The Vicar of Wakefield [53]
any way; and that I am resolved we will this very night, or out she tramps, bag and baggage.'--'Consider, my dear,' cried the husband, 'she is a gentlewoman, and deserves more respect.'--'As for the matter of that,' returned the hostess, 'gentle or simple, out she shall pack with a sassarara. Gentry may be good things where they take; but for my part I never saw much good of them at the sign of the Harrow.'--Thus saying, she ran up a narrow flight of stairs, that went from the kitchen to a room over-head, and I soon perceived by the loudness of her voice, and the bitterness of her reproaches, that no money was to be had from her lodger. I could hear her remonstrances very distinctly: 'Out I say, pack out this moment, tramp thou infamous strumpet, or I'll give thee a mark thou won't be the better for this three months. What! you trumpery, to come and take up an honest house, without cross or coin to bless yourself with; come along I say.'--'O dear madam,' cried the stranger, 'pity me, pity a poor abandoned creature for one night, and death will soon do the rest.' I instantly knew the voice of my poor ruined child Olivia. I flew to her rescue, while the woman was dragging her along by the hair, and I caught the dear forlorn wretch in my arms.--'Welcome, any way welcome, my dearest lost one, my treasure, to your poor old father's bosom. Tho' the vicious forsake thee, there is yet one in the world that will never forsake thee; tho' thou hadst ten thousand crimes to answer for, he will forget them all.'--'O my own dear'--for minutes she could no more--'my own dearest good papa! Could angels be kinder! How do I deserve so much! The villain, I hate him and myself, to be a reproach to such goodness. You can't forgive me. I know you cannot.'--'Yes, my child, from my heart I do forgive thee! Only repent, and we both shall yet be happy. We shall see many pleasant days yet, my Olivia!'--'Ah! never, sir, never. The rest of my wretched life must be infamy abroad and shame at home. But, alas! papa, you look much paler than you used to do. Could such a thing as I am give you so much uneasiness? Sure you have too much wisdom to take the miseries of my guilt upon yourself.'--'Our wisdom, young woman,' replied I.--'Ah, why so cold a name papa?' cried she. 'This is the first time you ever called me by so cold a name.'--'I ask pardon, my darling,' returned I; 'but I was going to observe, that wisdom makes but a slow defence against trouble, though at last a sure one.
The landlady now returned to know if we did not chuse a more genteel apartment, to which assenting, we were shewn a room, where we could converse more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations that led to her present wretched situation. 'That villain, sir,' said she, 'from the first day of our meeting made me honourable, though private, proposals.'
'Villain indeed,' cried I; 'and yet it in some measure surprizes me, how a person of Mr Burchell's good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of such deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo it.'
'My dear papa,' returned my daughter, 'you labour under a strange mistake, Mr Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead of that he took every opportunity of privately admonishing me against the artifices of Mr Thornhill, who I now find was even worse than he represented him.'--'Mr Thornhill,' interrupted I, 'can it be?' --'Yes, Sir,' returned she, 'it was Mr Thornhill who seduced me, who employed the two ladies, as he called them, but who, in fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeding or pity, to decoy us up to London. Their artifices, you may remember would have certainly succeeded, but for Mr Burchell's letter, who directed those reproaches at them, which we all applied to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence as to defeat their intentions, still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced he was ever our warmest sincerest friend.'
'You amaze me, my dear,' cried I; 'but now I find my first suspicions
The landlady now returned to know if we did not chuse a more genteel apartment, to which assenting, we were shewn a room, where we could converse more freely. After we had talked ourselves into some degree of tranquillity, I could not avoid desiring some account of the gradations that led to her present wretched situation. 'That villain, sir,' said she, 'from the first day of our meeting made me honourable, though private, proposals.'
'Villain indeed,' cried I; 'and yet it in some measure surprizes me, how a person of Mr Burchell's good sense and seeming honour could be guilty of such deliberate baseness, and thus step into a family to undo it.'
'My dear papa,' returned my daughter, 'you labour under a strange mistake, Mr Burchell never attempted to deceive me. Instead of that he took every opportunity of privately admonishing me against the artifices of Mr Thornhill, who I now find was even worse than he represented him.'--'Mr Thornhill,' interrupted I, 'can it be?' --'Yes, Sir,' returned she, 'it was Mr Thornhill who seduced me, who employed the two ladies, as he called them, but who, in fact, were abandoned women of the town, without breeding or pity, to decoy us up to London. Their artifices, you may remember would have certainly succeeded, but for Mr Burchell's letter, who directed those reproaches at them, which we all applied to ourselves. How he came to have so much influence as to defeat their intentions, still remains a secret to me; but I am convinced he was ever our warmest sincerest friend.'
'You amaze me, my dear,' cried I; 'but now I find my first suspicions