<p>CATH. VERNON. <SPAN name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"></SPAN></p>
<h2> XXIV </h2>
<p>FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME</p>
<p>Churchhill.</p>
<p>Little did I imagine, my dear Mother, when I sent off my last letter, that
the delightful perturbation of spirits I was then in would undergo so
speedy, so melancholy a reverse. I never can sufficiently regret that I
wrote to you at all. Yet who could have foreseen what has happened? My
dear mother, every hope which made me so happy only two hours ago has
vanished. The quarrel between Lady Susan and Reginald is made up, and we
are all as we were before. One point only is gained. Sir James Martin is
dismissed. What are we now to look forward to? I am indeed disappointed;
Reginald was all but gone, his horse was ordered and all but brought to
the door; who would not have felt safe? For half an hour I was in
momentary expectation of his departure. After I had sent off my letter to
you, I went to Mr. Vernon, and sat with him in his room talking over the
whole matter, and then determined to look for Frederica, whom I had not
seen since breakfast. I met her on the stairs, and saw that she was
crying. "My dear aunt," said she, "he is going—Mr. De Courcy is
going, and it is all my fault. I am afraid you will be very angry with me,
but indeed I had no idea it would end so." "My love," I replied, "do not
think it necessary to apologize to me on that account. I shall feel myself
under an obligation to anyone who is the means of sending my brother home,
because," recollecting myself, "I know my father wants very much to see
him. But what is it you have done to occasion all this?" She blushed
deeply as she answered: "I was so unhappy about Sir James that I could not
help—I have done something very wrong, I know; but you have not an
idea of the misery I have been in: and mamma had ordered me never to speak
to you or my uncle about it, and—" "You therefore spoke to my
brother to engage his interference," said I, to save her the explanation.
"No, but I wrote to him—I did indeed, I got up this morning before
it was light, and was two hours about it; and when my letter was done I
thought I never should have courage to give it. After breakfast however,
as I was going to my room, I met him in the passage, and then, as I knew
that everything must depend on that moment, I forced myself to give it. He
was so good as to take it immediately. I dared not look at him, and ran
away directly. I was in such a fright I could hardly breathe. My dear
aunt, you do not know how miserable I have been." "Frederica" said I, "you
ought to have told me all your distresses. You would have found in me a
friend always ready to assist you. Do you think that your uncle or I
should not have espoused your cause as warmly as my brother?" "Indeed, I
did not doubt your kindness," said she, colouring again, "but I thought
Mr. De Courcy could do anything with my mother; but I was mistaken: they
have had a dreadful quarrel about it, and he is going away. Mamma will
never forgive me, and I shall be worse off than ever." "No, you shall
not," I replied; "in such a point as this your mother's prohibition ought
not to have prevented your speaking to me on the subject. She has no right
to make you unhappy, and she shall NOT do it. Your applying, however, to
Reginald can be productive only of good to all parties. I believe it is
best as it is. Depend upon it that you shall not be made unhappy any
longer." At that moment how great was my astonishment at seeing Reginald
come out of Lady Susan's dressing-room. My heart misgave me instantly. His
confusion at seeing me was very evident. Frederica immediately
disappeared. "Are you going?" I said; "you will find Mr. Vernon in his own
room." "No, Catherine," he replied, "I am not going. Will you let me speak
to you a moment?" We went into my room. "I find," he continued, his
confusion increasing as he spoke, "that I have been acting with my usual
foolish impetuosity. I have entirely misunderstood Lady Susan, and was on
the point of leaving the house under a false impression of her conduct.
There has been some very great mistake; we have been all mistaken, I
fancy. Frederica does not know her mother. Lady Susan means nothing but
her good, but she will not make a friend of her. Lady Susan does not
always know, therefore, what will make her daughter happy. Besides, I
could have no right to interfere. Miss Vernon was mistaken in applying to
me. In short, Catherine, everything has gone wrong, but it is now all
happily settled. Lady Susan, I believe, wishes to speak to you about it,
if you are at leisure." "Certainly," I replied, deeply sighing at the
recital of so lame a story. I made no comments, however, for words would
have been vain.</p>
<p>Reginald was glad to get away, and I went to Lady Susan, curious, indeed,
to hear her account of it. "Did I not tell you," said she with a smile,
"that your brother would not leave us after all?" "You did, indeed,"
replied I very gravely; "but I flattered myself you would be mistaken." "I
should not have hazarded such an opinion," returned she, "if it had not at
that moment occurred to me that his resolution of going might be
occasioned by a conversation in which we had been this morning engaged,
and which had ended very much to his dissatisfaction, from our not rightly
understanding each other's meaning. This idea struck me at the moment, and
I instantly determined that an accidental dispute, in which I might
probably be as much to blame as himself, should not deprive you of your
brother. If you remember, I left the room almost immediately. I was
resolved to lose no time in clearing up those mistakes as far as I could.
