When Rebecca began to feel her&longs;elf &longs;ettled in
Wimpole-&longs;treet, &longs;he al&longs;o began to find that &longs;he
had entered on an entire new life.—Lady Winterton was

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]

extremely gay, &longs;aw a great deal of company, and lived
in one continued round of dre&longs;&longs;ing, vi&longs;iting, and public
amu&longs;ements. It was in vain for our heroine to object to
accompanying her; &longs;he had taken a peculiar fancy to
her &longs;ociety, and was never happy without her. Lord
Winterton loved gaiety, and an o&longs;tentatious di&longs;play of
grandeur as well as his Lady: She was therefore never
abridged in her plea&longs;ures, were they ever &longs;o extravagant,
and the old Peer thought him&longs;elf amply repaid for the
mo&longs;t &longs;plendid entertainments, or elegant pre&longs;ents, by
the &longs;miles and good humour of his Lady, who, in &longs;pite
of her caprice and &longs;atyrical wit, he tenderly loved.

One morning Rebecca had accompanied her Lady to
an auction, where they had &longs;carcely been &longs;eated ten minutes
before a very elegant young man approached them,
and being introduced to her as a Mr. Savage, a particular
friend of her Lady&longs;hip's, attached him&longs;elf to them
the whole morning.—Rebecca did not ob&longs;erve any thing
uncommon in his attentions to Lady Winterton, but
&longs;he thought, as he handed her Lady&longs;hip to her carriage,
&longs;he &longs;aw him put a folded paper into her hand, which &longs;he
immediately conveyed into her pocket.

As it drew towards evening the Lady &longs;eemed va&longs;tly
unea&longs;y, e&longs;pecially when &longs;he found her Lord meant to
&longs;pend his evening at home: however, after &longs;he had taken
her tea, &longs;he ordered her chariot.

“Am I not then to have the plea&longs;ure of your company,
Fanny?” &longs;aid his Lord&longs;hip. “I propo&longs;ed supping
at home, becau&longs;e I heard you were di&longs;engaged.”

“Oh! my Lord, I &longs;hall be home again in about two
hours. Mi&longs;s Littleton and I are only going to call on
a &longs;ick friend of her's.”

Rebecca &longs;tared. Lady Winterton gave her a supplicating
look, and, &longs;urpri&longs;ed as &longs;he was, &longs;he remained silent.

“If Mi&longs;s, Littleton wi&longs;hes to vi&longs;it her friends,” &longs;aid
my Lord, “the chariot is certainly at her &longs;ervice; but,
&longs;urely, my dear Fanny, you are not obliged to accompany
her.”

“Indeed but I am! and I am &longs;en&longs;ible the Lady will

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

take it very unkind were I to neglect going. Don't you
think &longs;he would, Rebecca.”

“I think,” &longs;aid Rebecca, timidly, “we may both
venture to defer our vi&longs;it till the morning, as my lord is
&longs;o kind as to &longs;pend the evening at home.”

“Ah! that is your good nature, my dear; you
would rather offend your friend, than lead me to disoblige
my hu&longs;band; but &longs;uppo&longs;e we &longs;ettle it this way: I
will go and &longs;ee how the lady is, and you &longs;hall &longs;tay and
engage my Lord at piquet. I &longs;hall ju&longs;t call at my mantua-maker's
in my way home, and be with you again
before &longs;upper.”

“Your Lady&longs;hip will pardon me,” &longs;aid Rebecca,
giving her a penetrating look: “If you are re&longs;olved to
go, you &longs;hall not have to &longs;ay I am remi&longs;s in the duty
I owe my friend. I am ready to attend you, Madam,”
ri&longs;ing, and ringing for her cloak.

“For heaven's &longs;ake! Lady Winterton,” &longs;aid Rebecca,
as the chariot drove from the door, “what is the
meaning of all this? You have di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed me beyond
mea&longs;ure, by calling on me to a&longs;&longs;ert a fal&longs;hood.”

“Now you are angry with me, Rebecca,” &longs;aid the
Lady, taking her hand; “but pray think no more
about it: I could contrive no other means to get away
from that inqui&longs;itive old man, without telling him where
I was going.”

“And &longs;urely your Lady&longs;hip does not wi&longs;h to go any
where that would be offen&longs;ive to your hu&longs;band.”

