Didactic fiction; Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Married women -- Fiction
“When everything was agreed on, and the two commissions were actually
made out, but not signed by the king, one day, at my return from
hunting, Amelia flew to me, and eagerly embracing me, cried out, ‘O
Billy, I have news for you which delights my soul. Nothing sure was
ever so fortunate as the exchange you have made. The regiment you was
formerly in is ordered for Gibraltar.’
“I received this news with far less transport than it was delivered. I
answered coldly, since the case was so, I heartily hoped the commissions
might be both signed. ‘What do you say?’ replied Amelia eagerly;
‘sure you told me everything was entirely settled. That look of yours
frightens me to death.’--But I am running into too minute particulars.
In short, I received a letter by that very post from the officer with
whom I had exchanged, insisting that, though his majesty had not signed
the commissions, that still the bargain was valid, partly urging it as a
right, and partly desiring it as a favour, that he might go to Gibraltar
in my room.
“This letter convinced me in every point. I was now informed that the
commissions were not signed, and consequently that the exchange was not
compleated; of consequence the other could have no right to insist on
going; and, as for granting him such a favour, I too clearly saw I must
do it at the expense of my honour. I was now reduced to a dilemma, the
most dreadful which I think any man can experience; in which, I am not
ashamed to own, I found love was not so overmatched by honour as he
ought to have been. The thoughts of leaving Amelia in her present
condition to misery, perhaps to death or madness, were insupportable;
nor could any other consideration but that which now tormented me on the
other side have combated them a moment.”
“No woman upon earth,” cries Miss Matthews, “can despise want of spirit
in a man more than myself; and yet I cannot help thinking you was rather
too nice on this occasion.”
“You will allow, madam,” answered Booth, “that whoever offends against
the laws of honour in the least instance is treated as the highest
delinquent. Here is no excuse, no pardon; and he doth nothing who leaves
anything undone. But if the conflict was so terrible with myself alone,
what was my situation in the presence of Amelia? how could I support her
sighs, her tears, her agonies, her despair? could I bear to think myself
the cruel cause of her sufferings? for so I was: could I endure the
thought of having it in my power to give her instant relief, for so it
was, and refuse it her?
“Miss Betty was now again become my friend. She had scarce been civil to
me for a fortnight last past, yet now she commended me to the skies,
and as severely blamed her sister, whom she arraigned of the most
contemptible weakness in preferring my safety to my honour: she said
many ill-natured things on the occasion, which I shall not now repeat.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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