Caelia answered, that she verily believed her cousin would say as much for her as she really deserved; but whether that would be equal to what with justice she could say of Chloe, her modesty left her in some doubt of.

Semp.r.o.nius had too much penetration not to see the real and true difference in the behaviour of these two women, and could not help crying out, 'O Caelia! your honest truth and goodness in every word and look are too visible to leave me one doubt of their reality. But, could you believe it? this friend of yours is false. I have already put her to the trial, by declaring to her my sincere and unalterable pa.s.sion for you. When, on my insisting, as I did to you, upon her speaking the truth, she accused you of what nothing should now convince me you are guilty of. I own, that hitherto my regard, esteem, and love, have been equal to both; but now I offer to the sincere, artless, and charming Caelia, my whole heart, love, and affection, and the service of every minute of my future life; and from this moment I banish from my mind the false and ungrateful Chloe.'

Caelia's friendship for Chloe was so deeply rooted in her breast, that even a declaration of love from Semp.r.o.nius could not blot it one moment from her heart; and on his speaking the words 'false Chloe,' she burst into tears, and said, 'Is it possible that Chloe should act such a part towards her Caelia! You must forgive her, Semp.r.o.nius: it was her violent pa.s.sion for you, and fear of losing you, which made her do what hitherto her nature has ever appeared averse to.'

Semp.r.o.nius answered, 'that he could not enough admire her goodness to her friend Chloe; but such proofs of pa.s.sion, he said, were to him at the same time proofs of its being such a pa.s.sion as he had no regard for; since it was impossible for any one to gain or increase his love by an action which at the same time lessened his esteem.' This was so exactly Caelia's own way of thinking, that she could not but a.s.sent to what he said.

But just as they were coming out of the arbour, Chloe, unseen by them, pa.s.sed by; and from seeing him kiss her hand, and the complacency of Caelia's look, it was easy for her to guess what had been the result of their private conference. She could not however help indulging her curiosity, so far as to walk on the other side of a thick yew hedge, to listen to their discourse; and as they walked on, she heard Semp.r.o.nius entreat Caelia to be cheerful, and think no more of her treacherous friend, whose wickedness he doubted not would sufficiently punish itself. She then heard Caelia say, 'I cannot bear, Semp.r.o.nius, to hear you speak so hardly of my Chloe. Say that you forgive her, and I will indeed be cheerful.'

Nothing upon earth can be conceived so wretched as poor Chloe, for on the first moment that she suffered herself to reflect on what she had done, she thoroughly repented, and heartily detested herself for such baseness. She went directly into the garden in hopes of meeting Semp.r.o.nius, to have thrown herself at his feet, confessed her treachery, and to have begged him never to have mentioned it to Caelia; but now she was conscious her repentance would come too late; and he would despise her, if possible still more, for such a recantation, after her knowledge of what had pa.s.sed between him and Caelia.

She could indeed have gone to him, and not have owned what she had seen or heard; but now her abhorrence of even the appearance of treachery or cunning was so great, that she could not bear to add the smallest grain of falsehood or deceit to the weight of her guilt, which was already almost insupportable: and should she tell him of her repentance, with a confession of her knowledge of his engagement with Caelia, it would (as has been before observed) appear both servile and insincere.

Nothing could now appear so altered as the whole face of this once happy family. Semp.r.o.nius as much as possible shunned the sight of Chloe; for as she was the cause of all the confusion amongst them, he had almost an aversion to her. Though he was not of an implacable temper, yet, as the injury was intended to one he sincerely loved, he found it much harder to forgive it, than if it had even succeeded against himself; and as he still looked upon Chloe as the cause of melancholy in his dear Caelia, he could hardly have any patience with her.

No words can describe the various pa.s.sions which were expressed in the sad countenance of Chloe, when first she met her friend. They were both afraid of speaking. Shame, and the fear of being (and with too good reason) suspected of insincerity, withheld Chloe; and an unwillingness to accuse or hurt her friend withheld the gentle Caelia. She sometimes indeed thought she saw repentance in Chloe's face, and wished for nothing more than to seal her pardon. But till it was asked, she was in doubt (from what had pa.s.sed) whether such pardon and proffered reconciliation might not be rejected. She knew that her friend's pa.s.sions were naturally stronger than hers; and she therefore trembled at the consequences of coming to an explanation.

