# The Adventures of David Simple (1904)/Chapter 20

CHAPTER IX
My hero now had left Varnish, and Cynthia was gone out of town; so that he was to begin the world again. And the next fancy he took into his head, was to dress himself in a mean habit, take an ordinary lodging, and go amongst the lower sort of people, and see what he could make of them. He went from house to house for a whole month; for as he was now got amongst a class of people who had not had the advantages from education which teach men the way of artfully disguising their dispositions, whilst he lived with them, he never imagined he had met with anything he could esteem. For mercenary views there were so immediately perceptible in everything they all said or did, that he met with fewer disappointments in this way than in any other. This gave him but a melancholy prospect; for he thought, if a disposition was naturally good, it would appear as well in the lowest as in the highest station.
As he was sitting one evening revolving these things in his mind, he suddenly heard a great scolding, in a female voice, over his head; which was so shrill, and continued so long in one tone, that it gave him a curiosity to know the meaning of it. He went up stairs into a garret, where he saw a most moving scene. There lay on a bed (or rather on a parcel of rags patched together, to which the mistress of the house chose to give the name of a bed) a young man, looking as pale as death, with his eyes sunk in his head, and hardly able to breathe, covered with half a dirty rug, which would scarce come round him. On one side of him sat, holding him by the hand, a young woman, in an uld silk ​gown, which looked as if it had been a good one, but tattered, that it would barely cover her with decency; her countenance wan with affliction, and tears stood in her eyes, which she seemed unwilling to let fall, lest she should add to the sorrow of the man she sat by, and which, however, she was not able to restrain. The walls were bare, and broke in many places in such a manner, that they were scarce sufficient to keep out the weather. The land-lady stood over them, looking like a fury, and swearing she would have her money; that she did not understand what people meant by coming to lodge in other folks' houses without paying them for it: she had been put off several times, and she could not stay any longer.
David was struck dumb at this scene; he stared at the man on the bed, viewed the young woman; then turned his eyes on the landlady, whom he was ready to throw down stairs for her cruelty. He was for some time disabled from speaking, by the astonishment he was under. The young woman, in a low voice, interrupted with sobs and tears, begged the landlady to have patience; and promised, if she should ever be worth so much, she would pay her double the sum she owed her; begged her no more to disturb her brother in his present condition; but if he must die, that she would suffer him to die in peace. During the time she was speaking, David's tears flowed as fast as her's; his words could find no utterance, and he stood motionless as a statue. The landlady replied immediately in a surly tone, "Brother!—Yes, it is very likely indeed, that anyone would be so concerned for only a brother!" and she believed, if she was to tell her butcher and baker she would pay them, if ever she should be worth the money, she must go without bread and meat; she could not think how folks imagined she could live, unless she was paid her own.
​David now could hold no longer, but cried out, "Can anything in a human shape persecute creatures in the misery this young man and woman are? What do they owe you? I will pay you immediately, if you will let them be quiet." As soon as the woman heard she was to have her money, she turned her furious look and tone into the mildest she was capable of; made a low curtsey, and said, she was sure no one could think her unreasonable in desiring what was her due, she asked no more; and if the gentleman would promise to pay for it, she would fetch them anything they wanted. For her part, she was as willing to be obliging as another. In saying this she left the room.
The young woman stared for the space of a minute on David, with a wildness which quite frightened him: at last she got up, threw herself at his feet, and said, she was sure he was some angel, who had put on a human form, to deliver her from the only distress capable of affecting her in that manner, which was her brother's illness, and her being totally void of capacity to help him.
David, who was very much surprised at her air and manner, had no time then for reflections, but only asked her what he should get to refresh them, and begged her to think of nothing at present, but how to recruit her's and her brother's spirits. She returned this goodness with a look that expressed more thankfulness than all the pompous words of laboured eloquence could have done; she would not waste a moment before her brother was taken care of; and therefore desired her benefactor would get a glass of wine, and a biscuit for him; "For I am sure," says she, "it is a great many hours since the poor creature has had anything."
