But not such was the selfishness of Mr Arnott; and Cecilia, when she went down to breakfast, perceived with the utmost concern that he had passed a night as sleepless as her own. A visit so sudden, so unexpected, and so unaccountable, from an object that no discouragement could make him think of with indifference, had been a subject to him of conjecture and wonder that had revived all the hopes and the fears which had lately, though still unextinguished, lain dormant. The enquiries, however, which his sister had given up, he ventured not to renew, and thought himself but too happy in her presence, whatever might be the cause of her visit.
He perceived, however, immediately, the sadness that hung upon her mind, and his own was redoubled by the sight: Mrs Harrel, also, saw that she looked ill, but attributed it to the fatigue and fright of the preceding evening, well knowing that a similar accident would have made her ill herself, or fancy that she was so.
During breakfast, Cecilia sent for the postilion, to enquire of him how the man had fared, whose good-natured assistance in their distress had been so unfortunate to himself. He answered that he had turned out to be a day labourer, who lived about half a mile off. And then, partly to gratify her own humanity, and partly to find any other employment for herself and friends than uninteresting conversation, she proposed that they should all walk to the poor man’s habitation, and offer him some amends for the injury he had received. This was readily assented to, and the postilion directed them whither to go. The place was a cottage, situated upon a common; they entered it without ceremony, and found a clean looking woman at work.
Cecilia enquired for her husband, and was told that he was gone out to day-labour.
“I am very glad to hear it,” returned she; “I hope then he has got the better of the accident he met with last night?”
“It was not him, madam,” said the woman, “met with the accident, it was John;—there he is, working in the garden.”
To the garden then they all went, and saw him upon the ground, weeding.
The moment they approached he arose, and, without speaking, began to limp, for he could hardly walk; away.
“I am sorry, master,” said Cecilia, “that you are so much hurt. Have you had anything put to your foot?”
The man made no answer, but still turned away from her; a glance, however, of his eye, which the next instant he fixed upon the ground, startled her; she moved round to look at him again,—and perceived Mr Belfield!
“Good God!” she exclaimed; but seeing him still retreat, she recollected in a moment how little he would be obliged to her for betraying him, and suffering him to go on, turned back to her party, and led the way again into the house.
As soon as the first emotion of her surprise was over, she enquired how long John had belonged to this cottage, and what was his way of life.
The woman answered he had only been with them a week, and that he went out to day-labour with her husband.
Cecilia then, finding their stay kept him from his employment, and willing to save him the distress of being seen by Mr Arnott or Mrs Harrel, proposed their returning home. She grieved most sincerely at beholding in so melancholy an occupation a young man of such talents and abilities; she wished much to assist him, and began considering by what means it might be done, when, as they were walking from the cottage, a voice at some distance called out “Madam! Miss Beverley!” and, looking round, to her utter amazement she saw Belfield endeavouring to follow her.
She instantly stopt, and he advanced, his hat in his hand, and his whole air indicating he sought not to be disguised.
Surprised at this sudden change of behaviour, she then stept forward to meet him, accompanied by her friends: but when they came up to each other, she checked her desire of speaking, to leave him fully at liberty to make himself known, or keep concealed.
He bowed with a look of assumed gaiety and ease, but the deep scarlet that tinged his whole face manifested his internal confusion; and in a voice that attempted to sound lively, though its tremulous accents betrayed uneasiness and distress, he exclaimed, with a forced smile, “Is it possible Miss Beverley can deign to notice a poor miserable day-labourer such as I am? how will she be justified in the beau monde, when even the sight of such a wretch ought to fill her with horror? Henceforth let hysterics be blown to the winds, and let nerves be discarded from the female vocabulary, since a lady so young and fair can stand this shock without hartshorn or fainting!”
“I am happy,” answered Cecilia, “to find your spirits so good; yet my own, I must confess, are not raised by seeing you in this strange situation.”
“My spirits!” cried he, with an air of defiance, “never were they better, never so good as at this moment. Strange as seems my situation, it is all that I wish; I have found out, at last, the true secret of happiness! that secret which so long I pursued in vain, but which always eluded my grasp, till the instant of despair arrived, when, slackening my pace, I gave it up as a phantom. Go from me, I cried, I will be cheated no more! thou airy bubble! thou fleeting shadow! I will live no longer in thy sight, since thy beams dazzle without warming me! Mankind seems only composed as matter for thy experiments, and I will quit the whole race, that thy delusions may be presented to me no more!”
This romantic flight, which startled even Cecilia, though acquainted with his character, gave to Mrs Harrel and Mr Arnott the utmost surprize; his appearance, and the account they had just heard of him, having by no means prepared them for such sentiments or such language.
“Is then this great secret of happiness,” said Cecilia, “nothing, at last, but total seclusion from the world?”
“No, madam,” answered he, “it is Labour with Independence.”
Cecilia now wished much to ask some explanation of his affairs, but was doubtful whether he would gratify her before Mrs Harrel and Mr Arnott, and hurt to keep him standing, though he leant upon a stick; she told him, therefore, she would at present detain him no longer, but endeavour again to see him before she quitted her friends.
Mr Arnott then interfered, and desired his sister would entreat Miss Beverley to invite whom she pleased to his house.
Cecilia thanked him, and instantly asked Belfield to call upon her in the afternoon.
“No, madam, no,” cried he, “I have done with visits and society! I will not so soon break through a system with much difficulty formed, when all my future tranquility depends upon adhering to it. The worthlessness of mankind has disgusted me with the world, and my resolution in quitting it shall be immoveable as its baseness.”
“I must not venture then,” said Cecilia, “to enquire—”
“Enquire, madam,” interrupted he, with quickness, “what you please: there is nothing I will not answer to you,—to this lady, to this gentleman, to any and to every body. What can I wish to conceal, where I have nothing to gain or to lose? When first, indeed, I saw you, I involuntarily shrunk; a weak shame for a moment seized me, I felt fallen and debased, and I wished to avoid you: but a little recollection brought me back to my senses, And where, cried I, is the disgrace of exercising for my subsistence the strength with which I am endued? and why should I blush to lead the life which uncorrupted Nature first prescribed to man?”
“Well, then,” said Cecilia, more and more interested to hear him, “if you will not visit us, will you at least permit us to return with you to some place where you can be seated?”
“I will with pleasure,” cried he, “go to any place where you may be seated yourselves; but for me, I have ceased to regard accommodation or inconvenience.”
They then all went back to the cottage, which was now empty, the woman being out at work.
“Will you then, Sir,” said Cecilia, “give me leave to enquire whether Lord Vannelt is acquainted with your retirement, and if it will not much surprize and disappoint him?”
“Lord Vannelt,” cried he, haughtily, “has no right to be surprised. I would have quitted his house, if no other, not even this cottage, had a roof to afford me shelter!”
“I