In short, she returned from both, plainly convinced,
not only that her scheme of reconciliation had proved abortive, but that she
must for ever give over all thoughts of bringing it about by any means whatever.
From this moment desire of revenge only filled her mind; and in this temper
meeting Jones at the play, an opportunity seemed to her to occur of effecting
this purpose.
The reader
must remember that he was acquainted by Mrs Fitzpatrick, in the account she
gave of her own story, with the fondness Mrs Western had formerly shewn for Mr
Fitzpatrick at Bath, from the disappointment of which Mrs Fitzpatrick derived
the great bitterness her aunt had expressed toward her. She had, therefore, no
doubt but that the good lady would as easily listen to the addresses of Mr
Jones as she had before done to the other; for the superiority of charms was
clearly on the side of Mr Jones; and the advance which her aunt had since made
in age, she concluded (how justly I will not say), was an argument rather in
favour of her project than against it.
Therefore,
when Jones attended, after a previous declaration of her desire of serving him,
arising, as she said, from a firm assurance how much she should by so doing
oblige Sophia; and after some excuses for her former disappointment, and after
acquainting Mr Jones in whose custody his mistress was, of which she thought
him ignorant; she very explicitly mentioned her scheme to him, and advised him
to make sham addresses to the older lady, in order to procure an easy access to
the younger, informing him at the same time of the success which Mr Fitzpatrick
had formerly owed to the very same stratagem.
Mr Jones
expressed great gratitude to the lady for the kind intentions towards him which
she had expressed, and indeed testified, by this proposal; but, besides
intimating some diffidence of success from the lady’s knowledge of his love to
her niece, which had not been her case in regard to Mr Fitzpatrick, he said, he
was afraid Miss Western would never agree to an imposition of this kind, as
well from her utter detestation of all fallacy as from her avowed duty to her
aunt.
Mrs
Fitzpatrick was a little nettled at this; and indeed, if it may not be called a
lapse of the tongue, it was a small deviation from politeness in Jones, and
into which he scarce would have fallen, had not the delight he felt in praising
Sophia hurried him out of all reflection; for this commendation of one cousin
was more than a tacit rebuke on the other.
“Indeed,
sir,” answered the lady, with some warmth, “I cannot think there is anything
easier than to cheat an old woman with a profession of love, when her
complexion is amorous; and, though she is my aunt, I must say there never was a
more liquorish one than her ladyship. Can’t you pretend that the despair of
possessing her niece, from her being promised to Blifil, has made you turn your
thoughts towards her? As to my cousin Sophia, I can’t imagine her to be such a
simpleton as to have the least scruple on such an account, or to conceive any
harm in punishing one of these haggs for the many mischiefs they bring upon
families by their tragi-comic passions; for which I think it is a pity they are
not punishable by law. I had no such scruple myself; and yet I hope my cousin
Sophia will not think it an affront when I say she cannot detest every real
species of falsehood more than her cousin Fitzpatrick. To my aunt, indeed, I
pretend no duty, nor doth she deserve any. However, sir, I have given you my
advice; and if you decline pursuing it, I shall have the less opinion of your
understanding—that’s all.”
Jones now
clearly saw the error he had committed, and exerted his utmost power to rectify
it; but he only faultered and stuttered into nonsense and contradiction. To say
the truth, it is often safer to abide by the consequences of the first blunder
than to endeavour to rectify it; for by such endeavours we generally plunge
deeper instead of extricating ourselves; and few persons will on such occasions
have the good-nature which Mrs Fitzpatrick displayed to Jones, by saying, with
a smile, “You need attempt no more excuses; for I can easily forgive a real
lover, whatever is the effect of fondness for his mistress.”
She then
renewed her proposal, and very fervently recommended it, omitting no argument
which her invention could suggest on the subject; for she was so violently
incensed against her aunt, that scarce anything was capable of affording her
equal pleasure with exposing her; and, like a true woman, she would see no difficulties
in the execution of a favourite scheme.
Jones,
however, persisted in declining the undertaking, which had not, indeed, the
least probability of success. He easily perceived the motives which induced Mrs
Fitzpatrick to be so eager in pressing her advice. He said he would not deny
the tender and passionate regard he had for Sophia; but was so conscious of the
inequality of their situations, that he could never flatter himself so far as
to hope that so divine a young lady would condescend to think on so unworthy a
man; nay, he protested, he could scarce bring himself to wish she should. He
concluded with a profession of generous sentiments, which we have not at
present leisure to insert.
There are
some fine women (for I dare not here speak in too general terms) with whom self
is so predominant, that they never detach it from any subject; and, as vanity
is with them a ruling principle, they are apt to lay hold of whatever praise
they meet with; and, though the property of others, convey it to their own use.