But there was hardly a greater sufferer in this scene of confusion than the poor old Lady Amanda. She saw a sort of horror and wildness in the face of Chloe; and in Caelia's a settled melancholy, and such an unusual reserve in both towards each other, as well as to herself, as quite astonished her.

Semp.r.o.nius came indeed to the house as often as usual; but in his countenance she could perceive a sort of anger and concern which perfectly frightened her. But as they did not speak to her, she could not bring herself to ask the cause of this woeful change, for fear of hearing something too bad to bear.

Caelia had absolutely refused granting to Semp.r.o.nius leave to ask her aunt's consent, till she should come to some explanation with Chloe, which seemed every day farther off than ever.

The great perturbation of Chloe's mind threw her into a disorder not many degrees short of madness; and at last she was seized with a violent fever so as to keep her bed. She said she could not bear to look on Amanda; but begged Caelia to be with her as much as possible; which she did, in hopes of bringing herself to ease her mind, by speaking to her of what had given them all this torment.

Caelia watched with her night and day for three days, when the physician who attended her p.r.o.nounced that there was no hope of her life. Caelia could not any longer bear to stay in the room, and went downstairs, expecting every moment to hear she was expired.

Chloe soon perceived by Caelia's abrupt leaving the room, and the looks of those who were left in it, that her fate was p.r.o.nounced; which, instead of sinking her spirits, and making her dejected, gave a tranquillity to her mind; for she thought within herself, 'I shall now make my dear cousin happy, by removing out of her way an object that must embitter all her joy; and now likewise, as she is convinced I am on my death-bed, she will once more believe me capable of speaking truth; and will, in the manner I could wish, receive my sincere repentance.'

Then sending for Caelia up to her bedside, she in a weak voice, with hardly strength for utterance, spoke in this manner: 'My dear Caelia, though you know me to be a worthless base wretch, yet do not think so hardly of me, as to imagine I would deceive you with my last breath.

Believe me then when I tell you, that I sincerely repent of my treachery towards you; and as sincerely rejoice that it has in reality been the cause of your happiness with Semp.r.o.nius. Tell him this; and then, perhaps, he will not hate my memory.' Here she fainted away, and they forced Caelia out of the room, thinking her breath was for ever flown.

But in some time she came again to herself, and cried out, 'What! would not my dear Caelia say that she forgave me? Methinks I would not die, till I had obtained her pardon. She is too good to refuse her friend this last request.' Her attendants then told her, that seeing her faint away, they had forced Caelia out of the room; and they begged her to try to compose herself, for they were sure that seeing her friend again, at this time, would only disturb her mind, and do her an injury.

Chloe, from the vent she had given her grief in speaking to Caelia, found herself something more easy and composed; and desiring the room to be made perfectly quiet, she fell into a gentle sleep, which lasted two hours; and when she awaked she found herself so much better, that those about her were convinced, from her composed manner of speaking, that she was now able to bear another interview.

They again called for Caelia, and told her of her cousin's amendment.

She flew with all speed to her chamber; and the moment she entered, Chloe cried out, 'Can you forgive me, Caelia?' 'Yes, with the greatest joy and sincerity imaginable, my dearest Chloe,' answered Caelia, 'and never let it be again mentioned or remembered.'

The sudden recovery of Chloe was almost incredible; for in less than a week she was able to quit both her bed and room, and go into her aunt's chamber. The good old lady shed tears of joy, to see such a return of Chloe's health, and of cheerfulness in the family; and was perfectly contented, now she saw their melancholy removed, not to inquire into the late cause of it, for fear of renewing their trouble even one moment by the remembrance of it.

Semp.r.o.nius, in the meantime, upon some affairs of his duty in the army, had been called away, and was absent the whole time of Chloe's illness, and was not yet returned. Caelia spent almost her whole time with Chloe; but three weeks pa.s.sed on, and they were often alone; yet they had never once mentioned the name of Semp.r.o.nius, which laid Caelia still under the greatest difficulty how to act, so as to avoid giving her friend any uneasiness, and yet not disoblige Semp.r.o.nius; for she had promised him at his departure, that she would give him leave to ask her aunt's consent immediately upon his return. But the very day he was expected, she was made quite easy by what pa.s.sed between her and her friend.

