Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson [black authors fiction .txt] 📗

Colonel, which acquaints James Harlowe with his sister’s death, and with her desire to be interred near her grandfather.

Harry was not admitted into the presence of any of the family. They were all assembled together, it seems, at Harlowe-place, on occasion of the Colonel’s letter, which informed them of the lady’s dangerous way;385 and were comforting themselves, as Harry was told, with hopes that Mr. Morden had made the worst of her state, in order to quicken their resolutions.

It is easy to judge what must be their grief and surprise on receiving the fatal news which the letters Harry sent in to them communicated.

He stayed there long enough to find the whole house in confusion; the servants running different ways; lamenting and wringing their hands as they ran; the female servants particularly; as if somebody (poor Mrs. Harlowe, no doubt; and perhaps Mrs. Hervey too) were in fits.

Everyone was in such disorder, that he could get no commands, nor obtain any notice of himself. The servants seemed more inclined to execrate than welcome him⁠—O master!⁠—O young man! cried three or four together, what dismal tidings have you brought?⁠—They helped him, at the very first word, to his horse; which, with great civility, they had put up on his arrival; and he went to an inn, and pursued on foot his way to Mrs. Norton’s; and finding her come to town, left the letter he carried down for her with her son, (a fine youth), who, when he heard the fatal news, burst out into a flood of tears⁠—first lamenting the lady’s death, and then crying out, What⁠—what would become of his poor mother!⁠—How would she support herself, when she should find, on her arrival in town, that the dear lady, who was so deservedly the darling of her heart, was no more!

He proceeded to Miss Howe’s with the letter for her. That lady, he was told, had just given orders for a young man, a tenant’s son, to post to London, and bring her news of her dear friend’s condition, and whether she should herself be encouraged, by an account of her being still alive, to make her a visit; everything being ordered to be in readiness for her going up on his return with the news she wished and prayed for with the utmost impatience. And Harry was just in time to prevent the man’s setting out.

He had the precaution to desire to speak with Miss Howe’s woman or maid, and communicated to her the fatal tidings, that she might break them to her young lady. The maid herself was so affected, that her old lady (who, Harry said, seemed to be everywhere at once) came to see what ailed her! and was herself so struck with the communication, that she was forced to sit down in a chair.⁠—O the sweet creature! said she, and is it come to this?⁠—O my poor Nancy!⁠—How shall I be able to break the matter to my Nancy?

Mr. Hickman was in the house. He hastened in to comfort the old lady⁠—but he could not restrain his own tears. He feared, he said, when he was last in town, that this sad event would soon happen; but little thought it would be so very soon!⁠—But she is happy, I am sure, said the good gentleman.

Mrs. Howe, when a little recovered, went up, in order to break the news to her daughter. She took the letter, and her salts in her hand. And they had occasion for the latter. For the housekeeper soon came hurrying down into the kitchen, her face overspread with tears⁠—her young mistress had fainted away, she said⁠—nor did she wonder at it⁠—never did there live a lady more deserving of general admiration and lamentation, than Miss Clarissa Harlowe! and never was there a stronger friendship dissolved by death than between her young lady and her.

She hurried, with a lighted wax candle, and with feathers, to burn under the nose of her young mistress; which showed that she continued in fits.

Mr. Hickman, afterwards, with his usual humanity, directed that Harry should be taken care of all night; it being then the close of day. He asked him after my health. He expressed himself excessively afflicted, as well for the death of the most excellent of women, as for the just grief of the lady whom he so passionately loves. But he called the departed lady an Angel of Light. We dreaded, said he, (tell your master), to read the letter sent⁠—but we needed not⁠—’tis a blessed letter! written by a blessed hand!⁠—But the consolation she aims to give, will for the present heighten the sense we all shall have of the loss of so excellent a creature! Tell Mr. Belford, that I thank God I am not the man who had the unmerited honour to call himself her brother.

I know how terribly this great catastrophe (as I may call it, since so many persons are interested in it) affects thee. I should have been glad to have had particulars of the distress which the first communication of it must have given to the Harlowes. Yet who but must pity the unhappy mother?

The answer which James Harlowe returned to Colonel Morden’s letter of notification of his sister’s death, and to her request as to her interment, will give a faint idea of what their concern must be. Here follows a copy of it:

To William Morden, Esq.

Saturday, Sept. 9.

Dear Cousin,

I cannot find words to express what we all suffer on the most mournful news that ever was communicated to us.

My sister Arabella (but, alas! I have now no other sister) was preparing to follow Mrs. Norton up, and I had resolved to escort her, and to have looked in upon the dear creature.

God be merciful to us all! To what purpose did the doctor write, if she was so near her end?⁠—Why, as everybody says, did he not send sooner?⁠—Or, Why at all?

The most admirable young creature that ever swerved! Not one friend to