In the company of these ladies it is impossible to say anything handsome of
another woman which they will not apply to themselves; nay, they often improve
the praise they seize; as, for instance, if her beauty, her wit, her gentility,
her good humour deserve so much commendation, what do I deserve, who possess
those qualities in so much more eminent a degree?
To these
ladies a man often recommends himself while he is commending another woman;
and, while he is expressing ardour and generous sentiments for his mistress,
they are considering what a charming lover this man would make to them, who can
feel all this tenderness for an inferior degree of merit. Of this, strange as
it may seem, I have seen many instances besides Mrs Fitzpatrick, to whom all
this really happened, and who now began to feel a somewhat for Mr Jones, the
symptoms of which she much sooner understood than poor Sophia had formerly
done.
To say the
truth, perfect beauty in both sexes is a more irresistible object than it is
generally thought; for, notwithstanding some of us are contented with more
homely lots, and learn by rote (as children to repeat what gives them no idea)
to despise outside, and to value more solid charms; yet I have always observed,
at the approach of consummate beauty, that these more solid charms only shine
with that kind of lustre which the stars have after the rising of the sun.
When Jones
had finished his exclamations, many of which would have become the mouth of
Oroöndates himself, Mrs Fitzpatrick heaved a deep sigh, and, taking her eyes
off from Jones, on whom they had been some time fixed, and dropping them on the
ground, she cried, “Indeed, Mr Jones, I pity you; but it is the curse of such
tenderness to be thrown away on those who are insensible of it. I know my
cousin better than you, Mr Jones, and I must say, any woman who makes no return
to such a passion, and such a person, is unworthy of both.”
“Sure,
madam,” said Jones, “you can’t mean——” “Mean!” cries Mrs Fitzpatrick, “I know
not what I mean; there is something, I think, in true tenderness bewitching;
few women ever meet with it in men, and fewer still know how to value it when
they do. I never heard such truly noble sentiments, and I can’t tell how it is,
but you force one to believe you. Sure she must be the most contemptible of
women who can overlook such merit.”
The manner
and look with which all this was spoke infused a suspicion into Jones which we
don’t care to convey in direct words to the reader. Instead of making any
answer, he said, “I am afraid, madam, I have made too tiresome a visit;” and
offered to take his leave.
“Not at
all, sir,” answered Mrs Fitzpatrick.—“Indeed I pity you, Mr Jones; indeed I do:
but if you are going, consider of the scheme I have mentioned—I am convinced
you will approve it—and let me see you again as soon as you can.—To-morrow
morning if you will, or at least some time to-morrow. I shall be at home all
day.”
Jones,
then, after many expressions of thanks, very respectfully retired; nor could
Mrs Fitzpatrick forbear making him a present of a look at parting, by which if
he had understood nothing, he must have had no understanding in the language of
the eyes. In reality, it confirmed his resolution of returning to her no more;
for, faulty as he hath hitherto appeared in this history, his whole thoughts
were now so confined to his Sophia, that I believe no woman upon earth could
have now drawn him into an act of inconstancy.
Fortune,
however, who was not his friend, resolved, as he intended to give her no second
opportunity, to make the best of this; and accordingly produced the tragical
incident which we are now in sorrowful notes to record.
Chapter x. — The consequence of the preceding visit.
Mr
Fitzpatrick having received the letter before mentioned from Mrs Western, and
being by that means acquainted with the place to which his wife was retired,
returned directly to Bath, and thence the day after set forward to London.
The reader
hath been already often informed of the jealous temper of this gentleman. He
may likewise be pleased to remember the suspicion which he had conceived of
Jones at Upton, upon his finding him in the room with Mrs Waters; and, though
sufficient reasons had afterwards appeared entirely to clear up that suspicion,
yet now the reading so handsome a character of Mr Jones from his wife, caused
him to reflect that she likewise was in the inn at the same time, and jumbled
together such a confusion of circumstances in a head which was naturally none
of the clearest, that the whole produced that green-eyed monster mentioned by
Shakespear in his tragedy of Othello.
And now,
as he was enquiring in the street after his wife, and had just received
directions to the door, unfortunately Mr Jones was issuing from it.
Fitzpatrick
did not yet recollect the face of Jones; however, seeing a young well-dressed
fellow coming from his wife, he made directly up to him, and asked him what he
had been doing in that house? “for I am sure,” said he, “you must have been in
it, as I saw you come out of it.”
Jones
answered very modestly, “That he had been visiting a lady there.” To which
Fitzpatrick replied, “What business have you with the lady?” Upon which Jones,
who now perfectly remembered the voice, features, and indeed coat, of the
gentleman, cried out——“Ha, my good friend! give me your hand; I hope there is
no ill blood remaining between us, upon a small mistake which happened so long
ago.”
