TOM JONES
PART 46
Chapter viii. — Further continuation.
The
gentleman who now arrived was no other than Mr Western. He no sooner saw
Allworthy, than, without considering in the least the presence of Mrs Waters,
he began to vociferate in the following manner: “Fine doings at my house! A
rare kettle of fish I have discovered at last! who the devil would be plagued
with a daughter?” “What’s the matter, neighbour?” said Allworthy. “Matter
enough,” answered Western: “when I thought she was just a coming to; nay, when
she had in a manner promised me to do as I would ha her, and when I was a hoped
to have had nothing more to do than to have sent for the lawyer, and finished
all; what do you think I have found out? that the little b— hath bin playing
tricks with me all the while, and carrying on a correspondence with that
bastard of yours. Sister Western, whom I have quarrelled with upon her account,
sent me word o’t, and I ordered her pockets to be searched when she was asleep,
and here I have got un signed with the son of a whore’s own name. I have not
had patience to read half o’t, for ‘tis longer than one of parson Supple’s
sermons; but I find plainly it is all about love; and indeed what should it be
else? I have packed her up in chamber again, and to-morrow morning down she
goes into the country, unless she consents to be married directly, and there
she shall live in a garret upon bread and water all her days; and the sooner
such a b— breaks her heart the better, though, d—n her, that I believe is too
tough. She will live long enough to plague me.” “Mr Western,” answered
Allworthy, “you know I have always protested against force, and you yourself
consented that none should be used.” “Ay,” cries he, “that was only upon
condition that she would consent without. What the devil and doctor Faustus!
shan’t I do what I will with my own daughter, especially when I desire nothing
but her own good?” “Well, neighbour,” answered Allworthy, “if you will give me
leave, I will undertake once to argue with the young lady.” “Will you?” said
Western; “why that is kind now, and neighbourly, and mayhap you will do more
than I have been able to do with her; for I promise you she hath a very good
opinion of you.” “Well, sir,” said Allworthy, “if you will go home, and release
the young lady from her captivity, I will wait upon her within this half-hour.”
“But suppose,” said Western, “she should run away with un in the meantime? For
lawyer Dowling tells me there is no hopes of hanging the fellow at last; for
that the man is alive, and like to do well, and that he thinks Jones will be
out of prison again presently.” “How!” said Allworthy; “what, did you employ
him then to enquire or to do anything in that matter?” “Not I,” answered
Western, “he mentioned it to me just now of his own accord.” “Just now!” cries
Allworthy, “why, where did you see him then? I want much to see Mr Dowling.”
“Why, you may see un an you will presently at my lodgings; for there is to be a
meeting of lawyers there this morning about a mortgage. ‘Icod! I shall lose two
or dree thousand pounds, I believe, by that honest gentleman, Mr Nightingale.”
“Well, sir,” said Allworthy, “I will be with you within the half-hour.” “And do
for once,” cries the squire, “take a fool’s advice; never think of dealing with
her by gentle methods, take my word for it those will never do. I have tried
‘um long enough. She must be frightened into it, there is no other way. Tell
her I’m her father; and of the horrid sin of disobedience, and of the dreadful
punishment of it in t’other world, and then tell her about being locked up all
her life in a garret in this, and being kept only on bread and water.” “I will
do all I can,” said Allworthy; “for I promise you there is nothing I wish for
more than an alliance with this amiable creature.” “Nay, the girl is well
enough for matter o’ that,” cries the squire; “a man may go farther and meet
with worse meat; that I may declare o’her, thof she be my own daughter. And if
she will but be obedient to me, there is narrow a father within a hundred miles
o’ the place, that loves a daughter better than I do; but I see you are busy
with the lady here, so I will go huome and expect you; and so your humble
servant.”
