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<h2> CHAPTER 14 </h2>
<p>"AS MY MIND grew calmer, the visions of Italy again returned with their
former glow of colouring; and I resolved on quitting the kingdom for a
time, in search of the cheerfulness, that naturally results from a change
of scene, unless we carry the barbed arrow with us, and only see what we
feel.</p>
<p>"During the period necessary to prepare for a long absence, I sent a
supply to pay my father's debts, and settled my brothers in eligible
situations; but my attention was not wholly engrossed by my family, though
I do not think it necessary to enumerate the common exertions of humanity.
The manner in which my uncle's property was settled, prevented me from
making the addition to the fortune of my surviving sister, that I could
have wished; but I had prevailed on him to bequeath her two thousand
pounds, and she determined to marry a lover, to whom she had been some
time attached. Had it not been for this engagement, I should have invited
her to accompany me in my tour; and I might have escaped the pit, so
artfully dug in my path, when I was the least aware of danger.</p>
<p>"I had thought of remaining in England, till I weaned my child; but this
state of freedom was too peaceful to last, and I had soon reason to wish
to hasten my departure. A friend of Mr. Venables, the same attorney who
had accompanied him in several excursions to hunt me from my hiding
places, waited on me to propose a reconciliation. On my refusal, he
indirectly advised me to make over to my husband—for husband he
would term him—the greater part of the property I had at command,
menacing me with continual persecution unless I complied, and that, as a
last resort, he would claim the child. I did not, though intimidated by
the last insinuation, scruple to declare, that I would not allow him to
squander the money left to me for far different purposes, but offered him
five hundred pounds, if he would sign a bond not to torment me any more.
My maternal anxiety made me thus appear to waver from my first
determination, and probably suggested to him, or his diabolical agent, the
infernal plot, which has succeeded but too well.</p>
<p>"The bond was executed; still I was impatient to leave England. Mischief
hung in the air when we breathed the same; I wanted seas to divide us, and
waters to roll between, till he had forgotten that I had the means of
helping him through a new scheme. Disturbed by the late occurrences, I
instantly prepared for my departure. My only delay was waiting for a
maid-servant, who spoke French fluently, and had been warmly recommended
to me. A valet I was advised to hire, when I fixed on my place of
residence for any time.</p>
<p>"My God, with what a light heart did I set out for Dover!—It was not
my country, but my cares, that I was leaving behind. My heart seemed to
bound with the wheels, or rather appeared the centre on which they
twirled. I clasped you to my bosom, exclaiming 'And you will be safe—quite
safe—when—we are once on board the packet.—Would we were
there!' I smiled at my idle fears, as the natural effect of continual
alarm; and I scarcely owned to myself that I dreaded Mr. Venables's
cunning, or was conscious of the horrid delight he would feel, at forming
stratagem after stratagem to circumvent me. I was already in the snare—I
never reached the packet—I never saw thee more.—I grow
breathless. I have scarcely patience to write down the details. The maid—the
plausible woman I had hired—put, doubtless, some stupefying potion
in what I ate or drank, the morning I left town. All I know is, that she
must have quitted the chaise, shameless wretch! and taken (from my breast)
my babe with her. How could a creature in a female form see me caress
thee, and steal thee from my arms! I must stop, stop to repress a mother's
anguish; lest, in bitterness of soul, I imprecate the wrath of heaven on
this tiger, who tore my only comfort from me.</p>
<p>"How long I slept I know not; certainly many hours, for I woke at the
close of day, in a strange confusion of thought. I was probably roused to
recollection by some one thundering at a huge, unwieldy gate. Attempting
to ask where I was, my voice died away, and I tried to raise it in vain,
as I have done in a dream. I looked for my babe with affright; feared that
it had fallen out of my lap, while I had so strangely forgotten her; and,
such was the vague intoxication, I can give it no other name, in which I
was plunged, I could not recollect when or where I last saw you; but I
sighed, as if my heart wanted room to clear my head.</p>
<p>"The gates opened heavily, and the sullen sound of many locks and bolts
drawn back, grated on my very soul, before I was appalled by the creeking
of the dismal hinges, as they closed after me. The gloomy pile was before
me, half in ruins; some of the aged trees of the avenue were cut down, and
left to rot where they fell; and as we approached some mouldering steps, a
monstrous dog darted forwards to the length of his chain, and barked and
growled infernally.</p>
<p>"The door was opened slowly, and a murderous visage peeped out, with a
lantern. 'Hush!' he uttered, in a threatning tone, and the affrighted
animal stole back to his kennel. The door of the chaise flew back, the
stranger put down the lantern, and clasped his dreadful arms around me. It
was certainly the effect of the soporific draught, for, instead of
exerting my strength, I sunk without motion, though not without sense, on
his shoulder, my limbs refusing to obey my will. I was carried up the
steps into a close-shut hall. A candle flaring in the socket, scarcely
dispersed the darkness, though it displayed to me the ferocious
countenance of the wretch who held me.</p>
<p>"He mounted a wide staircase. Large figures painted on the walls seemed to
start on me, and glaring eyes to meet me at every turn. Entering a long
gallery, a dismal shriek made me spring out of my conductor's arms, with I
know not what mysterious emotion of terror; but I fell on the floor,
unable to sustain myself.</p>
<p>"A strange-looking female started out of one of the recesses, and observed
me with more curiosity than interest; till, sternly bid retire, she
flitted back like a shadow. Other faces, strongly marked, or distorted,
peeped through the half-opened doors, and I heard some incoherent sounds.
I had no distinct idea where I could be—I looked on all sides, and
almost doubted whether I was alive or dead.</p>
<p>"Thrown on a bed, I immediately sunk into insensibility again; and next
day, gradually recovering the use of reason, I began, starting affrighted
from the conviction, to discover where I was confined—I insisted on
seeing the master of the mansion—I saw him—and perceived that
I was buried alive.—</p>
<p>"Such, my child, are the events of thy mother's life to this dreadful
moment—Should she ever escape from the fangs of her enemies, she
will add the secrets of her prison-house—and—"</p>
<p>Some lines were here crossed out, and the memoirs broke off abruptly with
the names of Jemima and Darnford.</p>
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<h2> APPENDIX </h2>
<h3> ADVERTISEMENT* </h3>
<p>THE performance, with a fragment of which the reader has now been
presented, was designed to consist of three parts. The preceding sheets
were considered as constituting one of those parts. Those persons who in
the perusal of the chapters, already written and in some degree finished
by the author, have felt their hearts awakened, and their curiosity
excited as to the sequel of the story, will, of course, gladly accept even
of the broken paragraphs and half-finished sentences, which have been
found committed to paper, as materials for the remainder. The fastidious
and cold-hearted critic may perhaps feel himself repelled by the
incoherent form in which they are presented. But an inquisitive temper
willingly accepts the most imperfect and mutilated information, where
better is not to be had: and readers, who in any degree resemble the
author in her quick apprehension of sentiment, and of the pleasures and
pains of imagination, will, I believe, find gratification, in
contemplating sketches, which were designed in a short time to have
received the finishing touches of her genius; but which must now for ever
remain a mark to record the triumphs of mortality, over schemes of
usefulness, and projects of public interest.</p>
<p>* Presumed to have been written by Godwin [Publisher's note].<br/></p>
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