David, with his heart ready to burst, and his eyes overflowing, ran down stairs, and made the land-lady (who was now as solicitous to oblige, as she ​was before to be rude) send immediately for what they desired; and when he had got it, ran upstairs with the utmost joy. The young woman took no thought for herself, but used all her endeavours to make her brother get something down to revive him: it was with great difficulty he could swallow; for his weakness was so great, he could hardly move. He had not yet spoke; but at last, by the help of the refreshment he had taken, he got strength enough to say, "I hope, sir, I shall live to acknowledge your goodness, though I am now utterly unable to do it." He then turned to his sister, and begged her, for God's sake, to drink something herself; for he was certain she must want it. He had not strength enough to go on, but looked some-times at her, and expressed his amazement at the unexpected relief they had found. Sometimes he looked on David with an air of softness and gratitude, in which our hero's sensibility read as much as any thing he could have said. The poor young woman, who had a long time stifled her own sorrows, lest she should add to her brother's, found now such a struggle of variety of passions labouring in her mind at once; the tenderness she had for her brother, the joy that suddenly rushed on her to see him a little relieved, and the gratitude she felt for her generous benefactor, that it quite overcame her; she was unable to speak, or to refrain any longer from bursting into a flood of tears, which was the only means she had left to express her thoughts.
David, who had more of what Shakespeare calls the milk of human kind, than any other among all the children of men, perceived by her manner of behaviour all that must pass in her mind, and was much less able to comfort her, than what is called a good-humoured man would have been; for his sensations were too strong to leave him the free use of his reason, and he stood some time without ​knowing what to do. At last, he recollected himself enough to beg her to dry her eyes; saying, it would be the utmost injury to her brother to continue in those agonies, which seeing her in that condition must unavoidably cause. That thought immediately roused her, and suddenly stopped her gushing tears. As soon as she grew a little calm, David's senses began to return to him; and he asked her, if she thought her brother would be able to bear a chair to carry him to some place where he might get what was decent, and be taken care of. He had indeed a chamber below stairs, where everything was clean, though in a very plain way, which he should be very welcome to have; but he supposed they would be willing to move from a place in which they had met with such treatment; besides, there was not room enough for them all; and he would not leave them, till he saw them recovered from the condition they were now in. On which she replied, that, indeed, that last consideration weighed greatly with her; but as to the treatment they had met with, she had learned from sad experience in the world, that good or bad usage was to be had, just according to the situation any person appeared in, and that most people weighed the respect they paid others very exactly in a scale against the money they thought them worth, taking great care not to let the one exceed the other. The brother, who found himself revived, said he was sure he could bear being carried wherever he pleased; and that nothing could make him suffer so much, as the being separated from him. On which David presently went out, got a good lodging for them and himself, returned, and paid the landlady his and their bills (the whole of what she had been so clamorous about, amounting only to two guineas). He could not help reflecting with pleasure, that this woman had been a loser by her cruelty and ill-nature; for he paid ​her whatever price she asked, and might have staid with her some time, had it not been for this accident.
David ordered a couple of chairs, put the two poor young creatures into them, and followed them to the place he had provided for them; where, when they arrived, they were so faint and worn out, that he ordered them immediately to be carried to their beds, and they had something warm prepared for them to take. But the mean appearance they made, caused all the people in the house to stare with great astonishment, wondering what they could be; neither would they show them to their beds, or get them anything; till David, whose dress, though it was but indifferent, was whole and clean, pulled out money enough to convince them he could pay for anything they had: for nothing but the sight of the money could have got the better of that suspicion the first sight of them had occasioned. The next thing David thought on was to send for a physician, to endeavour to restore these miserable wretches to health. When the doctor came, and had seen his patients, he told David, in a great many words, too learned for me either to understand or remember, that from the perturbation of mind the young woman had suffered, she was in great danger of a fever; and that the man was so excessively weak, it would be some time before he could be restored: but he would immediately order something for them to sleep, and was in hopes of setting them up again.
David took care of everything for them; and as soon as they had taken the doctor's prescription, left them with proper people to attend them, and retired into his chamber. His head was filled with the thoughts of what he had seen that day; nor could he imagine what these two young people could be: he was certain, by their manner and behaviour, they could not have been bred in very low life; and ​if they had, he thought it a still stronger proof of their sense, that they could so much get the better of the want of education, as to be able, notwithstanding that disadvantage, and the disguise of their dress, to show, in every word and gesture, a delicacy which could not be surpassed by the best bred persons in the world.