As soon as
Mr Western was gone Mrs Waters said, “I see, sir, the squire hath not the least
remembrance of my face. I believe, Mr Allworthy, you would not have known me
neither. I am very considerably altered since that day when you so kindly gave
me that advice, which I had been happy had I followed.” “Indeed, madam,” cries
Allworthy, “it gave me great concern when I first heard the contrary.” “Indeed,
sir,” says she, “I was ruined by a very deep scheme of villany, which if you
knew, though I pretend not to think it would justify me in your opinion, it
would at least mitigate my offence, and induce you to pity me: you are not now
at leisure to hear my whole story; but this I assure you, I was betrayed by the
most solemn promises of marriage; nay, in the eye of heaven I was married to
him; for, after much reading on the subject, I am convinced that particular
ceremonies are only requisite to give a legal sanction to marriage, and have
only a worldly use in giving a woman the privileges of a wife; but that she who
lives constant to one man, after a solemn private affiance, whatever the world
may call her, hath little to charge on her own conscience.” “I am sorry,
madam,” said Allworthy, “you made so ill a use of your learning. Indeed, it
would have been well that you had been possessed of much more, or had remained
in a state of ignorance. And yet, madam, I am afraid you have more than this
sin to answer for.” “During his life,” answered she, “which was above a dozen
years, I most solemnly assure you I had not. And consider, sir, on my behalf,
what is in the power of a woman stript of her reputation and left destitute;
whether the good-natured world will suffer such a stray sheep to return to the
road of virtue, even if she was never so desirous. I protest, then, I would
have chose it had it been in my power; but necessity drove me into the arms of
Captain Waters, with whom, though still unmarried, I lived as a wife for many
years, and went by his name. I parted with this gentleman at Worcester, on his
march against the rebels, and it was then I accidentally met with Mr Jones, who
rescued me from the hands of a villain. Indeed, he is the worthiest of men. No
young gentleman of his age is, I believe, freer from vice, and few have the
twentieth part of his virtues; nay, whatever vices he hath had, I am firmly
persuaded he hath now taken a resolution to abandon them.” “I hope he hath,”
cries Allworthy, “and I hope he will preserve that resolution. I must say, I
have still the same hopes with regard to yourself. The world, I do agree, are
apt to be too unmerciful on these occasions; yet time and perseverance will get
the better of this their disinclination, as I may call it, to pity; for though
they are not, like heaven, ready to receive a penitent sinner; yet a continued
repentance will at length obtain mercy even with the world. This you may be
assured of, Mrs Waters, that whenever I find you are sincere in such good
intentions, you shall want no assistance in my power to make them effectual.”
Mrs Waters
fell now upon her knees before him, and, in a flood of tears, made him many
most passionate acknowledgments of his goodness, which, as she truly said,
savoured more of the divine than human nature.
Allworthy
raised her up, and spoke in the most tender manner, making use of every
expression which his invention could suggest to comfort her, when he was
interrupted by the arrival of Mr Dowling, who, upon his first entrance, seeing
Mrs Waters, started, and appeared in some confusion; from which he soon recovered
himself as well as he could, and then said he was in the utmost haste to attend
counsel at Mr Western’s lodgings; but, however, thought it his duty to call and
acquaint him with the opinion of counsel upon the case which he had before told
him, which was that the conversion of the moneys in that case could not be
questioned in a criminal cause, but that an action of trover might be brought,
and if it appeared to the jury to be the moneys of plaintiff, that plaintiff
would recover a verdict for the value.
Allworthy,
without making any answer to this, bolted the door, and then, advancing with a
stern look to Dowling, he said, “Whatever be your haste, sir, I must first
receive an answer to some questions. Do you know this lady?”—“That lady, sir!”
answered Dowling, with great hesitation. Allworthy then, with the most solemn
voice, said, “Look you, Mr Dowling, as you value my favour, or your continuance
a moment longer in my service, do not hesitate nor prevaricate; but answer
faithfully and truly to every question I ask.——Do you know this lady?”—“Yes,
sir,” said Dowling, “I have seen the lady.” “Where, sir?” “At her own
lodgings.”—“Upon what business did you go thither, sir; and who sent you?” “I
went, sir, to enquire, sir, about Mr Jones.” “And who sent you to enquire about
him?” “Who, sir? why, sir, Mr Blifil sent me.” “And what did you say to the
lady concerning that matter?” “Nay, sir, it is impossible to recollect every
word.” “Will you please, madam, to assist the gentleman’s memory?” “He told me,
sir,” said Mrs Waters, “that if Mr Jones had murdered my husband, I should be
assisted by any money I wanted to carry on the prosecution, by a very worthy
gentleman, who was well apprized what a villain I had to deal with. These, I
can safely swear, were the very words he spoke.”—“Were these the words, sir?”
said Allworthy. “I cannot charge my memory exactly,” cries Dowling, “but I
believe I did speak to that purpose.”—“And did Mr Blifil order you to say so?”
