Chapter v.
The generous behaviour of Sophia towards her aunt.
Sophia kept silence during the foregoing speech of her father, nor didshe once answer otherwise than with a sigh; but as he understood noneof the language, or, as he called it, lingo of the eyes, so he was notsatisfied without some further approbation of his sentiments, which henow demanded of his daughter; telling her, in the usual way, "heexpected she was ready to take the part of everybody against him, asshe had always done that of the b-- her mother." Sophia remainingstill silent, he cryed out, "What, art dumb? why dost unt speak? Wasnot thy mother a d--d b-- to me? answer me that. What, I suppose youdespise your father too, and don't think him good enough to speak to?"
"For Heaven's sake, sir," answered Sophia, "do not give so cruel aturn to my silence. I am sure I would sooner die than be guilty of anydisrespect towards you; but how can I venture to speak, when everyword must either offend my dear papa, or convict me of the blackestingratitude as well as impiety to the memory of the best of mothers;for such, I am certain, my mamma was always to me?"
"And your aunt, I suppose, is the best of sisters too!" replied thesquire. "Will you be so kind as to allow that she is a b--? I mayfairly insist upon that, I think?"
"Indeed, sir," says Sophia, "I have great obligations to my aunt. Shehath been a second mother to me."
"And a second wife to me too," returned Western; "so you will take herpart too! You won't confess that she hath acted the part of the vilestsister in the world?"
"Upon my word, sir," cries Sophia, "I must belie my heart wickedly ifI did. I know my aunt and you differ very much in your ways ofthinking; but I have heard her a thousand times express the greatestaffection for you; and I am convinced, so far from her being the worstsister in the world, there are very few who love a brother better."
"The English of all which is," answered the squire, "that I am in thewrong. Ay, certainly. Ay, to be sure the woman is in the right, andthe man in the wrong always."
"Pardon me, sir," cries Sophia. "I do not say so."
"What don't you say?" answered the father: "you have the impudence tosay she's in the right: doth it not follow then of course that I am inthe wrong? And perhaps I am in the wrong to suffer such a PresbyterianHanoverian b-- to come into my house. She may 'dite me of a plot foranything I know, and give my estate to the government."
"So far, sir, from injuring you or your estate," says Sophia, "if myaunt had died yesterday, I am convinced she would have left you herwhole fortune."
Whether Sophia intended it or no, I shall not presume to assert; butcertain it is, these last words penetrated very deep into the ears ofher father, and produced a much more sensible effect than all she hadsaid before. He received the sound with much the same action as a manreceives a bullet in his head. He started, staggered, and turned pale.After which he remained silent above a minute, and then began in thefollowing hesitating manner: "Yesterday! she would have left me heresteate yesterday! would she? Why yesterday, of all the days in theyear? I suppose if she dies to-morrow, she will leave it to somebodyelse, and perhaps out of the vamily."--"My aunt, sir," cries Sophia,"hath very violent passions, and I can't answer what she may do undertheir influence."
"You can't!" returned the father: "and pray who hath been the occasionof putting her into those violent passions? Nay, who hath actually puther into them? Was not you and she hard at it before I came into theroom? Besides, was not all our quarrel about you? I have notquarrelled with sister this many years but upon your account; and nowyou would throw the whole blame upon me, as thof I should be theoccasion of her leaving the esteate out o' the vamily. I could haveexpected no better indeed; this is like the return you make to all therest of my fondness."
"I beseech you then," cries Sophia, "upon my knees I beseech you, if Ihave been the unhappy occasion of this difference, that you willendeavour to make it up with my aunt, and not suffer her to leave yourhouse in this violent rage of anger: she is a very good-natured woman,and a few civil words will satisfy her. Let me entreat you, sir."
"So I must go and ask pardon for your fault, must I?" answeredWestern. "You have lost the hare, and I must draw every way to findher again? Indeed, if I was certain"--Here he stopt, and Sophiathrowing in more entreaties, at length prevailed upon him; so thatafter venting two or three bitter sarcastical expressions against hisdaughter, he departed as fast as he could to recover his sister,before her equipage could be gotten ready.
Sophia then returned to her chamber of mourning, where she indulgedherself (if the phrase may be allowed me) in all the luxury of tendergrief. She read over more than once the letter which she had receivedfrom Jones; her muff too was used on this occasion; and she bathedboth these, as well as herself, with her tears. In this situation thefriendly Mrs Honour exerted her utmost abilities to comfort herafflicted mistress. She ran over the names of many young gentlemen:and having greatly commended their parts and persons, assured Sophiathat she might take her choice of any. These methods must havecertainly been used with some success in disorders of the like kind,or so skilful a practitioner as Mrs Honour would never have venturedto apply them; nay, I have heard that the college of chambermaids holdthem to be as sovereign remedies as any in the female dispensary; butwhether it was that Sophia's disease differed inwardly from thosecases with which it agreed in external symptoms, I will not assert;but, in fact, the good waiting-woman did more harm than good, and atlast so incensed her mistress (which was no easy matter) that with anangry voice she dismissed her from her presence.