



Produced by Delphine Lettau, Charles Franks and the people at DP







CECILIA

OR

Memoirs of an Heiress

by

FRANCES BURNEY

VOL. III.




BOOK VIII. _Continued_.



CHAPTER ii.

AN EVENT.

Scarce less unhappy in her decision than in her uncertainty, and every
way dissatisfied with her situation, her views and herself, Cecilia
was still so distressed and uncomfortable, when Delvile called the next
morning, that he could not discover what her determination had been, and
fearfully enquired his doom with hardly any hope of finding favour.

But Cecilia was above affectation, and a stranger to art. "I would not,
Sir," she said, "keep you an instant in suspense, when I am no longer in
suspense myself. I may have appeared trifling, but I have been nothing
less, and you would readily exculpate me of caprice, if half the
distress of my irresolution was known to you. Even now, when I hesitate
no more, my mind is so ill at ease, that I could neither wonder nor be
displeased should you hesitate in your turn."

"You hesitate no more?" cried he, almost breathless at the sound of
those words, "and is it possible--Oh my Cecilia!--is it possible your
resolution is in my favour?"

"Alas!" cried she, "how little is your reason to rejoice! a dejected and
melancholy gift is all you can receive!"

"Ere I take it, then," cried he, in a voice that spoke joy; pain, and
fear all at once in commotion, "tell me if your reluctance has its
origin in _me_, that I may rather even yet relinquish you, than merely
owe your hand to the selfishness of persecution?"

"Your pride," said she, half smiling, "has some right to be alarmed,
though I meant not to alarm it. No! it is with myself only I am at
variance, with my own weakness and want of judgment that I quarrel,--in
_you_ I have all the reliance that the highest opinion of your honour
and integrity can give me."

This was enough for the warm heart of Delvile, not only to restore
peace, but to awaken rapture. He was almost as wild with delight, as he
had before been with apprehension, and poured forth his acknowledgments
with so much fervour of gratitude, that Cecilia imperceptibly grew
reconciled to herself, and before she missed her dejection, participated
in his contentment.

She quitted him as soon as she had power, to acquaint Mrs Charlton with
what had passed, and assist in preparing her to accompany them to the
altar; while Delvile flew to his new acquaintance, Mr Singleton, the
lawyer, to request him to supply the place of Mr Monckton in giving her
away.

All was now hastened with the utmost expedition, and to avoid
observation, they agreed to meet at the church; their desire of secrecy,
however potent, never urging them to wish the ceremony should be
performed in a place less awful.

When the chairs, however, came, which were to carry the two ladies
thither, Cecilia trembled and hung back. The greatness of her
undertaking, the hazard of all her future happiness, the disgraceful
secrecy of her conduct, the expected reproaches of Mrs Delvile, and
the boldness and indelicacy of the step she was about to take, all so
forcibly struck, and so painfully wounded her, that the moment she was
summoned to set out, she again lost her resolution, and regretting the
hour that ever Delvile was known to her, she sunk into a chair, and gave
up her whole soul to anguish and sorrow.

The good Mrs Charlton tried in vain to console her; a sudden horror
against herself had now seized her spirits, which, exhausted by long
struggles, could rally no more.

In this situation she was at length surprised by Delvile, whose uneasy
astonishment that she had failed in her appointment, was only to be
equalled by that with which he was struck at the sight of her tears. He
demanded the cause with the utmost tenderness and apprehension; Cecilia
for some time could not speak, and then, with a deep sigh, "Ah!" she
cried, "Mr Delvile! how weak are we all when unsupported by our own
esteem! how feeble, how inconsistent, how changeable, when our courage
has any foundation but duty!"