“I am sure, sir, I should not have gone on my own accord, nor have willingly
exceeded my authority in matters of this kind. If I said so, I must have so
understood Mr Blifil’s instructions.” “Look you, Mr Dowling,” said Allworthy;
“I promise you before this lady, that whatever you have done in this affair by
Mr Blifil’s order I will forgive, provided you now tell me strictly the truth;
for I believe what you say, that you would not have acted of your own accord
and without authority in this matter.——Mr Blifil then likewise sent you to
examine the two fellows at Aldersgate?”—“He did, sir.” “Well, and what
instructions did he then give you? Recollect as well as you can, and tell me,
as near as possible, the very words he used.”—“Why, sir, Mr Blifil sent me to
find out the persons who were eye-witnesses of this fight. He said, he feared
they might be tampered with by Mr Jones, or some of his friends. He said, blood
required blood; and that not only all who concealed a murderer, but those who
omitted anything in their power to bring him to justice, were sharers in his guilt.
He said, he found you was very desirous of having the villain brought to
justice, though it was not proper you should appear in it.” “He did so?” says
Allworthy.—“Yes, sir,” cries Dowling; “I should not, I am sure, have proceeded
such lengths for the sake of any other person living but your worship.”—“What
lengths, sir?” said Allworthy.—“Nay, sir,” cries Dowling, “I would not have
your worship think I would, on any account, be guilty of subornation of
perjury; but there are two ways of delivering evidence. I told them, therefore,
that if any offers should be made them on the other side, they should refuse
them, and that they might be assured they should lose nothing by being honest
men, and telling the truth. I said, we were told that Mr Jones had assaulted
the gentleman first, and that, if that was the truth, they should declare it;
and I did give them some hints that they should be no losers.”—“I think you
went lengths indeed,” cries Allworthy.—“Nay, sir,” answered Dowling, “I am sure
I did not desire them to tell an untruth;——nor should I have said what I did,
unless it had been to oblige you.”—“You would not have thought, I believe,”
says Allworthy, “to have obliged me, had you known that this Mr Jones was my
own nephew.”—“I am sure, sir,” answered he, “it did not become me to take any
notice of what I thought you desired to conceal.”—“How!” cries Allworthy, “and
did you know it then?”—“Nay, sir,” answered Dowling, “if your worship bids me
speak the truth, I am sure I shall do it.—Indeed, sir, I did know it; for they
were almost the last words which Madam Blifil ever spoke, which she mentioned
to me as I stood alone by her bedside, when she delivered me the letter I
brought your worship from her.”—“What letter?” cries Allworthy.—“The letter,
sir,” answered Dowling, “which I brought from Salisbury, and which I delivered
into the hands of Mr Blifil.”—“O heavens!” cries Allworthy: “Well, and what
were the words? What did my sister say to you?”—“She took me by the hand,”
answered he, “and, as she delivered me the letter, said, `I scarce know what I
have written. Tell my brother, Mr Jones is his nephew—He is my son.—Bless him,’
says she, and then fell backward, as if dying away. I presently called in the
people, and she never spoke more to me, and died within a few minutes
afterwards.”—Allworthy stood a minute silent, lifting up his eyes; and then,
turning to Dowling, said, “How came you, sir, not to deliver me this message?”
“Your worship,” answered he, “must remember that you was at that time ill in
bed; and, being in a violent hurry, as indeed I always am, I delivered the
letter and message to Mr Blifil, who told me he would carry them both to you,
which he hath since told me he did, and that your worship, partly out of
friendship to Mr Jones, and partly out of regard to your sister, would never
have it mentioned, and did intend to conceal it from the world; and therefore,
sir, if you had not mentioned it to me first, I am certain I should never have
thought it belonged to me to say anything of the matter, either to your worship
or any other person.”
We have
remarked somewhere already, that it is possible for a man to convey a lie in
the words of truth; this was the case at present; for Blifil had, in fact, told
Dowling what he now related, but had not imposed upon him, nor indeed had
imagined he was able so to do. In reality, the promises which Blifil had made
to Dowling were the motives which had induced him to secrecy; and, as he now
very plainly saw Blifil would not be able to keep them, he thought proper now
to make this confession, which the promises of forgiveness, joined to the
threats, the voice, the looks of Allworthy, and the discoveries he had made
before, extorted from him, who was besides taken unawares, and had no time to
consider of evasions.
