Kitabı oku: «The Works of Aphra Behn», sayfa 29

THE WANDERING BEAUTY

THE WANDERING BEAUTY

I was not above twelve Years old, as near as I can remember, when a Lady of my Acquaintance, who was particularly concern’d in many of the Passages, very pleasantly entertain’d me with the Relation of the young Lady Arabella’s Adventures, who was eldest Daughter to Sir Francis Fairname, a Gentleman of a noble Family, and of a very large Estate in the West of England, a true Church-Man, a great Loyalist, and a most discreetly-indulgent Parent; nor was his Lady any Way inferiour to him in every Circumstance of Virtue. They had only two Children more, and those were of the soft, unhappy Sex too; all very beautiful, especially Arabella, and all very much alike; piously educated, and courtly too, of naturally-virtuous Principles and Inclinations.

’Twas about the sixteenth Year of her Age, that Sir Robert Richland, her Father’s great Friend and inseparable Companion, but superiour to him in Estate as well as Years, felt the resistless Beauty of this young Lady raging and burning in his aged Veins, which had like to have been as fatal to him, as a Consumption, or his Climacterical Year of Sixty Three, in which he dy’d, as I am told, though he was then hardly Sixty. However, the Winter Medlar would fain have been inoculated in the Summer’s Nacturine. His unseasonable Appetite grew so strong and inordinate, that he was oblig’d to discover it to Sir Francis; who, though he lov’d him very sincerely, had yet a Regard to his Daughter’s Youth, and Satisfaction in the Choice of a Husband; especially, when he consider’d the great Disproportion in their Age, which he rightly imagin’d would be very disagreeable to Arabella’s Inclinations: This made him at first use all the most powerful and perswading Arguments in his Capacity, to convince Sir Robert of the Inequality of such a Match, but all to no Purpose; for his Passion increasing each Day more violently, the more assiduously, and with the greater Vehemence, he press’d his Friend to use his Interest and Authority with his Lady and Daughter, to consent to his almost unnatural Proposition; offering this as the most weighty and prevailing Argument, (which undoubtedly it was,) That since he was a Batchelor, he would settle his whole Estate upon her, if she surviv’d him, on the Day of Marriage, not desiring one Penny as a Portion with her. This Discourse wrought so powerfully with her Mother, that she promis’d the old Lover all the Assistance he could hope or expect from her: In order to which, the next Day she acquainted her fair Daughter with the Golden Advantage she was like to have, if she would but consent to lye by the Parchment that convey’d them to her. The dear, fair Creature, was so surpriz’d at this Overture made by her Mother, that her Roses turn’d all into Lillies, and she had like to have swoon’d away; but having a greater Command of her Passions than usually our Sex have, and chiefly Persons of her Age, she, after some little Disorder, which by no Means she could dissemble, she made as dutiful a Return to her Mother’s Proposition, as her Aversion to it would permit; and, for that Time, got Liberty to retreat, and lament in private the Misfortune which she partly fore-saw was impending. But her Grief (alas) was no Cure of her Malady; for the next Day she was again doubly attack’d by her Father and Mother, with all the Reasons that Interest and Duty could urge, which she endeavour’d to obviate by all the Arguments that Nature and Inclination could offer; but she found them all in vain, since they continu’d their ungrateful Solicitations for several Days together, at the End of which, they both absolutely commanded her to prepare her self for her Nuptials with Sir Robert; so that finding her self under a Necessity of complying, or at least of seeming so, she made ’em hope, that her Duty had overcome her Aversion; upon which she had a whole Week’s Liberty to walk where she would, unattended, or with what Company she pleas’d, and to make Visits to whom she had a Mind, either of her Relations or Acquaintance thereabouts; tho’ for three or four Days before, she was strictly confin’d to her Chamber.

