# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 36

CHAPTER VI
Poor David had no person to tell his griefs to; he loved Camilla so sincerely, that whatever resolutions he made to declare it to her, the great ​awe with which he was seized whenever he approached her took from him the power of speaking. And he was afraid to mention it to her brother first, lest she should be offended, and think he was mean enough to expect a compliance from them both on account of the obligations they owed him.
Sometimes his imagination would indulge him with the thoughts of the happiness he should enjoy if he could be beloved by and lead his life with Camilla. He was sure she had every good quality human nature is capable of possessing. He ran over every virtue in his own mind, and gave her them all, without any exception. Then he reflected on every vice, and exulted in the thought that she was quite free from them. Sometimes he was in despair of ever engaging her to return his love, and then in a moment succeeded hopes and raptures; and all this without any intervening action of hers to give him the least reason to believe either one way or the other.
In short, both David and Valentine were afraid of explaining themselves too far, lest they should disoblige Camilla and Cynthia; and they, on the other hand, had no fear but that their lovers meant no more than they expressed. Miss Johnson's behaviour, in spite of himself, would often force itself on David's memory; for that is one of the curses which attend the having ever been disappointed in our opinion of a person we have esteemed: it is an alloy to all our future pleasures; we cannot help remembering, while we are indulging ourselves in any new engagement, that once thought as well of another who with the same seeming indifference deceived us, and we dread the same thing may happen over again. But these thoughts only took place in Camilla's absence; the moment she appeared, all disagreeable ideas ​vanished, and the most pleasing ones imaginable succeeded.
Valentine and Camilla often sighed at the remembrance of their father's usage; but they cautiously hid from their generous benefactor that any uneasy thoughts ever intruded on their minds: he fancied them entirely happy, and that their happiness was owing to him. None but minds like David's can imagine the pleasure this consideration gave him. Cynthia saw through Valentine's behaviour; and yet sometimes she could not help fearing that this thoughtfulness might arise from some other cause than what she would have it; and her great anxiety concerning it naturally produced suspicion.
As this little company were sitting and comparing their present situation with what they had formerly been in, they heard so violent a rap at the next door, they could not help having curiosity enough to run to the window, and saw it was occasioned by the arrival of a gilt chariot, in which was a person in whose looks was plainly to be perceived that he was perfectly satisfied with himself and conscious that he made a good figure; that is, he was very well dressed, and his equipage such as no nobleman would have had any reason to have been ashamed of. While the door was opening, he happened to cast his eyes on Camilla, and fixed them with such attention that as he was entering the house his foot slipped, and he fell down. David, who was always ready to give assistance where it was wanted, ran downstairs, to see if he could be of any service to him. The gentleman had struck his face against an iron at the side of the door, and felt a good deal of pain; but the moment he saw David, he begged he would be so good as to carry him into the house where he had seen him at a window with a young ​lady whom he was very desirious of speaking to, because he had something to tell her which he believed would prove to her advantage. That consideration was enough for David; and, without any further hesitation, he introduced him into the room to Camilla. The moment she saw him, it was visible by her countenance he was not a perfect stranger to her; for she alternately blushed, turned pale, and seemed to be in the greatest agitation of spirits imaginable. The gentleman begged the liberty of being one half-hour alone with her, as what he had to communicate concerned only her, and was of such a nature that it required the utmost privacy.
Camilla, who did indeed know him to be my Lord ———, an intimate acquaintance of her father's, fancied he had something to say to her from him; and that thought made her so solicitous to know what it was, that, without thinking of any further consequence, she begged the rest of the company to retire a little, while she heard what my lord had to say; which, as they none of them ever refused her anything she desired, was immediately complied with.
Valentine was a stranger to this noble lord, as he was gone abroad before he came from his studies to live with his father; however, he thought the alteration of Camilla's countenance, at the sight of him, was owing to the shame of seeing a person she knew whilst she lived in reputation with her father, now that she was certain he must have heard an infamous story of her. But David could not help fearing she felt something more at the sight of him than merely shame. Miss Johnson forced herself again on his memory; and when he considered the fine equipage and the title of a lord, he was in the utmost consternation what would be the event of this affair.
​This lord was one of those men who lay it down as a maxim, that a woman who has lost her virtue from fondness to one man, is ever afterwards to be purchased by the best bidder. He had always liked Camilla; but as she lived in a station that he could not think of her on any other terms than marriage, and he knew her father could not give her as much fortune as was necessary to pay off a mortgage which was on his estate, he had never said any tiling to her farther than common gallantry; but when he heard that she was run away in such an infamous manner with her brother, he concluded money would be so acceptable to her, that he could not fail obtaining her by that means. He had often enquired privately after her, but always in vain, till he accidentally saw her at that window.