Allworthy
appeared well satisfied with this relation, and, having enjoined on Dowling
strict silence as to what had past, conducted that gentleman himself to the
door, lest he should see Blifil, who was returned to his chamber, where he
exulted in the thoughts of his last deceit on his uncle, and little suspected
what had since passed below-stairs.
As
Allworthy was returning to his room he met Mrs Miller in the entry, who, with a
face all pale and full of terror, said to him, “O! sir, I find this wicked woman
hath been with you, and you know all; yet do not on this account abandon the
poor young man. Consider, sir, he was ignorant it was his own mother; and the
discovery itself will most probably break his heart, without your unkindness.”
“Madam,”
says Allworthy, “I am under such an astonishment at what I have heard, that I
am really unable to satisfy you; but come with me into my room. Indeed, Mrs
Miller, I have made surprizing discoveries, and you shall soon know them.”
The poor
woman followed him trembling; and now Allworthy, going up to Mrs Waters, took
her by the hand, and then, turning to Mrs Miller, said, “What reward shall I
bestow upon this gentlewoman, for the services she hath done me?—O! Mrs Miller,
you have a thousand times heard me call the young man to whom you are so
faithful a friend, my son. Little did I then think he was indeed related to me
at all.—Your friend, madam, is my nephew; he is the brother of that wicked
viper which I have so long nourished in my bosom.—She will herself tell you the
whole story, and how the youth came to pass for her son. Indeed, Mrs Miller, I
am convinced that he hath been wronged, and that I have been abused; abused by
one whom you too justly suspected of being a villain. He is, in truth, the
worst of villains.”
The joy
which Mrs Miller now felt bereft her of the power of speech, and might perhaps
have deprived her of her senses, if not of life, had not a friendly shower of
tears come seasonably to her relief. At length, recovering so far from her
transport as to be able to speak, she cried, “And is my dear Mr Jones then your
nephew, sir, and not the son of this lady? And are your eyes opened to him at
last? And shall I live to see him as happy as he deserves?” “He certainly is my
nephew,” says Allworthy, “and I hope all the rest.”—“And is this the dear good
woman, the person,” cries she, “to whom all this discovery is owing?”—“She is
indeed,” says Allworthy.—“Why, then,” cried Mrs Miller, upon her knees, “may
Heaven shower down its choicest blessings upon her head, and for this one good
action forgive her all her sins, be they never so many!”
Mrs Waters
then informed them that she believed Jones would very shortly be released; for
that the surgeon was gone, in company with a nobleman, to the justice who
committed him, in order to certify that Mr Fitzpatrick was out of all manner of
danger, and to procure his prisoner his liberty.
Allworthy
said he should be glad to find his nephew there at his return home; but that he
was then obliged to go on some business of consequence. He then called to a
servant to fetch him a chair, and presently left the two ladies together.
Mr Blifil,
hearing the chair ordered, came downstairs to attend upon his uncle; for he
never was deficient in such acts of duty. He asked his uncle if he was going
out, which is a civil way of asking a man whither he is going: to which the
other making no answer, he again desired to know when he would be pleased to
return?—Allworthy made no answer to this neither, till he was just going into
his chair, and then, turning about, he said—“Harkee, sir, do you find out,
before my return, the letter which your mother sent me on her death-bed.”
Allworthy then departed, and left Blifil in a situation to be envied only by a
man who is just going to be hanged.
Chapter ix. — A further continuation.
Allworthy
took an opportunity, whilst he was in the chair, of reading the letter from
Jones to Sophia, which Western delivered him; and there were some expressions
in it concerning himself which drew tears from his eyes. At length he arrived
at Mr Western’s, and was introduced to Sophia.
When the
first ceremonies were past, and the gentleman and lady had taken their chairs,
a silence of some minutes ensued; during which the latter, who had been
prepared for the visit by her father, sat playing with her fan, and had every
mark of confusion both in her countenance and behaviour. At length Allworthy,
who was himself a little disconcerted, began thus: “I am afraid, Miss Western,
my family hath been the occasion of giving you some uneasiness; to which, I
fear, I have innocently become more instrumental than I intended. Be assured,
madam, had I at first known how disagreeable the proposals had been, I should
not have suffered you to have been so long persecuted. I hope, therefore, you
will not think the design of this visit is to trouble you with any further
solicitations of that kind, but entirely to relieve you from them.”