After Dinner, on the third Day of her Enlargement, being Summer Time, she propos’d to her Mother that she would take a Walk to a Cousin of hers, who liv’d about four Miles thence, to intreat her to be one of her Bride-Maids, being then in a careless plain Dress, and having before discours’d very pleasantly and freely of her Wedding-Day, of what Friends she would have invited to that Solemnity, and what Hospitality Sir Robert should keep when she was marry’d to him: All which was highly agreeable to her Parents, who then could not forbear thanking and kissing her for it, which she return’d to ’em both with a Shower of Tears. This did not a little surprize ’em at first, but asking her what could cause such Signs of Sorrow, after so chearful a Discourse on the late Subject? She answer’d, ‘That the Thoughts of her going now suddenly to live from so dear and tender a Father and Mother, were the sole Occasion of such Expressions of Grief.’ This affectionate Reply did amply satisfy their Doubts; and she presently took Leave of ’em, after having desir’d that they would not be uneasy if she should not return ’till a little before ’twas dark, or if her Cousin should oblige her to stay all Night with her; which they took for a discreet Caution in her, considering that young Maidens love dearly to talk of Marriage Affairs, especially when so near at Hand: And thus easily parted with her, when they had walk’d with her about a Mile, over a Field or two of their own.

Never before that Time was the dear Creature glad that her Father and Mother had left her, unless when they had press’d her to a Marriage with the old Knight. They were therefore no sooner got out of Sight, e’re she took another Path, that led cross the Country, which she persu’d ’till past eight at Night, having walk’d ten Miles since two a Clock, when Sir Francis and her Mother left her: She was just now got to a little Cottage, the poor, but cleanly Habitation of a Husbandman and his Wife, who had one only Child, a Daughter, about the Lady Arabella’s Age and Stature. ’Twas happy for her she got thither before they were a Bed; for her soft and beautiful Limbs began now to be tir’d, and her tender Feet to be gall’d. To the good Woman of the House she applies her self, desiring Entertainment for that Night, offering her any reasonable Satisfaction. The good Wife, at first Sight of her, had Compassion of her, and immediately bid her walk in, telling her, that she might lye with her Daughter, if she pleas’d, who was very cleanly, tho’ not very vine. The good Man of the House came in soon after, was very well pleas’d with his new Guest; so to Supper they went very seasonably; for the poor young Lady, who was e’en ready to faint with Thirst, and not overcharg’d with what she had eaten the Day before. After Supper they ask’d her whence she came, and how she durst venture to travel alone, and a Foot? To which she reply’d, That she came from a Relation who liv’d at Exeter, with whom she had stay’d ’till she found she was burthensome: That she was of Welsh Parents, and of a good Family; but her Father dying, left a cruel Mother-in-Law, with whom she could by no Means continue, especially since she would have forc’d her to marry an old Man, whom it was impossible she should love, tho’ he was very rich: That she was now going to seek her Fortune in London, where she hop’d, at least, to get her a good Service. They all seem’d to pity her very heartily; and, in a little Time after, they went to their two several Apartments, in one of which Arabella and the Damsel of the House went to Bed, where the young Lady slept soundly, notwithstanding the Hardness of her Lodging. In the Morning, about Four, according to her laudable Custom, the young hardy Maiden got up to her daily Employment; which waken’d Arabella, who presently bethought her self of an Expedient for her more secure and easy Escape from her Parents Pursuit and Knowledge, proposing to her Bedfellow an Exchange of their Wearing-Apparel. The Heiress and Hope of that little Family was extreamly fond of the Proposal, and ran immediately to acquaint her Mother with it, who was so well pleas’d, that she could hardly believe it, when the young Lady confirm’d it, and especially, when she understood the Exchange was to be made on even Hands. ‘If you be in earnest, Forsooth, (said the Mother) you shall e’en have her Sunday-Cloaths.’ ‘Agreed (return’d Arabella) but we must change Shifts too; I have now a Couple about me, new and clean, I do assure you: For my Hoods and Head-dress you shall give me two Pinners, and her best Straw-Hat; and for my Shoes, which I have not worn above a Week, I will have her Holliday Shoes.’ ‘A Match, indeed, young Mistress,’ cry’d the good Wife. So without more Ceremony, the young unhappy Lady was attir’d in her Bedfellow’s Country Weeds, by Help of the Mother and Daughter. Then, after she had taken her Leave of the good old Man too, she put a broad round Shilling into his Wife’s Hand, as a Reward for her Supper and Lodging, which she would fain have return’d, but t’other would not receive it. ‘Nay, then, by the Mackins, (said her Hostess) you shall take a Breakfast e’re you go, and a Dinner along with you, for Fear you should be sick by the Way.’ Arabella stay’d to eat a Mess of warm Milk, and took some of their Yesterday’s Provision with her in a little course Linnen Bag. Then asking for the direct Road to London, and begging a few green Wall-nuts, she took her last Farewel of them.