Delvile, much relieved by finding her sadness sprung not from any new
affliction, gently reproached her breach of promise, and earnestly
entreated her to repair it. "The clergyman," cried he, "is waiting; I
have left him with Mr Singleton in the vestry; no new objections have
started, and no new obstacles have intervened; why, then, torment
ourselves with discussing again the old ones, which we have already
considered till every possible argument upon them is exhausted?
Tranquillize, I conjure you, your agitated spirits, and if the truest
tenderness, the most animated esteem, and the gratefullest admiration,
can soften your future cares, and ensure your future peace, every
anniversary of this day will recompense my Cecilia for every pang she
now suffers!"

Cecilia, half soothed and half ashamed, finding she had in fact nothing
new to say or to object, compelled herself to rise, and, penetrated
by his solicitations, endeavoured to compose her mind, and promised to
follow him.

He would not trust her, however, from his sight, but seizing the very
instant of her renewed consent, he dismissed the chairs, and ordering
a hackney-coach, preferred any risk to that of her again wavering, and
insisted upon accompanying her in it himself.

Cecilia had now scarce time to breathe, before she found herself at the
porch of----church. Delvile hurried her out of the carriage, and then
offered his arm to Mrs Charlton. Not a word was spoken by any of the
party till they went into the vestry, where Delvile ordered Cecilia
a glass of water, and having hastily made his compliments to the
clergyman, gave her hand to Mr Singleton, who led her to the altar.

The ceremony was now begun; and Cecilia, finding herself past all power
of retracting, soon called her thoughts from wishing it, and turned her
whole attention to the awful service; to which though she listened with
reverence, her full satisfaction in the object of her vows, made
her listen without terror. But when the priest came to that solemn
adjuration, _If any man can shew any just cause why they may not
lawfully be joined together_, a conscious tear stole into her eye, and
a sigh escaped from Delvile that went to her heart: but, when the priest
concluded the exhortation with _let him now speak, or else hereafter
for-ever hold his peace_, a female voice at some distance, called out in
shrill accents, "I do!"

The ceremony was instantly stopt. The astonished priest immediately shut
up the book to regard the intended bride and bridegroom; Delvile started
with amazement to see whence the sound proceeded; and Cecilia, aghast,
and struck with horror, faintly shriekt, and caught hold of Mrs
Charlton.

The consternation was general, and general was the silence, though all
of one accord turned round towards the place whence the voice issued: a
female form at the same moment was seen rushing from a pew, who glided
out of the church with the quickness of lightning.

Not a word was yet uttered, every one seeming rooted to the spot on
which he stood, and regarding in mute wonder the place this form had
crossed.

Delvile at length exclaimed, "What can this mean?"

"Did you not know the woman, Sir?" said the clergyman.

"No, Sir, I did not even see her."

"Nor you, madam?" said he, addressing Cecilia.

"No, Sir," she answered, in a voice that scarce articulated the two
syllables, and changing colour so frequently, that Delvile, apprehensive
she would faint, flew to her, calling out, "Let _me_ support you!"

She turned from him hastily, and still, holding by Mrs Charlton, moved
away from the altar.

"Whither," cried Delvile, fearfully following her, "whither are you
going?"

She made not any answer; but still, though tottering as much from
emotion as Mrs Charlton from infirmity, she walked on.

"Why did you stop the ceremony, Sir?" cried Delvile, impatiently
speaking to the clergyman.

"No ceremony, Sir," he returned, "could proceed with such an
interruption."

"It has been wholly accidental," cried he, "for we neither of us
know the woman, who could not have any right or authority for the
prohibition." Then yet more anxiously pursuing Cecilia, "why,"
he continued, "do you thus move off?--Why leave the ceremony
unfinished?--Mrs Charlton, what is it you are about?--Cecilia, I beseech
you return, and let the service go on!"

Cecilia, making a motion with her hand to forbid his following her,
still silently proceeded, though drawing along with equal difficulty Mrs
Charlton and herself.