The moment they were alone, Camilla inquired with great eagerness if he had any thing to say to her from her father, or could tell her any news of him. On which he replied, that all he knew of her father was, that he and his wife lived on in the same house in which she had left them; but his business was of another kind, in which he himself was only concerned. Then, with a heap of those fulsome compliments which only prove the strongest contempt for the person they are made to, he modestly proposed her living with him as mistress; said, she should command his fortune; that he would get her brother a commission in the army to go abroad, and her father should never know by whose interest he had obtained it.
Camilla, whose virtue was not of that outrageous kind which breaks out in a noise like thunder on such occasions, very calmly answered him as follows—"My lord, notwithstanding what you have heard of me, I am as innocent now as when you first knew me; and though malice has contrived to make me infamous, it never shall make me guilty; nor ​is it in the power of all your fortune to bribe me to do a criminal or mean action: and if your lordship has no other business with me, I must beg leave to desire my brother, and the man on earth I most esteem, to walk in again." He had too much confidence in his own charms to take an immediate denial; and as to her talking of the man she esteemed, he fancied she was grown weary of her brother, and had acquired a new gallant, which he thought looked well on his side. He used the most pressing arguments he could think on to make her comply, but all in vain: he imagined her not calling to her brother was an encouragement to him to proceed; but she was really afraid to let him know anything of the matter, dreading what might be the consequence. At last, when my lord found all his promises and fine speeches made no impression on her, he took his leave.
The moment he was gone, David, Valentine, and Cynthia flew into the room, and found Camilla in the utmost confusion: she knew not which way to act; had not an instant to consider; and could not resolve whether it was best for her to inform them of what had passed or no. Valentine hastily inquired if she had heard anything from their father; for he said he supposed she must know that lord while she lived at home. She replied. No, she had heard nothing, but that he lived in the same place where they left him. She stammered, and seemed to wish they would ask no more questions; but this put David on the rack, and he could not forbear being so inquisitive, that at last she was forced to tell them the whole truth, with the reserve only of the lord's title.
Valentine flew into a violent passion; vowed he would find out who he was, and let him know no station should screen a man from his resentment who durst affront his sister. Poor Cynthia was ​quite frighted, and urged all the reasons she could think on to make him change his purpose; and Camilla told him he should consider that her unhappy circumstances, and her being infamous, had thrown her so low, that a man might be more excusable for talking to her in that strain than to any other woman. What she said to pacify Valentine made David almost mad, and threw him so off his guard, he could not help saying, he thought she pleaded very well in the defence of her lover. On which he left the room and retired to his own chamber. When he was gone, Cynthia employed all her thoughts in endeavouring to calm Valentine.
Poor Camilla knew not which way to act: she saw David's uneasiness; it was not her pride which prevented her following him, and endeavouring to make him easy. But as he had never seriously declared more than a great friendship for her, she knew not which way to treat so delicate a passion as jealousy, whilst she must not own she saw it. She sat some time silent; but at last found the agitation of her mind was so great, it would be impossible for her to conceal her thoughts; and therefore, on the pretence of indisposition, retired to her own chamber, where she spent the whole night in greater anxiety than I can express. She did not feel one pleasing sensation from the idea that the man who loved her was in torment on her account; but, on the contrary, was melted into tenderness and grief at the thoughts of every pang be felt; and nothing but the most invincible regard to decency could have prevented her flying to him, and telling him the whole truth, in order to ease him of his pain.
As to David, the thoughts of Camilla's having ever liked another quite overcame him; he knew not whether he was awake or in a dream. But notwithstanding all the raging passions which ​warred in his mind, he could not but reflect that he had nothing to accuse Camilla of, for that she was under no sort of engagement to him, and at full liberty to like whom she pleased; yet, when he fancied any other man was the object of her love, he could not help thinking she had not half those virtues he before thought her possessed of. For an instant he felt a passion which he had before never conceived for her, nor indeed for any other; and which I should not scruple to call hatred, had it not been one of those abortive thoughts which are the first sallies of our passions, and which immediately vanish on reflection; for as it was impossible for him to hate a creature who had never injured him, that consideration absolutely removed what seemed alone to promise him comfort; and he saw Camilla in the same amiable light in which he had ever beheld her, with the addition only of a despair, which at once heightened all her beauties, and made them fatal to his repose.
Valentine and Cynthia, from seeing their distress had both endeavoured to bring them together in the evening; but they pleaded ill health, and begged to stay in their separate apartments. The next morning they found such misery in not seeing each other that they both came to breakfast with their companions: they entered the room at different doors at the same instant; the wanness of their looks (for it is incredible how much one night's perturbation of mind will alter people who have strong and delicate sensations) and the faltering of their voices, more strongly pointed out their thoughts than the most laboured eloquence could possibly have done. Neither of them could bring themselves to speak first; for as David had never made any actual addresses to Camilla, it was impossible for him to charge her with any crime, I or even to mention the affair to her which gave ​him so much uneasiness. She, on the other hand (though her mind had been totally void of pride, of which she had very little; or of modesty, of which she was the most exact pattern), could not have begun to excuse a crime of which she was entirely innocent to a man who neither did nor had any right to censure her. As for Valentine, he was in a dilemma no less perplexing; for though he was sensible of David's jealousy, and confident of his Camilla's innocence, yet, in their present situation, he could by no means persuade himself to say anything which might have been construed as a direct offer of his sister to a man to whom they both were so greatly obliged, and who at that time appeared in the sight of fortune (the only light by which some people's eyes can see) so highly their superior.