Near Twelve at Noon she came to a pleasant Meadow, through which there ran a little Rivulet of clear Water, about nine miles from her last Lodging, but quite out of the Way to London. Here she sate down, and after drinking some of the Water out of the Hollow of her Hand, she open’d her Bag, and made as good a Meal as the Courseness of the Fare, and the Niceness of her Appetite would permit: After which, she bruis’d the outward green Shells of a Wall-nut or two, and smear’d her lovely Face, Hands, and Part of her Arms, with the Juice; then looking into the little purling Stream, that seem’d to murmur at the Injury she did to so much Beauty, she sigh’d and wept, to think to what base Extremities she was now likely to be reduc’d! That she should be forc’d to stain that Skin which Heaven had made so pure and white! ‘But ah! (cry’d she to her self) if my Disobedience to my Parents had not stain’d my Conscience worse, this needed not to have been done.’ Here she wept abundantly again; then, drying her Eyes, she wash’d her Feet to refresh ’em, and thence continu’d her Journey for ten Miles more, which she compass’d by seven a Clock; when she came to a Village, where she got Entertainment for that Night, paying for it, and the next Morning, before Six, as soon as she had fill’d her little Bag with what good Chear the Place afforded, she wander’d on ’till Twelve again, still crossing the Country, and taking her Course to the Northern Parts of England, which doubtless was the Reason her Father and his Servants miss’d of her in their Pursuit; for he imagin’d that for certain she had taken her nearest Way to London. After she had refresh’d her self for an Hour’s Time by the Side of a Wood, she arose and wander’d again near twelve Miles by eight a Clock, and lodg’d at a good substantial Farmer’s.