Chloe, in this time, by proper reflections, and a due sense of Caelia's great goodness and affection to her, had so entirely got the better of herself in this affair, that she found she could now, without any uneasiness, see them married; and calling Caelia to her, she said with a smile, 'I have, my dear friend, been so long accustomed to read in that intelligible index, your countenance, all your most inmost thoughts, that I have not been un.o.bserving of those kind fears you have had on my account; and the reason I have so long delayed speaking was, my resolution, if possible, never again to deceive you. I can with pleasure now a.s.sure you, that nothing can give me so much joy as to see your wedding with Semp.r.o.nius. I make no doubt, but if you ask it, you will have my aunt's consent; and, if any intercession should be wanting towards obtaining it, I will (if you can trust me) use all my influence in your behalf. Be a.s.sured, my dear Caelia, I have now no farther regard left for Semp.r.o.nius, than as your husband; and that regard will increase in proportion as he is the cause of your happiness.'

They were interrupted in their discourse by news being brought of the arrival of Semp.r.o.nius, and Chloe received him with that ease and cheerfulness as convinced Caelia her professions were unfeigned.

Caelia related to Semp.r.o.nius all that had pa.s.sed between her and Chloe; and by her continued cheerfulness of behaviour, the peace and tranquillity of the family was perfectly restored, and their joy greatly increased by Amanda's ready consent to the marriage of Semp.r.o.nius and Caelia, having first settled all her fortune to be divided at her death equally between her nieces; and in her lifetime there was no occasion of settlements, or deeds of gift, for they lived all together, and separate property was not so much as mentioned or thought on in this family of harmony and peace.

Here Miss Dolly ceased reading; and all her hearers sat some little time silent, and then expressed their great joy that Caelia and Chloe were at last happy; for none of them had been able to refrain from tears whilst they were otherwise. On which Miss Jenny Peace begged them to observe from this story, the miserable effects that attend deceit and treachery: 'For,' continued she, 'you see you could not refrain from tears, only by imagining what Chloe must feel after her wickedness (by which indeed she lost the very happiness she intended treacherously to gain); nor could she enjoy one moment's peace, till by confessing her fault, and heartily repenting of it, her mind was restored to its former calm and tranquility.' Miss Dolly thanked Miss Jenny for her remarks; but Miss Lucy Sly was most sensibly touched with this story, as cunning had formerly entirely possessed HER mind; and said, that if her companions were not weary at present of their arbour, she would now recount to them the history of her life, as this story was a proper introduction to it.

THE DESCRIPTION OF MISS LUCY SLY.

Miss Lucy Sly was of the same age as Miss Dolly Friendly; but shorter, at least, by half the head. She was generally called a pretty girl, from having a pair of exceeding fine black eyes, only with the allay of something cunning in their look. She had a high forehead, and very good curling black hair. She had a sharp high nose, and a very small mouth.

Her complexion was but indifferent, and the lower part of her face ill-turned, for her chin was too long for due proportion.

THE LIFE OF MISS LUCY SLY.

From the time I was two years old, (said Miss Lucy) my mamma was so sickly, that she was unable to take any great care of me herself, and I was left to the care of a governess, who made it her study to bring me to do what she had a mind to have done, without troubling her head what induced me so to do. And whenever I did anything wrong, she used to say it was the foot-boy, and not miss, that was naughty. Nay, she would say, it was the dog, or the cat, or anything she could lay the blame upon, sooner than own it was me. I thought this pure, that I was never in fault; and soon got into a way of telling any lies, and of laying my own faults on others, since I found I should be believed. I remember once, when I had broken a fine china-cup, that I artfully got out of the sc.r.a.pe, and hid the broken cup in the foot-boy's room. He was whipped for breaking it; and the next day whilst I was at play about the room, I heard my governess say to a friend who was with her, "Yesterday Miss Lucy broke a china-cup; but the artful little hussy went and hid it in the foot-boy's room, and the poor boy was whipped for it. I don't believe there was ever a girl of her age that had half her cunning and contrivance." I knew by her tone of voice, and her manner of speaking, that she did not blame me in her heart, but rather commended my ingenuity. And I thought myself so wise, that I could thus get off the blame from myself, that I every day improved in new inventions to save myself, and have others punished in my place.