“Oh! my dear girl, you will never forgive me, you
are &longs;uch a prudent creature your&longs;elf; but I am going to
meet —, though, believe me, it &longs;hall be the la&longs;t
time. I am going to meet —, and take a la&longs;t
farewell of Savage.”

“By your Lady&longs;hip's promi&longs;ing it &longs;hall be the la&longs;t
time, I am led to think it is not the fir&longs;t. I could have
excu&longs;ed your making me acce&longs;&longs;ary to &longs;uch an affair:
However, I &longs;hall take care not to be liable to be drawn
in a &longs;econd time.”

“Ah! Mi&longs;s Littleton, you have no compa&longs;&longs;ion for
a &longs;u&longs;ceptible heart.”

[figure description] Page 159.[end figure description]

“Yes, Lady Winterton, I have, an infinite deal; I
feel for you &longs;incerely, if when your per&longs;on is united to
one, your heart is in the po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of another. Your
feelings, Madam, are involuntary; your actions are by
no means &longs;o: I am &longs;en&longs;ible you may not be able to conquer
the weakne&longs;s of your heart; but you certainly
may avoid throwing your&longs;elf into &longs;ituations which may
lead to criminality.”

The chariot &longs;topped—Lady Winterton alighted—
and Rebecca followed her &longs;ilently into a parlour,
where Savage was eagerly expecting her.

The en&longs;uing &longs;cene, to which our heroine was a witness,
though it awakened all her compa&longs;&longs;ion for the lovers,
who in years, &longs;entiments and manner, &longs;eemed &longs;o
&longs;uitable to each other, it gave her but an indifferent
opinion of her Lady's prudence. Savage, from his conversation,
appeared a man of &longs;trict honour; he did
not &longs;eem to entertain an idea to the injury of his mi&longs;tre&longs;s; but that unfortunate woman, hurried on by the
violence of her pa&longs;&longs;ion, made a thou&longs;and di&longs;coveries of
her unbounded affections, which, with a man of le&longs;s integrity,
might have precipitated her into everla&longs;ting
infamy.

The promi&longs;e of returning to &longs;upper was entirely forgot.
Rebecca reminded her of the hour: &longs;he heard
her not, and the clock &longs;truck twelve before &longs;he could
bring her&longs;elf to leave her lover.

During their ride home Rebecca &longs;poke not a &longs;yllable
except one or two laconic an&longs;wers to her Lady's questions.
She followed her into the hall, and, taking a
candle from a &longs;ervant, wi&longs;hed her a good night, and ran
ha&longs;tily up &longs;tairs, leaving Lady Winterton to make her
excu&longs;es to her hu&longs;band for her breach of promi&longs;e.

The next morning, as &longs;he was ri&longs;ing, one of the maids
brought her the following note.

“For heaven's &longs;ake! my dear Rebecca, do not contradict
whatever you may hear me &longs;ay at breakfa&longs;t, as
you value the peace of

[figure description] Page 160.[end figure description]

Rebecca threw the note into the fire, and went down
&longs;tairs. Her Lord and Lady were already in the parlour.

“And how do find your&longs;elf this morning, my dear?”
&longs;aid her Lady&longs;hip: “I vow you quite frightened me la&longs;t
night.”

“Are you often taken in &longs;uch a &longs;trange manner?”
&longs;aid his Lord&longs;hip, with a look of concern.

“No, indeed, my Lord; I was taken quite by surprise
la&longs;t night, and found my&longs;elf very painfully affected.
I never was taken that way before, but I have felt
a return of the di&longs;order this morning.”

“Indeed!” cried her Lady&longs;hip, vi&longs;ibly alarmed.

“Yes, Madam; but as change of air may be of service
to me, and your Lady&longs;hip &longs;eems terrified on my account,
I &longs;hall beg leave to retire to a friend's I have
&longs;ome few miles from town. I &longs;hall go directly after
breakfa&longs;t, and will &longs;end to-morrow for my trunks.”

“You do not mean to leave us, I hope?”

“Yes, Madam; I fee; it impo&longs;&longs;ible for me to remain
with you any longer.” Lady Winterton bur&longs;t into tears.

“Nay, Mi&longs;s Littleton,” &longs;aid his Lord&longs;hip, “you
mu&longs;t not leave us; my poor Fanny will break her heart.”