Thus she continu’d her Errantry for above a Fortnight, having no more Money than just thirty Shillings, half of which brought her to Sir Christian Kindly’s House in Lancashire. ’Twas near five a Clock in the Afternoon when she reach’d that happy Port, when, coming to the Hall Door, she enquir’d for the Lady of the House, who happily was just coming into the Hall with a little Miss in her Arms, of about four Years old, very much troubled with weak and sore Eyes: The fair Wanderer, addressing her self to the Lady with all the Humility and Modesty imaginable, begg’d to know if her Ladyship had any Place in her Family vacant, in which she might do her Service? To which the Lady return’d, (by Way of Question) Alas! poor Creature! what canst thou do? Any thing, may it please your Ladyship, (reply’d the disguis’d Beauty) any thing within my Strength and my Knowledge, I mean, Madam. Thou say’st well, (said the Lady) and I’m sorry I have not any vacant for thee. I beseech your Ladyship then (said Arabella) let me lodge in your Barn to-Night; for I am told it is a great Way hence to any Town, and I have but little Money. In my Barn, poor Girl! (cry’d the Lady, looking very earnestly on her) ay, God forbid else, unless we can find a better Lodging for thee. Art thou hungry or thirsty? Yes, Madam (reply’d the wandering Fair One) I could both eat and drink, if it please your Ladyship. The Lady commanded Victuals and Drink to be brought, and could not forbear staying in the Hall ’till she had done; when she ask’d her several Questions, as of what Country she was? To which she answer’d truly, of Somersetshire. What her Parents were, and if living? To which she return’d, They were good, honest, and religious People, and she hop’d they were alive, and in as good Health as when she left ’em. After the Lady had done catechising her, Arabella, looking on the little Child in her Ladyship’s Arms, said, Pardon me, Madam, I beseech you, if I am too bold in asking your Ladyship how that pretty Creature’s Eyes came to be so bad? By an extream Cold which she took, (reply’d the Lady.) I had not presum’d (return’d t’other) to have ask’d your Ladyship this Question, were I not assur’d that I have an infallible Cure for the Infirmity; and if, Madam, you will be pleas’d to let me apply it, I will tell your Ladyship the Remedy in private. The Lady was much surpriz’d to hear a young Creature, so meanly habited, talk so genteelly; and after surveying her very strictly, said the Lady, Have you ever experienc’d it before? Yes, Madam (reply’d the fair Physician) and never without happy Success: I dare engage, Madam, (added she) that I will make ’em as well as my own, by God’s Blessing, or else I will be content to lose mine, which Heaven forbid. Amen, (cry’d the good Lady) for they are very fine ones, on my Word. – Stay, Child, I will desire Sir Christian to hear it with me; and if he approves it, you shall about it; and if it take good Effect, we will endeavour to requite the Care and Pains it shall cost you. Saying thus, she immediately left her, and return’d very speedily with Sir Christian, who having discours’d Arabella for some time, with great Satisfaction and Pleasure, took her into the Parlour with his Lady, where she communicated her Secret to ’em both; which they found so innocent and reasonable, that they desir’d her to prepare it as soon as possible, and to make her Application of it with all convenient Speed; which she could not do ’till the next Morning. In the mean Time she was order’d a Lodging with the House-Maid, who reported to her Lady, That she found her a very sweet and cleanly Bed-fellow; (adding) That she never saw nor felt so white, so smooth, and soft a Skin. Arabella continu’d her Remedy with such good Success, that in a Fortnight’s Time little Miss’s Eyes were as lively and strong as ever. This so endear’d her to the Knight and his Lady, that they created a new Office in their Family, purposely for her, which was, Attendant on their eldest Daughter Eleanora, a Lady much about her Years and Stature; who was so charm’d with her Conversation, that she could not stir Abroad, nor eat, nor sleep, without Peregrina Goodhouse (for those were the Names she borrow’d:) Nor was her Modesty, Humility, and Sweetness of Temper, less engaging to her Fellow-Servants, who all strove which should best express their Love to her. On Festival-Days, and for the Entertainment of Strangers, she would lend her helping Hand to the Cook, and make the Sauce for every Dish, though her own Province was only to attend the young Lady, and prepare the Quidlings, and other Sweet-Meats, for the Reception of Sir Christian’s Friends; all which she did to Admiration. In this State of easy Servitude she liv’d there for near three Years, very well contented at all Times, but when she bethought her self of her Father, Mother, and Sisters, courted by all the principal Men-Servants, whom she refus’d in so obliging a Manner, and with such sweet, obliging Words, that they could not think themselves injur’d, though they found their Addresses were in vain. Mr. Prayfast, the Chaplain himself, could not hold out against her Charms. For her Skin had long since recover’d its native Whiteness; nor did she need Ornaments of Cloaths to set her Beauty off, if any Thing could adorn her, since she was dress’d altogether as costly, though not so richly (perhaps) as Eleanora. Prayfast therefore found that the Spirit was too weak for the Flesh, and gave her very broad Signs of his Kindness in Sonnets, Anagrams, and Acrosticks, which she receiv’d very obligingly of him, taking a more convenient Time to laugh at ’em with her young Lady.

