Mary | Page 9

Ann; though she constantly went
to bed, she could not rest; a number of uneasy thoughts obtruded
themselves; and apprehensions about Mary, whom she loved as well as
her exhausted heart could love, harassed her mind. After a sleepless,
feverish night she had a violent fit of coughing, and burst a
blood-vessel. The physician, who was in the house, was sent for, and
when he left the patient, Mary, with an authoritative voice, insisted on
knowing his real opinion. Reluctantly he gave it, that her friend was in
a critical state; and if she passed the approaching winter in England, he
imagined she would die in the spring; a season fatal to consumptive
disorders. The spring!--Her husband was then expected.--Gracious
Heaven, could she bear all this.
In a few days her father breathed his last. The horrid sensations his
death occasioned were too poignant to be durable: and Ann's danger,
and her own situation, made Mary deliberate what mode of conduct she
should pursue. She feared this event might hasten the return of her
husband, and prevent her putting into execution a plan she had
determined on. It was to accompany Ann to a more salubrious climate.

CHAP. VIII.
I mentioned before, that Mary had never had any particular attachment,
to give rise to the disgust that daily gained ground. Her friendship for
Ann occupied her heart, and resembled a passion. She had had, indeed,
several transient likings; but they did not amount to love. The society
of men of genius delighted her, and improved her faculties. With
beings of this class she did not often meet; it is a rare genus; her first
favourites were men past the meridian of life, and of a philosophic turn.
Determined on going to the South of France, or Lisbon; she wrote to
the man she had promised to obey. The physicians had said change of
air was necessary for her as well as her friend. She mentioned this, and
added, "Her comfort, almost her existence, depended on the recovery of
the invalid she wished to attend; and that should she neglect to follow
the medical advice she had received, she should never forgive herself,

or those who endeavoured to prevent her." Full of her design, she wrote
with more than usual freedom; and this letter was like most of her
others, a transcript of her heart.
"This dear friend," she exclaimed, "I love for her agreeable qualities,
and substantial virtues. Continual attention to her health, and the tender
office of a nurse, have created an affection very like a maternal one--I
am her only support, she leans on me--could I forsake the forsaken, and
break the bruised reed--No--I would die first! I must--I will go."
She would have added, "you would very much oblige me by
consenting;" but her heart revolted--and irresolutely she wrote
something about wishing him happy.--"Do I not wish all the world
well?" she cried, as she subscribed her name--It was blotted, the letter
sealed in a hurry, and sent out of her sight; and she began to prepare for
her journey.
By the return of the post she received an answer; it contained some
common-place remarks on her romantic friendship, as he termed it;
"But as the physicians advised change of air, he had no objection."

CHAP. IX.
There was nothing now to retard their journey; and Mary chose Lisbon
rather than France, on account of its being further removed from the
only person she wished not to see.
They set off accordingly for Falmouth, in their way to that city. The
journey was of use to Ann, and Mary's spirits were raised by her
recovered looks--She had been in despair--now she gave way to hope,
and was intoxicated with it. On ship-board Ann always remained in the
cabin; the sight of the water terrified her: on the contrary, Mary, after
she was gone to bed, or when she fell asleep in the day, went on deck,
conversed with the sailors, and surveyed the boundless expanse before
her with delight. One instant she would regard the ocean, the next the
beings who braved its fury. Their insensibility and want of fear, she

could not name courage; their thoughtless mirth was quite of an animal
kind, and their feelings as impetuous and uncertain as the element they
plowed.
They had only been a week at sea when they hailed the rock of Lisbon,
and the next morning anchored at the castle. After the customary visits,
they were permitted to go on shore, about three miles from the city; and
while one of the crew, who understood the language, went to procure
them one of the ugly carriages peculiar to the country, they waited in
the Irish convent, which is situated close to the Tagus.
Some of the people offered