“Upon my
soul, sir,” said Fitzpatrick, “I don’t know your name nor your face.” “Indeed,
sir,” said Jones, “neither have I the pleasure of knowing your name, but your
face I very well remember to have seen before at Upton, where a foolish quarrel
happened between us, which, if it is not made up yet, we will now make up over
a bottle.”
“At
Upton!” cried the other;——“Ha! upon my soul, I believe your name is Jones?”
“Indeed,” answered he, “it is.”—“O! upon my soul,” cries Fitzpatrick, “you are
the very man I wanted to meet.—Upon my soul I will drink a bottle with you
presently; but first I will give you a great knock over the pate. There is for
you, you rascal. Upon my soul, if you do not give me satisfaction for that
blow, I will give you another.” And then, drawing his sword, put himself in a
posture of defence, which was the only science he understood.
Jones was
a little staggered by the blow, which came somewhat unexpectedly; but presently
recovering himself he also drew, and though he understood nothing of fencing,
prest on so boldly upon Fitzpatrick, that he beat down his guard, and sheathed
one half of his sword in the body of the said gentleman, who had no sooner
received it than he stept backwards, dropped the point of his sword, and
leaning upon it, cried, “I have satisfaction enough: I am a dead man.”
“I hope
not,” cries Jones, “but whatever be the consequence, you must be sensible you
have drawn it upon yourself.” At this instant a number of fellows rushed in and
seized Jones, who told them he should make no resistance, and begged some of
them at least would take care of the wounded gentleman.
“Ay,”
cries one of the fellows, “the wounded gentleman will be taken care enough of;
for I suppose he hath not many hours to live. As for you, sir, you have a month
at least good yet.” “D—n me, Jack,” said another, “he hath prevented his
voyage; he’s bound to another port now;” and many other such jests was our poor
Jones made the subject of by these fellows, who were indeed the gang employed
by Lord Fellamar, and had dogged him into the house of Mrs Fitzpatrick, waiting
for him at the corner of the street when this unfortunate accident happened.
The
officer who commanded this gang very wisely concluded that his business was now
to deliver his prisoner into the hands of the civil magistrate. He ordered him,
therefore, to be carried to a public-house, where, having sent for a constable,
he delivered him to his custody.
The
constable, seeing Mr Jones very well drest, and hearing that the accident had
happened in a duel, treated his prisoner with great civility, and at his
request dispatched a messenger to enquire after the wounded gentleman, who was
now at a tavern under the surgeon’s hands. The report brought back was, that
the wound was certainly mortal, and there were no hopes of life. Upon which the
constable informed Jones that he must go before a justice. He answered,
“Wherever you please; I am indifferent as to what happens to me; for though I
am convinced I am not guilty of murder in the eye of the law, yet the weight of
blood I find intolerable upon my mind.”
Jones was
now conducted before the justice, where the surgeon who dressed Mr Fitzpatrick
appeared, and deposed that he believed the wound to be mortal; upon which the
prisoner was committed to the Gatehouse. It was very late at night, so that
Jones would not send for Partridge till the next morning; and, as he never shut
his eyes till seven, so it was near twelve before the poor fellow, who was
greatly frightened at not hearing from his master so long, received a message
which almost deprived him of his being when he heard it.
He went to
the Gatehouse with trembling knees and a beating heart, and was no sooner
arrived in the presence of Jones than he lamented the misfortune that had
befallen him with many tears, looking all the while frequently about him in
great terror; for as the news now arrived that Mr Fitzpatrick was dead, the
poor fellow apprehended every minute that his ghost would enter the room. At
last he delivered him a letter, which he had like to have forgot, and which
came from Sophia by the hands of Black George.
Jones
presently dispatched every one out of the room, and, having eagerly broke open
the letter, read as follows:—
“You owe the hearing from me again to an accident which I own
surprizes me. My aunt hath just now shown me a letter from you to
Lady Bellaston, which contains a proposal of marriage. I am
convinced it is your own hand; and what more surprizes me is, that
it is dated at the very time when you would have me imagine you was
under such concern on my account.—I leave you to comment on this
fact. All I desire is, that your name may never more be mentioned
to
“S. W.”
Of the
present situation of Mr Jones’s mind, and of the pangs with which he was now
tormented, we cannot give the reader a better idea than by saying, his misery
was such that even Thwackum would almost have pitied him. But, bad as it is, we
shall at present leave him in it, as his good genius (if he really had any)
seems to have done. And here we put an end to the sixteenth book of our
history.
To be continued