Her kind Reception of them encourag’d him to that Degree, that within a few Days after, supposing himself secure on her Side, he apply’d himself to the good old Knight, his Patron, for his Consent to a Marriage with her, who very readily comply’d with his Demands, esteeming it a very advantagious Match for Peregrina, and withal told him, That he would give him three hundred Pounds with her, besides the first Benefit that should fall in his Gift. But (said he) as I doubt not that you are sufficiently acquainted with her Virtues and other excellent Qualifications, ’tis necessary that you should know the worst that I can tell you of her, which is, that she came to us a meer Stranger, in a very mean, tho’ cleanly Habit; and therefore, as she confesseth, we may conclude, of very humble, yet honest Parentage. A! (possibly) her Father might have been, or is, some Husbandman, or somewhat inferiour to that; for we took her up at the Door, begging one Night’s Entertainment in the Barn. How, Sir! (cry’d Prayfast, starting) have you no better Knowledge of her Birth, than what you are pleas’d to discover now? No better, nor more (reply’d the Knight.) Alas! Sir, then (return’d the proud canonical Sort of a Farmer) she is no Wife for me; I shall dishonour my Family by marrying so basely. Were you never told any Thing of this before? (ask’d the Knight.) You know, Sir, (answer’d the Prelate that would be) that I have not had the Honour to officiate, as your Chaplain, much more than half a Year; in which Time, ’tis true, I have heard that she was receiv’d as a Stranger; but that she came in so low a Capacity I never learn’d ’till now. I find then, Parson, (said the Knight) that you do not like the Author of your Happiness, at least, who might be so, because she comes to you in such an humble Manner; I tell you the Jews are miserable for the same Reason. She cannot be such perfectly to me (return’d t’other) without the Advantage of good Birth. With that I’m sure she would not, return’d his Patron, and left him to go to Peregrina, whom he happily found alone. Child, (said he to her) have you any Obligation to Mr. Prayfast? As how, Sir? She ask’d. Do you love him? Have you made him any Promise of Marriage? Or has he any Way engag’d himself to you? Neither, Sir, (she answer’d.) ’Tis true, I love him as my Fellow-Servant, no otherwise. He has indeed been somewhat lavish of his Wit and Rhimes to me, which serv’d well enough to divert my young Lady and me. But of all Mankind, perhaps, he should be the last I would choose for a Husband. I thought (said the good-humour’d old Knight) that he had already obtain’d a Promise from you, since he came but just now to ask my Consent, which I freely gave him at first, upon that Thought; but he is doubtful of your Birth, and fears it may dishonour his Family, if he should marry you. On my Word, Sir, (return’d Peregrina, blushing with Disdain, no doubt) our Families are by no Means equal. What thy Family is, I know not; (said Sir Christian) but I am sure thou art infinitely superiour to him in all the natural Embelishments both of Body and Mind. Be just to thy self, and be not hasty to wed: Thou hast more Merit than Wealth alone can purchase. O! dear Sir, (she return’d) you ruin me with Obligations never to be re-paid, but in Acknowledgment, and that imperfectly too. Here they were interrupted by the young Lady, to whom she repeated the Conference betwixt Sir Christian and Prayfast, as soon as ever Sir Christian left the Room.