"This is insupportable!" cried Delvile, with vehemence, "turn, I conjure
you!--my Cecilia!--my wife!--why is it you thus abandon me?--Turn,
I implore you, and receive my eternal vows!--Mrs Charlton, bring her
back,--Cecilia, you _must_ not go!--"

He now attempted to take her hand, but shrinking from his touch, in an
emphatic but low voice, she said, "Yes, Sir, I must!--an interdiction
such as this!--for the world could I not brave it!"

She then made an effort to somewhat quicken her pace.

"Where," cried Delvile, half frantic, "where is this infamous woman?
This wretch who has thus wantonly destroyed me!"

And he rushed out of the church in pursuit of her.

The clergyman and Mr Singleton, who had hitherto been wondering
spectators, came now to offer their assistance to Cecilia. She declined
any help for herself, but gladly accepted their services for Mrs
Charlton, who, thunderstruck by all that had past, seemed almost robbed
of her faculties. Mr Singleton proposed calling a hackney coach, she
consented, and they stopt for it at the church porch.

The clergyman now began to enquire of the pew-opener, what she knew of
the woman, who she was, and how she had got into the church? She knew of
her, she answered, nothing, but that she had come in to early prayers,
and she supposed she had hid herself in a pew when they were over, as
she had thought the church entirely empty.

An hackney coach now drew up, and while the gentlemen were assisting Mrs
Charlton into it, Delvile returned.

"I have pursued and enquired," cried he, "in vain, I can neither
discover nor hear of her.--But what is all this? Whither are you
going?--What does this coach do here?--Mrs Charlton, why do you get into
it?--Cecilia, what are you doing?"

Cecilia turned away from him in silence. The shock she had received,
took from her all power of speech, while amazement and terror deprived
her even of relief from tears. She believed Delvile to blame, though she
knew not in what, but the obscurity of her fears served only to render
them more dreadful.

She was now getting into the coach herself, but Delvile, who could
neither brook her displeasure, nor endure her departure, forcibly caught
her hand, and called out, "You are _mine_, you are my _wife_!--I will
part with you no more, and go whithersoever you will, I will follow and
claim you!"

"Stop me not!" cried she, impatiently though faintly, "I am sick, I am
ill already,--if you detain me any longer, I shall be unable to support
myself!"

"Oh then rest on _me_!" cried he, still holding her; "rest but upon me
till the ceremony is over!--you will drive me to despair and to madness
if you leave me in this barbarous manner!"

A crowd now began to gather, and the words bride and bridegroom reached
the ears of Cecilia; who half dead with shame, with fear, and with
distress, hastily said "You are determined to make me miserable!" and
snatching away her hand, which Delvile at those words could no longer
hold, she threw herself into the carriage.

Delvile, however, jumped in after her, and with an air of authority
ordered the coachman to Pall-Mall, and then drew up the glasses, with a
look of fierceness at the mob.

Cecilia had neither spirits nor power to resist him; yet, offended by
his violence, and shocked to be thus publickly pursued by him, her looks
spoke a resentment far more mortifying than any verbal reproach.

"Inhuman Cecilia!" cried he, passionately, "to desert me at the very
altar!--to cast me off at the instant the most sacred rites were uniting
us!--and then thus to look at me!--to treat me with this disdain at a
time of such distraction!--to scorn me thus injuriously at the moment
you unjustly abandon me!"

"To how dreadful a scene," said Cecilia, recovering from her
consternation, "have you exposed me! to what shame, what indignity, what
irreparable disgrace!"

"Oh heaven!" cried he with horror, "if any crime, any offence of mine
has occasioned this fatal blow, the whole world holds not a wretch so
culpable as myself, nor one who will sooner allow the justice of your
rigour! my veneration for you has ever equalled my affection, and could
I think it was through _me_ you have suffered any indignity, I should
soon abhor myself, as you seem to abhor me. But what is it I have done?
How have I thus incensed you? By what action, by what guilt, have I
incurred this displeasure?

"Whence," cried she, "came that voice which still vibr