“Sir,”
said Sophia, with a little modest hesitation, “this behaviour is most kind and
generous, and such as I could expect only from Mr Allworthy; but as you have
been so kind to mention this matter, you will pardon me for saying it hath,
indeed, given me great uneasiness, and hath been the occasion of my suffering
much cruel treatment from a father who was, till that unhappy affair, the
tenderest and fondest of all parents. I am convinced, sir, you are too good and
generous to resent my refusal of your nephew. Our inclinations are not in our
own power; and whatever may be his merit, I cannot force them in his favour.”
“I assure you, most amiable young lady,” said Allworthy, “I am capable of no
such resentment, had the person been my own son, and had I entertained the
highest esteem for him. For you say truly, madam, we cannot force our
inclinations, much less can they be directed by another.” “Oh! sir,” answered
Sophia, “every word you speak proves you deserve that good, that great, that
benevolent character the whole world allows you. I assure you, sir, nothing
less than the certain prospect of future misery could have made me resist the
commands of my father.” “I sincerely believe you, madam,” replied Allworthy,
“and I heartily congratulate you on your prudent foresight, since by so
justifiable a resistance you have avoided misery indeed!” “You speak now, Mr
Allworthy,” cries she, “with a delicacy which few men are capable of feeling!
but surely, in my opinion, to lead our lives with one to whom we are
indifferent must be a state of wretchedness.——Perhaps that wretchedness would
be even increased by a sense of the merits of an object to whom we cannot give
our affections. If I had married Mr Blifil—” “Pardon my interrupting you,
madam,” answered Allworthy, “but I cannot bear the supposition.—Believe me,
Miss Western, I rejoice from my heart, I rejoice in your escape.—I have
discovered the wretch for whom you have suffered all this cruel violence from
your father to be a villain.” “How, sir!” cries Sophia—“you must believe this
surprizes me.”—“It hath surprized me, madam,” answered Allworthy, “and so it will
the world.——But I have acquainted you with the real truth.” “Nothing but
truth,” says Sophia, “can, I am convinced, come from the lips of Mr
Allworthy.——Yet, sir, such sudden, such unexpected news.——Discovered, you
say——may villany be ever so!”—“You will soon enough hear the story,” cries
Allworthy;—“at present let us not mention so detested a name.—I have another
matter of a very serious nature to propose.—O! Miss Western, I know your vast
worth, nor can I so easily part with the ambition of being allied to it.—I have
a near relation, madam, a young man whose character is, I am convinced, the
very opposite to that of this wretch, and whose fortune I will make equal to
what his was to have been. Could I, madam, hope you would admit a visit from
him?” Sophia, after a minute’s silence, answered, “I will deal with the utmost
sincerity with Mr Allworthy. His character, and the obligation I have just
received from him, demand it. I have determined at present to listen to no such
proposals from any person. My only desire is to be restored to the affection of
my father, and to be again the mistress of his family. This, sir, I hope to owe
to your good offices. Let me beseech you, let me conjure you, by all the
goodness which I, and all who know you, have experienced, do not, the very
moment when you have released me from one persecution, do not engage me in
another as miserable and as fruitless.” “Indeed, Miss Western,” replied
Allworthy, “I am capable of no such conduct; and if this be your resolution, he
must submit to the disappointment, whatever torments he may suffer under it.”
