That I am sure you did not, said I; and yet this very affair has given me more uneasiness than you can imagine; for as Mrs Arnold's brother is my most particular friend, he must think me the greatest of villains, if I could entertain a thought of dishonouring his family: the fear of losing his friendship, I own, gives me more pain than I can express, and there is nothing I would not do to exculpate myself to him.
I am very unfortunate, cried Mrs Gerrarde (pretending to wipe her eyes), to have been the occasion of so much uneasiness in any-body's family. I wish I had died before I was so unhappy as to meet with Mr Arnold: if it had not been for him, I might now have been an innocent and a contented woman; and she _really_ squeezed out a tear, though not of contrition.
Dear madam (again taking her hand), do not afflict yourself for what is past recalling; contentment, nay happiness, I hope, is yet within your reach; it will be your own fault if you do not lay hold of it: as for the unhappy family that _I_, as well as _you_, have contributed to distress, I wish from my heart there could be a reunion amongst them. Mr Arnold's having lost you might perhaps incline him to turn his thoughts towards his wife, if he were not prejudiced against her by the suspicions he has entertained of her virtue. This I am afraid will be an insuperable bar to their ever living together, unless your influence, which first gave birth to his jealousy, is still forcible enough to remove it.
I wish it were in my power, said Mrs Gerrarde; there is nothing I would not do to effect it: but what influence can I have on Mr Arnold, after what has happened?
Suppose you were to write to him, said I: you and he probably may never meet again; and it would be an effort worthy indeed of a noble mind, to repair the wrongs we have done to others, by a candid acknowlegement of our own faults. Putting Mrs Arnold out of the question, 'tis a reparation you owe _my_ character; for however light the world may make of a piece of gallantry with a married woman, it is a matter of serious moment to me to acquit myself of the supposed crime to Sir George Bidulph.
If you think, said she, that my writing to Mr Arnold could produce such good effects, I am ready to do it; though I confess I hardly know how to address him; for he must, to be sure, look upon me as the very reverse of what I _really_ am, and thinks me without dispute an ungrateful woman.