David got up very early the next morning to enquire for them; he heard they were both fast asleep, and had been so all night. This news gave him the greatest pleasure imaginable; he went out and bought them decent clothes to put on when they got up; and as soon as he heard the young man was awake, he went into his room, and was surprised to find such an amendment. The moment the sick man saw him, he said, "Sir, your goodness has worked a miracle on me; for it is so long since I have lain in a place fit for a human creature, that I have seemed in heaven to-night. I have had no distemper on me for some time, but a weakness occasioned by a fever, and the want of necessaries, had brought me to the condition you found me in; I am still faint and low, but don't in the least doubt soon to get the better of it. I hear my poor sister is not yet awake; no wonder, the good creature has sat up with me a great many nights, and has had no sustenance but a bit of dry bread: nature must be worn out in her, but I hope, with the blessing of God, this sleep will refresh her."
David then told him, if he was able to rise that day, he had prepared some clothes fit for him to put on, and likewise for his sister; which he had already sent by the maid, to be in readiness for her against she waked. What this poor creature, whose heart was naturally tender and grateful, felt at seeing himself loaded with benefits from a stranger, I leave to the imagination of every reader, who can have any sense of obligations; and those ​who have none, I am sure must think enough of trifles, to imagine he must be pleased, after being some time in rags, to have whole clothes to put on.
As soon as the young woman opened her eyes, she got up, and dressed herself in the things David had sent her, and then came to see her brother. She looked very pale and weak, but very beautiful; her whole person was exactly formed, and genteel to admiration; her rags could not totally disguise her, but now she was clean, she made a most charming figure. The meeting between the brother and sister was with the greatest joy, to see each other so much better than they had been; and David's pleasure was perfectly equal with either of theirs, in the thoughts that he was the cause of it. He took such care of them, that a little time perfectly recovered them, and they lived together in the most agreeable manner: sometimes they would say, as they had not a farthing in the world, they were so much ashamed to be such a burden to him, they could not bear it, David desired them to be easy, for he could not spend his money more agreeably to himself, than in supplying people who had the appearance of so much merit.—Indeed it was true; for there was such an open simplicity in their manner, and such a goodness of heart appeared in their love to each other, as would have made any one, less credulous than Mr. Simple, have a good opinion of them; and they had both such a strength of understanding, as made them the most delightful companions in the world.
David longed to know their story, and yet was afraid to ask it, lest by that means he should dis cover something in their conduct which would lessen his esteem for them; besides, he was afraid they might not care to tell it, and it would look like thinking he had a right to know what he pleased because they were obliged to him; a thought which ​he would have utterly detested himself for, could it once have entered into his head. He began to feel for Camilla (for so we shall call the young woman for the future) something more soft than friendship, and more persuasive than common compassion: for although Cynthia appeared to be a person perfectly deserving of his esteem, which was what he had a long time sought for, and he really very much admired her; yet there was something which more nearly touched his heart in this young woman, and immediately caused him to lose all regret on the account of the other's refusing him; and as he was not at all suspicious in his nature, he never entertained any notion of what the landlady hinted at, as if her companion was not her brother. For as he was capable of the strongest affection, without the mixture of any appetite with it, he did not doubt but others might be so too, though it is a thing some few people in the world seem to have no notion of. He lived in a continual fear lest she might not turn out as he wished her: he as yet saw nothing but what he approved; but as he had been so often deceived, he was afraid of providing for himself those sorrows he had already felt by too forward a credulity.
However, one evening, as David and Camilla were sitting together, Valentine (for that was the brother's name) being walked out for the air, he resolved to ask her to let him into her history; which he did with the greatest caution and respect, lest she should be offended at his request. She told him, she should already have related it to him, but that there was nothing entertaining in it; on the contrary, she feared, from the experience she had had of his good-nature, it might raise very uneasy sensations in him; but as he desired it, she should think it unpardonable in her not to comply: ​only, whenever her brother came in, she must leave off, not being willing to remind him of some scenes, which she used her utmost art to make him forget. David told her, he would not for the world have her do anything to give either herself or brother a moment's pain. She then proceeded to relate what will be seen in the following chapter.