“I must smile now, Mr Allworthy,” answered Sophia, “when you mention the
torments of a man whom I do not know, and who can consequently have so little
acquaintance with me.” “Pardon me, dear young lady,” cries Allworthy, “I begin
now to be afraid he hath had too much acquaintance for the repose of his future
days; since, if ever man was capable of a sincere, violent, and noble passion,
such, I am convinced, is my unhappy nephew’s for Miss Western.” “A nephew of
your’s, Mr Allworthy!” answered Sophia. “It is surely strange. I never heard of
him before.” “Indeed, madam,” cries Allworthy, “it is only the circumstance of
his being my nephew to which you are a stranger, and which, till this day, was
a secret to me.—Mr Jones, who has long loved you, he! he is my nephew!” “Mr
Jones your nephew, sir!” cries Sophia, “can it be possible?”—“He is, indeed,
madam,” answered Allworthy; “he is my own sister’s son—as such I shall always
own him; nor am I ashamed of owning him. I am much more ashamed of my past
behaviour to him; but I was as ignorant of his merit as of his birth. Indeed,
Miss Western, I have used him cruelly——Indeed I have.”—Here the good man wiped
his eyes, and after a short pause proceeded—“I never shall be able to reward
him for his sufferings without your assistance.——Believe me, most amiable young
lady, I must have a great esteem of that offering which I make to your worth. I
know he hath been guilty of faults; but there is great goodness of heart at the
bottom. Believe me, madam, there is.” Here he stopped, seeming to expect an
answer, which he presently received from Sophia, after she had a little
recovered herself from the hurry of spirits into which so strange and sudden
information had thrown her: “I sincerely wish you joy, sir, of a discovery in
which you seem to have such satisfaction. I doubt not but you will have all the
comfort you can promise yourself from it. The young gentleman hath certainly a
thousand good qualities, which makes it impossible he should not behave well to
such an uncle.”—“I hope, madam,” said Allworthy, “he hath those good qualities
which must make him a good husband.—He must, I am sure, be of all men the most
abandoned, if a lady of your merit should condescend—” “You must pardon me, Mr
Allworthy,” answered Sophia; “I cannot listen to a proposal of this kind. Mr
Jones, I am convinced, hath much merit; but I shall never receive Mr Jones as
one who is to be my husband—Upon my honour I never will.”—“Pardon me, madam,”
cries Allworthy, “if I am a little surprized, after what I have heard from Mr
Western—I hope the unhappy young man hath done nothing to forfeit your good
opinion, if he had ever the honour to enjoy it.—Perhaps, he may have been
misrepresented to you, as he was to me. The same villany may have injured him
everywhere.—He is no murderer, I assure you; as he hath been called.”—“Mr
Allworthy,” answered Sophia, “I have told you my resolution. I wonder not at
what my father hath told you; but, whatever his apprehensions or fears have
been, if I know my heart, I have given no occasion for them; since it hath
always been a fixed principle with me, never to have married without his
consent. This is, I think, the duty of a child to a parent; and this, I hope,
nothing could ever have prevailed with me to swerve from. I do not indeed
conceive that the authority of any parent can oblige us to marry in direct
opposition to our inclinations. To avoid a force of this kind, which I had
reason to suspect, I left my father’s house, and sought protection elsewhere.
This is the truth of my story; and if the world, or my father, carry my
intentions any farther, my own conscience will acquit me.” “I hear you, Miss
Western,” cries Allworthy, “with admiration. I admire the justness of your
sentiments; but surely there is more in this. I am cautious of offending you,
young lady; but am I to look on all which I have hitherto heard or seen as a
dream only? And have you suffered so much cruelty from your father on the
account of a man to whom you have been always absolutely indifferent?” “I beg,
Mr Allworthy,” answered Sophia, “you will not insist on my reasons;—yes, I have
suffered indeed; I will not, Mr Allworthy, conceal——I will be very sincere with
you—I own I had a great opinion of Mr Jones—I believe—I know I have suffered
for my opinion—I have been treated cruelly by my aunt, as well as by my father;
but that is now past—I beg I may not be farther pressed; for, whatever hath
been, my resolution is now fixed. Your nephew, sir, hath many virtues—he hath
great virtues, Mr Allworthy. I question not but he will do you honour in the
world, and make you happy.”—“I wish I could make him so, madam,” replied
Allworthy; “but that I am convinced is only in your power. It is that
conviction which hath made me so earnest a solicitor in his favour.” “You are
deceived indeed, sir; you are deceived,” said Sophia. “I hope not by him. It is
sufficient to have deceived me. Mr Allworthy, I must insist on being pressed no
farther on this subject. I should be sorry—nay, I will not injure him in your
favour. I wish Mr Jones very well. I sincerely wish him well; and I repeat it
again to you, whatever demerit he may have to me, I am certain he hath many
good qualities. I do not disown my former thoughts; but nothing can ever recal
them. At present there is not a man upon earth whom I would more resolutely
reject than Mr Jones; nor would the addresses of Mr Blifil himself be less
agreeable to me.”