The case was this—Frederica had set herself violently against
marrying Sir James." "And can your ladyship wonder that she should?" cried
I with some warmth; "Frederica has an excellent understanding, and Sir
James has none." "I am at least very far from regretting it, my dear
sister," said she; "on the contrary, I am grateful for so favourable a
sign of my daughter's sense. Sir James is certainly below par (his boyish
manners make him appear worse); and had Frederica possessed the
penetration and the abilities which I could have wished in my daughter, or
had I even known her to possess as much as she does, I should not have
been anxious for the match." "It is odd that you should alone be ignorant
of your daughter's sense!" "Frederica never does justice to herself; her
manners are shy and childish, and besides she is afraid of me. During her
poor father's life she was a spoilt child; the severity which it has since
been necessary for me to show has alienated her affection; neither has she
any of that brilliancy of intellect, that genius or vigour of mind which
will force itself forward." "Say rather that she has been unfortunate in
her education!" "Heaven knows, my dearest Mrs. Vernon, how fully I am
aware of that; but I would wish to forget every circumstance that might
throw blame on the memory of one whose name is sacred with me." Here she
pretended to cry; I was out of patience with her. "But what," said I, "was
your ladyship going to tell me about your disagreement with my brother?"
"It originated in an action of my daughter's, which equally marks her want
of judgment and the unfortunate dread of me I have been mentioning—she
wrote to Mr. De Courcy." "I know she did; you had forbidden her speaking
to Mr. Vernon or to me on the cause of her distress; what could she do,
therefore, but apply to my brother?" "Good God!" she exclaimed, "what an
opinion you must have of me! Can you possibly suppose that I was aware of
her unhappiness! that it was my object to make my own child miserable, and
that I had forbidden her speaking to you on the subject from a fear of
your interrupting the diabolical scheme? Do you think me destitute of
every honest, every natural feeling? Am I capable of consigning HER to
everlasting misery whose welfare it is my first earthly duty to promote?
The idea is horrible!" "What, then, was your intention when you insisted
on her silence?" "Of what use, my dear sister, could be any application to
you, however the affair might stand? Why should I subject you to
entreaties which I refused to attend to myself? Neither for your sake nor
for hers, nor for my own, could such a thing be desirable. When my own
resolution was taken I could not wish for the interference, however
friendly, of another person. I was mistaken, it is true, but I believed
myself right." "But what was this mistake to which your ladyship so often
alludes! from whence arose so astonishing a misconception of your
daughter's feelings! Did you not know that she disliked Sir James?" "I
knew that he was not absolutely the man she would have chosen, but I was
persuaded that her objections to him did not arise from any perception of
his deficiency. You must not question me, however, my dear sister, too
minutely on this point," continued she, taking me affectionately by the
hand; "I honestly own that there is something to conceal. Frederica makes
me very unhappy! Her applying to Mr. De Courcy hurt me particularly."
"What is it you mean to infer," said I, "by this appearance of mystery? If
you think your daughter at all attached to Reginald, her objecting to Sir
James could not less deserve to be attended to than if the cause of her
objecting had been a consciousness of his folly; and why should your
ladyship, at any rate, quarrel with my brother for an interference which,
you must know, it is not in his nature to refuse when urged in such a
manner?"</p>
<p>"His disposition, you know, is warm, and he came to expostulate with me;
his compassion all alive for this ill-used girl, this heroine in distress!
We misunderstood each other: he believed me more to blame than I really
was; I considered his interference less excusable than I now find it. I
have a real regard for him, and was beyond expression mortified to find
it, as I thought, so ill bestowed. We were both warm, and of course both
to blame. His resolution of leaving Churchhill is consistent with his
general eagerness. When I understood his intention, however, and at the
same time began to think that we had been perhaps equally mistaken in each
other's meaning, I resolved to have an explanation before it was too late.
For any member of your family I must always feel a degree of affection,
and I own it would have sensibly hurt me if my acquaintance with Mr. De
Courcy had ended so gloomily. I have now only to say further, that as I am
convinced of Frederica's having a reasonable dislike to Sir James, I shall
instantly inform him that he must give up all hope of her. I reproach
myself for having, even though innocently, made her unhappy on that score.
She shall have all the retribution in my power to make; if she value her
own happiness as much as I do, if she judge wisely, and command herself as
she ought, she may now be easy. Excuse me, my dearest sister, for thus
trespassing on your time, but I owe it to my own character; and after this
explanation I trust I am in no danger of sinking in your opinion." I could
have said, "Not much, indeed!" but I left her almost in silence. It was
the greatest stretch of forbearance I could practise. I could not have
stopped myself had I begun. Her assurance! her deceit! but I will not
allow myself to dwell on them; they will strike you sufficiently. My heart
sickens within me. As soon as I was tolerably composed I returned to the
parlour. Sir James's carriage was at the door, and he, merry as usual,
soon afterwards took his leave. How easily does her ladyship encourage or
dismiss a lover! In spite of this release, Frederica still looks unhappy:
still fearful, perhaps, of her mother's anger; and though dreading my
brother's departure, jealous, it may be, of his staying. I see how closely
she observes him and Lady Susan, poor girl! I have now no hope for her.
There is not a chance of her affection being returned. He thinks very
differently of her from what he used to do; he does her some justice, but
his reconciliation with her mother precludes every dearer hope. Prepare,
my dear mother, for the worst! The probability of their marrying is surely
heightened! He is more securely hers than ever. When that wretched event
takes place, Frederica must belong wholly to us. I am thankful that my
last letter will precede this by so little, as every moment that you can
be saved from feeling a joy which leads only to disappointment is of
consequence.</p>
<p>Yours ever, &c.,</p>
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