The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Henry Fielding [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

silent during a minute, looking at each other; at last he began thus: “I cannot express, madam, how much I am shocked at what I have read; yet let me beg you, in one particular, to take the writer’s advice. Consider the reputation of your daughter.”⁠—“It is gone, it is lost, Mr. Jones,” cried she, “as well as her innocence. She received the letter in a room full of company, and immediately swooning away upon opening it, the contents were known to everyone present. But the loss of her reputation, bad as it is, is not the worst; I shall lose my child; she hath attempted twice to destroy herself already; and though she hath been hitherto prevented, vows she will not outlive it; nor could I myself outlive any accident of that nature. What then will become of my little Betsy, a helpless infant orphan? and the poor little wretch will, I believe, break her heart at the miseries with which she sees her sister and myself distracted, while she is ignorant of the cause. O ’tis the most sensible, and best-natured little thing! The barbarous, cruel⁠—hath destroyed us all. O my poor children! Is this the reward of all my cares? Is this the fruit of all my prospects? Have I so cheerfully undergone all the labours and duties of a mother? Have I been so tender of their infancy, so careful of their education? Have I been toiling so many years, denying myself even the conveniences of life, to provide some little sustenance for them, to lose one or both in such a manner?”⁠—“Indeed, madam,” said Jones, with tears in his eyes, “I pity you from my soul.”⁠—“O! Mr. Jones,” answered she, “even you, though I know the goodness of your heart, can have no idea of what I feel. The best, the kindest, the most dutiful of children! O my poor Nancy, the darling of my soul! the delight of my eyes! the pride of my heart! too much, indeed, my pride; for to those foolish, ambitious hopes, arising from her beauty, I owe her ruin. Alas! I saw with pleasure the liking which this young man had for her. I thought it an honourable affection; and flattered my foolish vanity with the thoughts of seeing her married to one so much her superior. And a thousand times in my presence, nay, often in yours, he hath endeavoured to soothe and encourage these hopes by the most generous expressions of disinterested love, which he hath always directed to my poor girl, and which I, as well as she, believed to be real. Could I have believed that these were only snares laid to betray the innocence of my child, and for the ruin of us all?” At these words little Betsy came running into the room, crying, “Dear mamma, for Heaven’s sake come to my sister; for she is in another fit, and my cousin can’t hold her.” Mrs. Miller immediately obeyed the summons; but first ordered Betsy to stay with Mr. Jones, and begged him to entertain her a few minutes, saying, in the most pathetic voice, “Good Heaven! let me preserve one of my children at least.”

Jones, in compliance with this request, did all he could to comfort the little girl, though he was, in reality, himself very highly affected with Mrs. Miller’s story. He told her, “Her sister would be soon very well again; that by taking on in that manner she would not only make her sister worse, but make her mother ill too.”⁠—“Indeed, sir,” says she, “I would not do anything to hurt them for the world. I would burst my heart rather than they should see me cry. But my poor sister can’t see me cry. I am afraid she will never be able to see me cry any more. Indeed, I can’t part with her; indeed, I can’t. And then poor mamma too, what will become of her? She says she will die too, and leave me: but I am resolved I won’t be left behind.”⁠—“And are you not afraid to die, my little Betsy?” said Jones.⁠—“Yes,” answered she, “I was always afraid to die; because I must have left my mamma, and my sister; but I am not afraid of going anywhere with those I love.”

Jones was so pleased with this answer that he eagerly kissed the child; and soon after Mrs. Miller returned, saying, “She thanked Heaven Nancy was now come to herself. And now, Betsy,” says she, “you may go in, for your sister is better, and longs to see you.” She then turned to Jones, and began to renew her apologies for having disappointed him of his breakfast.

“I hope, madam,” said Jones, “I shall have a more exquisite repast than any you could have provided for me. This, I assure you, will be the case, if I can do any service to this little family of love. But whatever success may attend my endeavours, I am resolved to attempt it. I am very much deceived in Mr. Nightingale, if, notwithstanding what hath happened, he hath not much goodness of heart at the bottom, as well as a very violent affection for your daughter. If this be the case, I think the picture which I shall lay before him will affect him. Endeavour, madam, to comfort yourself, and Miss Nancy, as well as you can. I will go instantly in quest of Mr. Nightingale; and I hope to bring you good news.”

Mrs. Miller fell upon her knees and invoked all the blessings of Heaven upon Mr. Jones; to which she afterwards added the most passionate expressions of gratitude. He then departed to find Mr. Nightingale, and the good woman returned to comfort her daughter, who was somewhat cheered at what her mother told her; and both joined in resounding the praises of Mr. Jones.

VII

The interview between Mr. Jones and Mr. Nightingale.

The good or evil we confer on others very often, I believe, recoils on ourselves. For as men of a benign disposition enjoy their own