It was to no purpo&longs;e for the Lady to weep, or her
hu&longs;band entreat: Rebecca remained inexorable, till
Lord Winterton leaving them, his Lady earne&longs;tly entreated
her to forgive what was pa&longs;t, and &longs;he would never
&longs;ee Savage again.

“Do not leave me, Rebecca,” &longs;aid &longs;he; “you are my
guardian angel; without you I &longs;hall be inevitably lo&longs;t!”

This argument prevailed, and Rebecca con&longs;ented to
&longs;tay, in hopes of drawing her Lady from her unfortunate
attachment. The winter was now entirely supplauted
by the gay-robed &longs;pring, and our heroine began to
&longs;igh for retirement, &longs;ilver &longs;treams, and &longs;hady groves.
Lady Winterton, to oblige her, propo&longs;ed &longs;pending a
few weeks at Chi&longs;wick, where they had an elegant &longs;eat.

It was a charming evening in the beginning of June;
the ruddy &longs;treaks of the parting &longs;un-beams had given
place to &longs;ober grey; the moon with &longs;ilver cre&longs;cent &longs;hed a
feeble light, and the &longs;tars, by imperceptible degrees,

[figure description] Page 161.[end figure description]

appeared in the blue expance of heaven, till all was one
continued &longs;cene of radiant glory. A nightingale perched
on a thorn, was tuning her melancholy pipe, and the
zephyrs pa&longs;&longs;ed gently over a long canal, wa&longs;ting on
their wings the di&longs;tant &longs;ound of the tinkling &longs;heep bell,
and the ru&longs;tic &longs;hepherd's whi&longs;tle.

Rebecca had left her Lady in an alcove at the bottom
of the garden, and wandered into the plea&longs;ure ground.

The beauty of the &longs;urrounding &longs;cene had given a
&longs;oft &longs;erenity to her mind, and &longs;he &longs;at down to indulge
reflections, which, if not ab&longs;olutely plea&longs;ant, were far
from painful.

She had not &longs;at long before &longs;he ob&longs;erved two men
gliding among the trees, and proceeding as it were towards
the garden. At fir&longs;t &longs;he felt rather terri&longs;ied, but
the idea of Savage &longs;triking her, &longs;he ha&longs;tened toward the
place where &longs;he had left her Lady. She had hardly got
half way before &longs;he felt her&longs;elf &longs;uddenly &longs;eized by a person,
who &longs;oftly bid her not be alarmed, he only meant
to prevent her di&longs;turbing an agreeable tete a tete, to
which a friend of his had been invited, and which
he was determined &longs;hould not be interrupted by her.

Rebecca trembled exce&longs;&longs;ively, for, by the voice, and
what little &longs;he could di&longs;cern of his features, &longs;he discovered
the per&longs;on who held her to be no other than Lord
O&longs;&longs;iter.

“Whoever your friend is,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “he can have
no bu&longs;ine&longs;s here. Unhand me, Sir, or I will alarm the
hou&longs;e.”

“You mu&longs;t cry pretty loud, then, my dear, for you
are a good di&longs;tance from it; but &longs;tay, have I not &longs;een
your face before? Yes, by heavens!”

At that moment, a loud &longs;hriek from the alcove, and
a cla&longs;thing of &longs;words, made him relinqui&longs;h his hold, and
run toward the place from whence the &longs;ound proceeded.
Rebecca followed as fa&longs;t as her trembling limbs would
permit; but what a &longs;cene pre&longs;ented it&longs;elf to her view.
Savage on his knees, &longs;upporting the bleeding, and apparently
lifele&longs;s body of Lady Winterton, and O&longs;&longs;iter
&longs;truggling to wre&longs;t a &longs;word from the hands of her Lord,

[figure description] Page 162.[end figure description]

who foamed with rage, and threatened in&longs;tant death to
the betrayer of his honour!

“Infamous wretch!” &longs;aid the enraged hu&longs;band, when
he beheld our heroine; “this is your doings, you contrived
and winked at their meetings, and mo&longs;t conveniently
left your vile friend to entertain her lover, while
you whiled away your time with that di&longs;grace to nobility!
Begone—leave my hou&longs;e this night—thou pe&longs;t to
&longs;ociety! I have long been informed of your &longs;candalous
proceedings, but would not believe till occular demonstration
left me nothing to doubt.”

