Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph: Extracted from her own Journal, and now first publishedSheridan, Frances Chamberlaine
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Memoirs of Miss Sidney Biddulph: Extracted from her own Journal, and now first published
Sheridan, Frances Chamberlaine
English fiction -- 18th century
Dear brother, said I, I conjure you, (and I fell upon my knees and
clasped both my arms around his) do not add to my affliction, by
involving yourself and my husband in a fatal quarrel. What difference
would it make to me, if Mr Arnold should fall, whether it is by your
hand or Mr Faulkland's? The loss would be the same; the misfortune, the
publication of my disgrace, the same. Your husband, said he, breaking
from me, though a little softened, would have as good a chance as I, if
it came to the hazard; or perhaps he might condescend to take you again
(if you will have it so), without coming to these extremities, if I am
suffered to argue properly with him.--I will not consent to your seeing
him at all, said I, eagerly. The cause is now my own, he answered,
coolly; but I will do nothing to aggravate your distress. I did not like
the manner in which he spoke. My mother, who till now had been silent,
caught the alarm. Let me intreat you, son, said she, to drop the
thoughts of any violent methods with Mr Arnold. If you value your
sister's peace, or have any regard to the obedience you owe me, I insist
on it, that you neither see him nor write to him, without our knowlege
and consent; and if you do not promise me this, I renounce all ties of
kindred or affection to you: your mother has as just a sense of the
honour of her family as you can have; but it is not on so hot a head,
and so weak an arm, that she depends to see it justified to the world.
Sir George, who was nettled at my mother's spirited rebuke, made her a
low bow. No doubt of it, madam, said he, there will be a miracle wrought
in my sister's favour. I would have you let her try the experiment of
the ordeal: I dare say she would come off victorious, and then Mr Arnold
would do you the favour to take her home again. I wish, said my mother,
gravely, that there was a possibility of bringing my dear child's
innocence to such a proof; I would not hesitate a minute to put it to
the trial: but since there is no such a thing _now-a-days_, I will wait
till God, in his own righteousness, shall judge her cause, and clear her
to the world. Therefore, son, I insist upon your promise before you
leave me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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