Julia_Chapter_15

A few days after this excursion, as Julia was resting one morning after her usual ride, reposing herself on a couch in the library, reading some favorite author, the door suddenly opened and with out notice, Mrs Edwards entered holding or rather drawing Rosa along by the hand. Mrs Clifton started up, surprised and confused and when she observed the condition of the child, {wherein?} alarmed--without bonnet, shawl, or gloves, her face and arms burnt by the sun, her hair tangled, her frock dirty and torn, and the tears streaming down her cheeks. Before she could enquire what had happened to the little girl--"See", exclaimed Mrs Edwards, "see Madam the effects of your neglect and where do you think I picked her up? in the street, playing with a parcel of little negroes and { ?}--Oh for shame, for shame thoughtles and cruel woman, see the effect of your vices." "Vices! Madam, " said Julia rising and ringing the bell, "vices! Such language suits not you to speak, or me to hear." The servant entering, she ordered him to take Rosa to the nursery--their compunction she felt, on the first sight of her child in such a condition, was lost in the indignation she felt at the harsh language of Mrs Edwards, and on the servants leaving the room, she composedly seated herself and took up a book. "This shall not await you, Mrs Clifton," said Mrs Edwards, "whether you reply or not, you shall hear the truth. What, will you sit for hours and days and weeks drinking in the honied events of flattery and listening to the deceitful lies that {pursue?} you and do you turn a deaf ear to the honest truth, which as friend{ dones, I anes?} to tell you?" "A friend?" said Julia scornfully-"Yes Mrs Clifton a friend who would readily have been excused this painful duty." "The pain is self inflicted," replied Julia,

and is one that I would very cheerfully exempt you from" "I believe you Madam--but as it is one from which my own conscience will not exempt me, I must perform it however willsome it may be." "The more irksome the duty--the greater the merit, and of course the greater the praise that Mrs Edwards will receive, and if I am not deceived, praise will be a sufficient reward for any pain she may suffer." "However sweet the praise of men, may be to your taste Mrs Clifton, and I suppose it is from your own experience you speak--know that to me it is indifferent, and that the approbation of my own conscience is a much higher reward, but of that you cannot judge, for if you have any conscience left, it must condemn instead of approve your present mode of living." Julia rose as if to leave the room--"nay sit still," said Mrs Edwards, "I am glad to see that you have some conscience left--and that it has not lost all its sensibility," and she drew her chair so that Julia could not pass her-"How have I deserved all this," said Julia, so vexed that she could scarcely restrain her tears--"for heavens sake Madam explain yourself--what crime? if I had committed murder, you could scarcely have accused me more bitterly. "And you have committed murder," said Mrs Edwards-Julia started--yes," committed murder on your own reputation. It is at past hope--{ ?}'. "If so," said Julia proudly, "you might have saved yourself a useless task--But I cannot believe the world is as cruel and unjust as Mrs Edwards." "Do you really believe than, that the world is blind You daily expose in the eyes of the public, your daring violation of duty as a wife or mother--You have separated yourself from your husband--you have attached yourself to a profligate villain--you abandon your child and expose her to vice and danger--and all this as { ?} and { ?}ly as if you were as unconscious of it, as you hope others will be--and not because the world will not

approve such conduct--you {call?} it unjust and cruel." "This is too much," said Julia again rising-know before you load me with this {obliging?} that it is your nephew and not me that you have to blame. It was he that abandoned me--that wasted his fortune on others--and when he had nothing more to support him abroad, returned home--that it is by his ardor I receive Capt Mirvan, and--and", she could say no more--the anger which had betrayed her into these accusations of her husband, choked her utterance and sinking on her chair, she hid her face with her hands and sobbed aloud--her natural generosity, reproached her for what she had said of her husband, and her sense of justice {smite?} her with the sensations that to blame was not all on her side. Had Mrs Edwards seized this yielding moment, she might have made the impression she wished--but without any tenderness herself, she could not sympathetic in that of another--Austere and strict in her idea of duty, she could feel no indulgence for the weakness or frailty of others, her's was right --which hardens into wrong and partook not of that divine clemencky which, breaketh not the bruised need--and quencheth not the smoking flare. At that moment Julia's heart was the bruised need-and her repentant { ?}--the smoking flare, which { ?} and kindness might have kindled to a flame. She felt more painfully and keenly her own injustice and unkindness to her husband--then Mrs Edward's to her, and humiliated by this self-condemnation, she would have confessed her error--had not that Lady's { ?} closed her lips. "And your husband I suppose tells you to spend your time in wandering about the county with her man--and to go to empty houses and hide yourselves for days together." Julia stared with surprise-"Oh, you think then that all those things are not known and that while you indulge yourself in such guilty pleasure,

world will give you credit for being a modest-natured woman and a faithful wife." "My own heart at least Madam will give me credit for being such, and while that is the case, I shall care very little for what the world thinks." "Aye-aye--I thought so--a woman who does not care what her friends think, will soon cease to care what the world thinks--had you taken my advice when I warned you against your follies--when I expostulated with you on your levity of conduct--it would never hence come to this-But even yet, I hope you will see the error of your ways and stop in your carreer before it is too late." "If my reputation is irretrievably lost, is it not already too late?" "Too late to regain the good opinion of man, { ?} too late to repent and reform." "The { ?} madam, { ?} are mistaken-- I am not the guilty creature you are pleased to suppose

"We have all that within us," said Julia, "of which we should repent, and an examination of our own hearts, should insprie some charity for others." "You are incorrigible," said Mrs Edwards , "I only waste my words." "That is no fault of mine," said Julia, "and that you may waste no more, allow me madam to leave you." and before Mrs Edwards could prevent her, she left the room. Incorrigible as Julia appeared, she was stricken to the very heart: humbled, mortified, and wretched. She sent for Rosa, and after reprimanding her for strolling from the house, she fondly wept over her, sencing repenting of her neglect of this lovely child and resolving never again so far to forget her duty. In the exaggerated reports of Mrs Edwards, she discovered that Capt Mirvan had not judged too hardly of Mr Johnson. She was aware he must have spread information so injurious to her reputation; but conscious of her own innocence, and the correctness of her conduct on that very occasion, she felt indignant at what she called the cruelty and injustice of the world, and instead of averting, was stimulated by offended pride and conscious innocence to defy its censures and {bane?} its opinions. But this was a task for which Julia Clifton was not made and severe were her struggles between pride and sensibility--Unfortunately her pride conquered and she determined while she did her duty, to disregard appearances. While her mind was in this irritated state, Capt Mirvan arrived. She determined to conceal from him, her knowledge of the reports which were in circulation; to say nothing of Mrs Edward's visit, and if possible to hide the perturbation of her mind. But Capt Mirvan was too penetrating and close observation had made him too well acquainted with Julia's disposition, for her to succeed in hiding from him either her thoughts or feelings; the transparency of her nature, discovered every internal emotion. Even to