Western
had been long impatient for the event of this conference, and was just now
arrived at the door to listen; when, having heard the last sentiments of his
daughter’s heart, he lost all temper, and, bursting open the door in a rage,
cried out—“It is a lie! It is a d—n’d lie! It is all owing to that d—n’d rascal
Jones; and if she could get at un, she’d ha un any hour of the day.” Here
Allworthy interposed, and addressing himself to the squire with some anger in
his look, he said, “Mr Western, you have not kept your word with me. You
promised to abstain from all violence.”—“Why, so I did,” cries Western, “as
long as it was possible; but to hear a wench telling such confounded
lies——Zounds! doth she think, if she can make vools of other volk, she can make
one of me?—No, no, I know her better than thee dost.” “I am sorry to tell you,
sir,” answered Allworthy, “it doth not appear, by your behaviour to this young
lady, that you know her at all. I ask pardon for what I say: but I think our
intimacy, your own desires, and the occasion justify me. She is your daughter,
Mr Western, and I think she doth honour to your name. If I was capable of envy,
I should sooner envy you on this account than any other man
whatever.”—“Odrabbit it!” cries the squire, “I wish she was thine, with all my
heart—wouldst soon be glad to be rid of the trouble o’ her.” “Indeed, my good
friend,” answered Allworthy, “you yourself are the cause of all the trouble you
complain of. Place that confidence in the young lady which she so well
deserves, and I am certain you will be the happiest father on earth.”—“I
confidence in her?” cries the squire. “‘Sblood! what confidence can I place in
her, when she won’t do as I would ha’ her? Let her gi’ but her consent to marry
as I would ha’ her, and I’ll place as much confidence in her as wouldst ha’
me.”—“You have no right, neighbour,” answered Allworthy, “to insist on any such
consent. A negative voice your daughter allows you, and God and nature have
thought proper to allow you no more.”—“A negative voice!” cries the squire,
“Ay! ay! I’ll show you what a negative voice I ha.—Go along, go into your
chamber, go, you stubborn——.” “Indeed, Mr Western,” said Allworthy, “indeed you
use her cruelly—I cannot bear to see this—you shall, you must behave to her in
a kinder manner. She deserves the best of treatment.” “Yes, yes,” said the
squire, “I know what she deserves: now she’s gone, I’ll shew you what she
deserves. See here, sir, here is a letter from my cousin, my Lady Bellaston, in
which she is so kind to gi’ me to understand that the fellow is got out of
prison a again; and here she advises me to take all the care I can o’ the
wench. Odzookers! neighbour Allworthy, you don’t know what it is to govern a
daughter.”
The squire
ended his speech with some compliments to his own sagacity; and then Allworthy,
after a formal preface, acquainted him with the whole discovery which he had
made concerning Jones, with his anger to Blifil, and with every particular
which hath been disclosed to the reader in the preceding chapters.
Men
over-violent in their dispositions are, for the most part, as changeable in
them. No sooner then was Western informed of Mr Allworthy’s intention to make
Jones his heir, than he joined heartily with the uncle in every commendation of
the nephew, and became as eager for her marriage with Jones as he had before
been to couple her to Blifil.
Here Mr
Allworthy was again forced to interpose, and to relate what had passed between
him and Sophia, at which he testified great surprize.
The squire
was silent a moment, and looked wild with astonishment at this account.—At last
he cried out, “Why, what can be the meaning of this, neighbour Allworthy? Vond
o’un she was, that I’ll be sworn to.——Odzookers! I have hit o’t. As sure as a
gun I have hit o’ the very right o’t. It’s all along o’ zister. The girl hath
got a hankering after this son of a whore of a lord. I vound ‘em together at my
cousin my Lady Bellaston’s. He hath turned the head o’ her, that’s certain—but
d—n me if he shall ha her—I’ll ha no lords nor courtiers in my vamily.”
Allworthy
now made a long speech, in which he repeated his resolution to avoid all
violent measures, and very earnestly recommended gentle methods to Mr Western,
as those by which he might be assured of succeeding best with his daughter. He
then took his leave, and returned back to Mrs Miller, but was forced to comply
with the earnest entreaties of the squire, in promising to bring Mr Jones to
visit him that afternoon, that he might, as he said, “make all matters up with
the young gentleman.” At Mr Allworthy’s departure, Western promised to follow
his advice in his behaviour to Sophia, saying, “I don’t know how ‘tis, but d—n
me, Allworthy, if you don’t make me always do just as you please; and yet I
have as good an estate as you, and am in the commission of the peace as well as
yourself.”
To be
concluded