About a Week after, Sir Lucius Lovewell, (a young Gentleman, of a good Presence, Wit, and Learning enough, whose Father, dying near a Twelve-month before, had left him upwards of 3000l. a Year, which, too, was an excellent Accomplishment, tho’ not the best; for he was admirably good-humour’d) came to visit Sir Christian Kindly; and, as some of the Family imagin’d, ’twas with Design to make his Addresses to the young Lady, Sir Christian’s Daughter. Whatever his Thoughts were, his Treatment, there, was very generous and kind. He saw the Lady, and lik’d her very well; nay, doubtless, would have admitted a Passion for her, had not his Destiny at the same Time shewn him Peregrina. She was very beautiful, and he as sensible; and ’tis not to be doubted, but that he immediately took Fire. However, his Application and Courtship, free and unaffected, were chiefly directed to Sir Christian’s Daughter: Some little Respects he paid to Peregrina, who could not choose but look on him as a very fine, good-humour’d, and well-accomplish’d Gentleman. When the Hour came that he thought fit to retreat, Sir Christian ask’d him, When he would make ’em happy again in his Conversation? To which he return’d, That since he was not above seven or eight Miles from him, and that there were Charms so attractive at Sir Christian’s, he should take the Liberty to visit him sooner and oftener than he either expected or desir’d. T’other reply’d, That was impossible; and so, without much more Ceremony, he took his Leave of that delightful Company for two or three Days; at the End of which he return’d, with Thoughts much different from those at his first Coming thither, being strongly agitated by his Passion for Peregrina. He took and made all the Opportunities and Occasions that Chance and his own Fancy could offer and present to talk to her, both before, at, and after Dinner; and his Eyes were so constantly fix’d on her, that he seem’d to observe nothing else; which was so visible to Sir Christian, his Lady, and Daughter, that they were convinc’d of their Error, in believing, that he came to make his Court to the young Lady. This late Discovery of the young Knight’s Inclinations, was no Way unpleasant to Sir Christian and his Lady; and to the young Lady it was most agreeable and obliging, since her Heart was already pre-engag’d elsewhere; and since she did equally desire the good fortune of her beautiful Attendant with her own.

The Table was no sooner clear’d, and a loyal Health or two gone round, e’re Sir Christian ask’d his young amorous Guest to take a Walk with him in the Gardens: To which Sir Lucius readily consented, designing to disclose that to him for a Secret, which was but too apparent to all that were present at Table: When therefore he thought he had sufficiently admir’d and commended the Neatness of the Walks and Beauty of the Flowers, he began, to this Effect:

Possibly, Sir Christian, I shall surprize you with the Discourse I’m going to make you; but ’tis certain no Man can avoid the Necessity of the Fate which he lies under; at least I have now found it so. – I came at first, Sir, with the Hopes of prevailing on you to honour and make me happy in a Marriage with Madam Eleanora your Daughter; but at the same Instant I was seiz’d with so irresistable a Passion for the charming Peregrina, that I find no Empire, Fame, nor Wit, can make me perfectly bless’d here below, without the Enjoyment of that beautiful Creature. Do not mistake me, Sir, (I beseech you, continu’d he) I mean an honourable Enjoyment. – I will make her my Wife, Sir, if you will be generously pleas’d to use your Interest with her on my Part.

To which the good old Knight reply’d, What you think (Sir) you have now imparted as a Secret, has been the general Observation of all my Family, e’re since you gave us the Happiness of your Company to Day: Your Passion is too great to be disguis’d; and I am extremely pleas’d, that you can think any Thing in my House worthy the Honour you intend Peregrina. Indeed, had you made any particular and publick Address to my Daughter, I should have believ’d it want of Merit in her, or in us, her Parents, that you should, after that, quit your Pretensions to her, without any willing or known Offence committed on our Side. I therefore (Sir) approve your Choice, and promise you my utmost Assistance afar. She is really virtuous in all the Latitude of Virtue; her Beauty is too visible to be disputed ev’n by Envy it self: As for her Birth, she best can inform you of it; I must only let you know, that, as her Name imports, she was utterly a Stranger, and entertain’d by us in pure Charity. But the Antiquity and Honour of your Family can receive no Diminution by a Match with a beautiful and virtuous Creature, for whom, you say, and I believe, you have so true a Passion. I have now told you the worst (Sir) that I know of her; but your Wealth and Love may make you both eternally happy on Earth. And so they shall, by her dear self, (return’d the amorous Knight) if both of ’em may recommend me to her, with your Perswasions added, which still I beg. Say, rather you command; and with those three hundred Pounds which I promis’d her, if she marry’d with my Consent to Mr. Prayfast.