'This life of endeavouring to deceive I led till I came to school. But here I found that I could not so well carry on my little schemes; for I was found out and punished for my own faults; and this created in me a hatred to my companions. For whatever Miss I had a mind to serve as I used to serve our foot-boy, in laying the blame falsely upon her, if she could justify herself, and prove me in the wrong, I was very angry with her, for daring to contradict me, and not submitting as quietly to be punished wrongfully, as the foot-boy was forced to do.

'This is all I know of my life hitherto.'

Thus ended Miss Lucy Sly: and Miss Jenny Peace commended Miss Lucy for her free confession of her faults, and said, 'She doubted not but she would find the advantage of amending, and endeavouring to change a disposition so very pernicious to her own peace and quiet, as well as to that of all her friends;' but they now obeyed the summons of the supper-bell, and soon after retired to rest.

THURSDAY. THE FOURTH DAY.

Our little company, as soon as the morning school-hours were over, hastened to their arbour, and were attentive to what Miss Jenny Peace should propose to them for their amus.e.m.e.nt till dinner-time; when Miss Jenny, looking round upon them, said, 'that she had not at present any story to read; but that she hoped, from Miss Dolly Friendly's example yesterday, some of the rest might endeavour sometimes to furnish out the entertainment of the day.' Upon which Miss Sukey Jennett said, 'that though she could not promise them such an agreeable story as Miss Dolly's; yet she would read them a letter she had received the evening before from her Cousin Peggy Smith, who lived at York; in which there was a story that she thought very strange and remarkable. They were all very desirous of it, when Miss Sukey read as follows:

'Dear cousin,--I promised, you know, to write to you when I had anything to tell you; and as I think the following story very extraordinary, I was willing to keep my word.

'Some time ago there came to settle in this city, a lady, whose name was Dison. We all visited her: but she had so deep a melancholy, arising, as it appeared, from a settled state of ill health, that nothing we could do could afford her the least relief, or make her cheerful. In this condition she languished amongst us five years, still continuing to grow worse and worse.

'We all grieved at her fate. Her flesh was withered away; her appet.i.te decayed by degrees, till all food became nauseous to her sight; her strength failed her; her feet could not support her tottering body, lean and worn away as it was; and we hourly expected her death. When, at last, she one day called her most intimate friends to her bedside, and, as well as she could, spoke to the following purpose: "I know you all pity me; but, alas! I am not so much the object of your pity, as your contempt; for all my misery is of my own seeking, and owing to the wickedness of my own mind. I had two sisters, with whom I was bred up; and I have all my lifetime been unhappy, for no other cause but for their success in the world. When we were young, I could neither eat nor sleep in peace, when they had either praise or pleasure. When we grew up to be women, they were both soon married much to their advantage and satisfaction. This galled me to the heart; and, though I had several good offers, yet as I did not think them in all respects equal to my sisters, I would not accept them; and yet was inwardly vexed to refuse them, for fear I would get no better. I generally deliberated so long that I lost my lovers, and then I pined for that loss. I never wanted for anything; and was in a situation in which I might have been happy, if I pleased. My sisters loved me very well, for I concealed as much as possible from them my odious envy; and yet never did any poor wretch lead so miserable a life as I have done; for every blessing they enjoyed was as so many daggers to my heart. 'Tis this envy that has caused all my ill health, has preyed upon my very vitals, and will now bring me to my Grave."

'In a few days after this confession she died; and her words and death made such a strong impression on my mind, that I could not help sending you this relation; and begging you, my dear Sukey, to remember how careful we ought to be to curb in our minds the very first risings of a pa.s.sion so detestable, and so fatal, as this proved to poor Mrs. Dison.

I know I have no particular reason for giving you this caution; for I never saw anything in you, but what deserved the love and esteem of

'Your very affectionate cousin,

'M. SMITH.'

As soon as Miss Sukey had finished her letter, Miss Patty Lockit rose up, and, flying to Miss Jenny Peace, embraced her, and said, 'What thanks can I give you, my dear friend, for having put me into a way of examining my heart, and reflecting on my own actions; by which you have saved me, perhaps, from a life as miserable as that of the poor woman in Miss Sukey's letter!' Miss Jenny did not thoroughly understand her meaning; but imagining it might be something relating to her past life, desired her to explain herself; which she said she would do, telling now, in her turn, all that had hitherto happened to her.