Terrified and di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed as Rebecca was, &longs;he could not
but wi&longs;h to &longs;tay to afford what relief was in her power
to her Lady, but this was denied her. She had a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ted
Savage to bathe her temples with hart&longs;horn, and &longs;aw her
open her eyes, when the &longs;ervants entered, took her in
their arms, and bore her to the hou&longs;e, where Rebecca
was forbade to enter, and any &longs;ervant who &longs;hould dare
to afford her &longs;helter, threatened with in&longs;tant di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ion.

“What now is to become of me!” &longs;aid &longs;he, &longs;inking
on the ground as the door was &longs;hut again&longs;t her: “What
next will be the fate of the wretched Rebecca.”

“Love, affluence, and plea&longs;ure,” &longs;aid Lord O&longs;&longs;iter,
endeavouring to rai&longs;e her.

“Say rather death and infamy, my Lord; my reputation
is wounded—my peace of mind de&longs;troyed. Oh!
that my heart would break, and let me re&longs;t forever!”

“Re&longs;t in my arms,” &longs;aid he, rudely embracing her.
She &longs;hrieked.

“Forbear, my Lord,” &longs;aid Savage, approaching;
“this lady has been the friend of my adored Fanny,
and no one &longs;hall in&longs;ult her with impunity.”

“Your humble &longs;ervant,” cried O&longs;&longs;iter; “I understand
you, and have done, only give me leave to inform
you, that this pretty imaculate piece of prudery, about
four years &longs;ince, was in a ready furni&longs;hed hou&longs;e of my
providing, from whence &longs;he thought fit to elope, and
has, I make no doubt, &longs;een a great deal of life &longs;ince that
period.”

Rebecca could hear no more—a &longs;udden chillne&longs;s ran

[figure description] Page 163.[end figure description]

through her veins—&longs;he re&longs;pired with difficulty—her
head grew giddy—and &longs;he &longs;unk into in&longs;en&longs;ibility. When
&longs;he recovered, recollection retained but faint traces of
the pa&longs;t &longs;cenes; it &longs;eemed like a di&longs;turbed dream.—
“Where am I?” &longs;aid &longs;he.—Lord O&longs;&longs;iter approached
the bed-&longs;ide—“You are in &longs;afety, my angel,” &longs;aid he,
“only compo&longs;e your &longs;pirits, and nothing &longs;hall be omitted
that can make you happy.” She turned her head
from him, wept, but could not an&longs;wer.

“You mu&longs;t not di&longs;turb her,” &longs;aid a medical gentleman,
who had been called in. “Quiet and re&longs;t is absolutely
nece&longs;&longs;ary to pre&longs;erve her life.”

“Exert your utmo&longs;t &longs;kill, doctor,” &longs;aid O&longs;&longs;iter, “to
&longs;ave her, and we will be guided entirely by your directions.”

“Then leave her to the care of the nur&longs;e to-night,
and do not attempt to &longs;ee her before noon to-morrow.”
O&longs;&longs;iter ki&longs;&longs;ed her hand, bowed, and retired.

Rebecca heard the door &longs;hut: &longs;he rai&longs;ed her head to
look at the doctor, and perceived, to her great joy, he
was a grave, decent looking man. She made &longs;ome excuse
to &longs;end the nur&longs;e out of the room; then taking
both the doctor's hands in her's, cried, “Oh! good
Sir, if you have any compa&longs;&longs;ion in your nature, &longs;hew it
now to a poor di&longs;tre&longs;&longs;ed orphan and &longs;ave her.”

“My dear child,” &longs;aid he, “do not alarm your&longs;elf,
you are not in any immediate danger.”

“Oh! Sir, you mi&longs;take me, it is not death I fear, it
is di&longs;honour. Alas! I know not where I am; but I
fear I am entirely in the power of a man who will sacrifice
me to his unhallowed pa&longs;&longs;ion.”

“Then you did not come with him voluntarily?”

“No! no! heaven knows I did not; I was in a &longs;tate
of in&longs;en&longs;ibility.”

An intere&longs;ting conver&longs;ation now took place—the doctor
was convinced of Rebecca's innocence, and bribing
the nur&longs;e to a&longs;&longs;i&longs;t, about twelve o'clock they helped the
poor &longs;ufferer to get on her clothes, &longs;upported her down
&longs;tairs, and carried her in triumph to his own hou&longs;e.

Previous section