To this, the other smiling, reply’d, Her Person and Love is all I court or expect, Sir: But since you have thought her worthy of so great an Expression of your Favour and Kindness, I will receive it with all Humility as is from a Father, which I shall ever esteem you. – But see, Sir, (cry’d he in an Extasy) how she comes, led by Madam Eleanora, your Daughter. The young Lady coming to him, began thus: I know (Sir) ’tis my Father and Mother’s Desire and Ambition to shew you the heartiest Welcome in their Power, which can by no Means be made appear so particularly and undisputably, as by presenting you with what you like best in the Family: In Assurance therefore that I shall merit their Favour by this Act, I have brought your dear Peregrina to you, not without Advice, and some Instructions of mine, that may concern her Happiness with you, if discreetly observ’d and persu’d by her. In short, (Sir) I have told her, that a Gentleman of so good a Figure, such excellent Parts, and generous Education, of so ancient and honourable a Family, together with so plentiful an Estate as you at present possess, is capable of bringing Happiness to any, the fairest Lady in this Country at least. O Madam! (return’d Sir Lucius) your Obligation is so great, that I want Sense to receive it as I ought; much more Words to return you any proportionable Acknowledgment of it. But give me Leave to say thus much, Madam; that my Thoughts of making my Court to your Ladiship, first invited me to give Sir Christian, your Father, the Trouble of a Visit, since the Death of mine. However, the over-ruling Powers have thought to divert my Purpose, and the offering of my Heart, which can never rest, but with this dear charming Creature. – Your Merits, Madam – are sufficient for the Gentleman on whom I entirely fix’d my Affections, before you did me the Honour and your self the Trouble of your first Visit (interrupted Sir Christian’s Daughter.) And now, Sir, (added she to her Father) if you please, let us leave ’em to make an End of this Business between themselves. No, Madam, (cry’d Sir Lucius) your Father has promis’d me to make Use of his Interest with her for my Sake. This I now expect, Sir. Then (said the old Knight) thou dear beautiful and virtuous Stranger! if I have any Power to perswade thee, take my Advice, and this honourable Gentleman to thy loving Husband; I’m sure he’ll prove so to thee. If I could command thee I would. Ah Sir! (said she, kneeling, with Tears falling from her charming Eyes) I know none living that has greater Right and Power. – But (alas Sir!) this honourable Person knows not the Meanness of my Birth, at least, he cannot think it any Way proportionable or suitable to his. O thou dear Creature, (cry’d her Lover, setting one Knee to the Ground, and taking her up) Sir Christian has already discours’d all thy Circumstances to me: Rise and bless me with thy Consent. I must ask my Lady’s, Sir, (she reply’d.) See, here my Mother comes (said the young Lady) and entreated her good Word for Sir Lucius. The good ancient Lady began then to use all the Arguments to incline her to yield to her Happiness; and, in fine, she was prevail’d on to say, I do consent, and will endeavour to deserve the honourable Title of your dutiful Wife, Sir. ’Twas with no common Joy and Transport that he receiv’d her Hand, and kiss’d those dear Lips that gave him an Assurance of his Happiness; which he resolv’d should begin about a Month or two afterwards; in which Time he might send Orders to London for the making their Wedding Cloaths. Into the House then they all went, Sir Lucius leading Peregrina, and the first they met of the Family was Prayfast, who was not a little surpriz’d nor discompos’d at that Sight; and more especially when Sir Christian told him, That tho’ he did not think that beautiful sweet Stranger worthy the Title of his Wife, yet now he should be oblig’d to join her to that honourable Person. The Slave bow’d, and look’d very pale.

All Things were at last got ready for the Consummation of their Bliss, and Prayfast did their Business effectually, tho’ much against his Will; however he receiv’d the Reward of twenty Broad Pieces. The Wedding was kept for a Week at Sir Christian’s House; after which they adjourn’d to the Bridegroom’s, where it lasted as long as Sir Christian, his Lady, Daughter, and the rest of that Family would stay. As they were leaving him, Sir Lucius dispos’d of two hundred Pounds amongst Sir Christian’s Servants, and the rest of the three hundred he distributed among the Poor of both Parishes.