As for Cynthia, she knew too much of the world, and was too well bred, to intermeddle officiously in so delicate an affair.
Under these circumstances were this little company, when by lucky accident, rather than good design, did the author of all this mischief unravel the perplexity he had occasioned, by means of a letter which a servant now delivered to Camilla. She opened it hastily, wondering what corner of the earth could produce a correspondent for her at this time, David watched her looks; and observing she blushed and changed colour, was in the utmost anxiety, in which she left him no longer than while she read the letter; when she sent the servant out of the room, and gave it into his hand, saying, she thought every one in that company had a right to know all that concerned her, as she was convinced they were her sincere friends. David read it aloud to Valentine and Cynthia; but how much were they surprised when they found the contents were as follows—
​"Madam,—
I am really ashamed of my conduct towards you yesterday; my inclination for you makes it an easy matter for me to be convinced of your innocence, but I would have you also clear in the eyes of the world; and if you will come home again to your father's, I will make it my whole study to justify you, and find out the author of this vile report. As soon as that can be done, if you will consent to it, I will receive you of your father as my wife. I am. Madam, your most obedient, humble servant, etc."
They all sat for a moment staring at each other, as in amazement. Camilla first broke silence; and looking at David, said, if they pleased, either Valentine or he should dictate an answer to this letter. David, instead of being pleased at this, turned pale: he remembered he had overheard Miss Johnson say she was in hopes he would be too much afraid of making her unhappy to press her to refuse a good offer for him; and he now began to fear Camilla had the same way of thinking and only said this to pique his generosity, to desire her to accept of such a match: he therefore told her he thought she was the best judge what to answer; for as the happiness of a reasonable creature did by no means depend on grandeur, he did not think himself obliged to persuade her to consent to my Lord ———'s proposal. When Camilla found which way he took what she had said, she pitied him, because she saw he was uneasy; imputed it to the delicacy of his love for her; and acted quite contrary to what some good-natured women do, who, when they see a man vexed on their account, take that opportunity of teasing him. She told him he had perfectly mistaken her meaning, as she would immediately convince him; on which ​called for pen and ink, and wrote the following letter—
"My Lord,—
"I now think myself as much obliged to you as I thought the contrary yesterday: I have some very strong reasons, which make it impossible for me to accept the honour you intend me; and as to my returning to my father's house, the usage I have already met with there has determined me never to subject myself to the like again; which I am certain must always be the case whilst Livia is mistress of it. I am, my lord, with the most grateful sense of the favour you designed me, your lordship's most obliged, obedient humble servant,
"Camilla."
It is utterly impossible to describe the agitations of David's mind while she was writing, or his raptures when he heard what she had written. Valentine highly approved of her proceedings; for as she had kept her word in informing him of everything that passed between her and David, he was not ignorant how much he would have suffered had she accepted of my lord. And Cynthia admired her resolution and greatness of mind to such a degree that she could not forbear expressing to her friend with what an additional esteem that one action had inspired her.
They were all surprised what could have altered my Lord ——— so much in one day; but his lordship, when he left Camilla, could not believe he was awake; so impossible it appeared to him that any woman could resist both his person and fortune; his pride was piqued at it; and, besides, his inclination was heightened by the difficulty he found in the gratifying it.
He now began to believe all the stories he had heard of Camilla were false, for he was very certain ​the woman who could withstand him must be virtuous. In short, he found himself so uneasy without her that he thought, if there could be any method found of regaining her reputation, he could be contented to marry her: a strong proof of the strange inconsistency of the human mind! For whilst there was no other objection but her want of fortune, and he might have received her with honour at her father's hands, he could command his passion; but when there was the addition of many other objections to prevent his indulging it, he was willing to overcome them all. The truth was, while she lived with her father, he had never given himself leave to have the smallest hopes of her in one way; and as he thought it imprudent to think on her in the other, his desires were curbed by the apparent impossibility of gratifying them. But when he thought her both infamous and poor, he had made himself so certain of obtaining her, he could not bear the disappointment of being refused; and perplexed himself so long about it, that at last, like Heartfree in the play of the "Old Bachelor," "He ran into the danger to avoid the apprehension;" and wrote the foregoing letter.
David now was perfectly easy, and there was a general cheerfulness throughout the whole company for the evening; and when they retired to rest, it with that calmness which is always the companion of innocence and health. The adventures of the next day shall be reserved for another chapter.