_ Chapter I - A very short chapter, and consequently requiring no preface.
Mrs. Bennet having fastened the door, and both the ladies having taken
their places, she once or twice offered to speak, when passion stopt
her utterance; and, after a minute's silence, she burst into a flood
of tears. Upon which Amelia, expressing the utmost tenderness for her,
as well by her look as by her accent, cried, "What can be the reason,
dear madam, of all this emotion?" "O, Mrs. Booth!" answered she, "I
find I have undertaken what I am not able to perform. You would not
wonder at my emotion if you knew you had an adulteress and a murderer
now standing before you."
Amelia turned pale as death at these words, which Mrs. Bennet
observing, collected all the force she was able, and, a little
composing her countenance, cried, "I see, madam, I have terrified you
with such dreadful words; but I hope you will not think me guilty of
these crimes in the blackest degree." "Guilty!" cries Amelia. "O
Heavens!" "I believe, indeed, your candour," continued Mrs. Bennet,
"will be readier to acquit me than I am to acquit myself.
Indiscretion, at least, the highest, most unpardonable indiscretion, I
shall always lay to ray own charge: and, when I reflect on the fatal
consequences, I can never, never forgive myself. "Here she again began
to lament in so bitter a manner, that Amelia endeavoured, as much as
she could (for she was herself greatly shocked), to soothe and comfort
her; telling her that, if indiscretion was her highest crime, the
unhappy consequences made her rather an unfortunate than a guilty
person; and concluded by saying--"Indeed, madam, you have raised my
curiosity to the highest pitch, and I beg you will proceed with your
story."
Mrs. Bennet then seemed a second time going to begin her relation,
when she cried out, "I would, if possible, tire you with no more of my
unfortunate life than just with that part which leads to a catastrophe
in which I think you may yourself be interested; but I protest I am at
a loss where to begin."
"Begin wherever you please, dear madam," cries Amelia; "but I beg you
will consider my impatience." "I do consider it," answered Mrs.
Bennet; "and therefore would begin with that part of my story which
leads directly to what concerns yourself; for how, indeed, should my
life produce anything worthy your notice?" "Do not say so, madam,"
cries Amelia; "I assure you I have long suspected there were some very
remarkable incidents in your life, and have only wanted an opportunity
to impart to you my desire of hearing them: I beg, therefore, you
would make no more apologies." "I will not, madam," cries Mrs. Bennet,
"and yet I would avoid anything trivial; though, indeed, in stories of
distress, especially where love is concerned, many little incidents
may appear trivial to those who have never felt the passion, which, to
delicate minds, are the most interesting part of the whole." "Nay,
but, dear madam," cries Amelia, "this is all preface."
"Well, madam," answered Mrs. Bennet, "I will consider your
impatience." She then rallied all her spirits in the best manner she
could, and began as is written in the next chapter.
And here possibly the reader will blame Mrs. Bennet for taking her
story so far back, and relating so much of her life in which Amelia
had no concern; but, in truth, she was desirous of inculcating a good
opinion of herself, from recounting those transactions where her
conduct was unexceptionable, before she came to the more dangerous and
suspicious part of her character. This I really suppose to have been
her intention; for to sacrifice the time and patience of Amelia at
such a season to the mere love of talking of herself would have been
as unpardonable in her as the bearing it was in Amelia a proof of the
most perfect good breeding. _