History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
swore she should be her own mistress, and he never would think of
confining her any more. I thought this news would please you, and so I
slipped out, though it was so late, to inform you of it.” Mr Jones
assured George that it did greatly please him; for though he should
never more presume to lift his eyes toward that incomparable creature,
nothing could so much relieve his misery as the satisfaction he should
always have in hearing of her welfare.
The rest of the conversation which passed at the visit is not
important enough to be here related. The reader will, therefore,
forgive us this abrupt breaking off, and be pleased to hear how this
great good-will of the squire towards his daughter was brought about.
Mrs Western, on her first arrival at her brother's lodging, began to
set forth the great honours and advantages which would accrue to the
family by the match with Lord Fellamar, which her niece had absolutely
refused; in which refusal, when the squire took the part of his
daughter, she fell immediately into the most violent passion, and so
irritated and provoked the squire, that neither his patience nor his
prudence could bear it any longer; upon which there ensued between
them both so warm a bout at altercation, that perhaps the regions of
Billingsgate never equalled it. In the heat of this scolding Mrs
Western departed, and had consequently no leisure to acquaint her
brother with the letter which Sophia received, which might have
possibly produced ill effects; but, to say truth, I believe it never
once occurred to her memory at this time.
When Mrs Western was gone, Sophia, who had been hitherto silent, as
well indeed from necessity as inclination, began to return the
compliment which her father had made her, in taking her part against
her aunt, by taking his likewise against the lady. This was the first
time of her so doing, and it was in the highest degree acceptable to
the squire. Again, he remembered that Mr Allworthy had insisted on an
entire relinquishment of all violent means; and, indeed, as he made no
doubt but that Jones would be hanged, he did not in the least question
succeeding with his daughter by fair means; he now, therefore, once
more gave a loose to his natural fondness for her, which had such an
effect on the dutiful, grateful, tender, and affectionate heart of
Sophia, that had her honour, given to Jones, and something else,
perhaps, in which he was concerned, been removed, I much doubt whether
she would not have sacrificed herself to a man she did not like, to
have obliged her father. She promised him she would make it the whole
business of her life to oblige him, and would never marry any man
against his consent; which brought the old man so near to his highest
happiness, that he was resolved to take the other step, and went to
bed completely drunk.
Chapter iii.
Allworthy visits old Nightingale; with a strange discovery that he
made on that occasion.
The morning after these things had happened, Mr Allworthy went,
according to his promise, to visit old Nightingale, with whom his
authority was so great, that, after having sat with him three hours,
he at last prevailed with him to consent to see his son.
Here an accident happened of a very extraordinary kind; one indeed of
those strange chances whence very good and grave men have concluded
that Providence often interposes in the discovery of the most secret
villany, in order to caution men from quitting the paths of honesty,
however warily they tread in those of vice.
Mr Allworthy, at his entrance into Mr Nightingale's, saw Black George;
he took no notice of him, nor did Black George imagine he had
perceived him.
However, when their conversation on the principal point was over,
Allworthy asked Nightingale, Whether he knew one George Seagrim, and
upon what business he came to his house? “Yes,” answered Nightingale,
“I know him very well, and a most extraordinary fellow he is, who, in
these days, hath been able to hoard up £500 from renting a very small
estate of £30 a year.” “And is this the story which he hath told you?”
cries Allworthy. “Nay, it is true, I promise you,” said Nightingale,
“for I have the money now in my own hands, in five bank-bills, which I
am to lay out either in a mortgage, or in some purchase in the north
of England.” The bank-bills were no sooner produced at Allworthy's
desire than he blessed himself at the strangeness of the discovery. He
presently told Nightingale that these bank-bills were formerly his,
and then acquainted him with the whole affair. As there are no men who
complain more of the frauds of business than highwaymen, gamesters,
and other thieves of that kind, so there are none who so bitterly
exclaim against the frauds of gamesters, &c., as usurers, brokers, and
other thieves of this kind; whether it be that the one way of cheating
is a discountenance or reflection upon the other, or that money, which
is the common mistress of all cheats, makes them regard each other in
the light of rivals; but Nightingale no sooner heard the story than he
exclaimed against the fellow in terms much severer than the justice
and honesty of Allworthy had bestowed on him.
Allworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the money and the secret
till he should hear farther from him; and, if he should in the
meantime see the fellow, that he would not take the least notice to
him of the discovery which he had made. He then returned to his
lodgings, where he found Mrs Miller in a very dejected condition, on
account of the information she had received from her son-in-law. Mr
Allworthy, with great chearfulness, told her that he had much good
news to communicate; and, with little further preface, acquainted her
that he had brought Mr Nightingale to consent to see his son, and did
not in the least doubt to effect a perfect reconciliation between
them; though he found the father more sowered by another accident of
the same kind which had happened in his family. He then mentioned the
running away of the uncle's daughter, which he had been told by the
old gentleman, and which Mrs Miller and her son-in-law did not yet
know.
The reader may suppose Mrs Miller received this account with great
thankfulness, and no less pleasure; but so uncommon was her friendship
to Jones, that I am not certain whether the uneasiness she suffered
for his sake did not overbalance her satisfaction at hearing a piece
of news tending so much to the happiness of her own family; nor
whether even this very news, as it reminded her of the obligations she
had to Jones, did not hurt as well as please her; when her grateful
heart said to her, “While my own family is happy, how miserable is the
poor creature to whose generosity we owe the beginning of all this
happiness!”
Allworthy, having left her a little while to chew the cud (if I may
use that expression) on these first tidings, told her he had still
something more to impart, which he believed would give her pleasure.
“I think,” said he, “I have discovered a pretty considerable treasure
belonging to the young gentleman, your friend; but perhaps, indeed,
his present situation may be such that it will be of no service to
him.” The latter part of the speech gave Mrs Miller to understand who
was meant, and she answered with a sigh, “I hope not, sir.” “I hope so
too,” cries Allworthy, “with all my heart; but my nephew told me this
morning he had heard a very bad account of the affair.”----“Good
Heaven! sir,” said she--“Well, I must not speak, and yet it is
certainly very hard to be obliged to hold one's tongue when one
hears.”--“Madam,” said Allworthy, “you may say whatever you please,
you know me too well to think I have a prejudice against any one; and
as for that young man, I assure you I should be heartily pleased to
find he could acquit himself of everything, and particularly of this
sad affair. You can testify the affection I have formerly borne him.
The world, I know, censured me for loving him so much. I did not
withdraw that affection from him without thinking I had the justest
cause. Believe me, Mrs Miller, I should be glad to find I have been
mistaken.” Mrs Miller was going eagerly to reply, when a servant
acquainted her that a gentleman without desired to speak with her
immediately. Allworthy then enquired for his nephew, and was told that
he had been for some time in his room with the gentleman who used to
come to him, and whom Mr Allworthy guessing rightly to be Mr Dowling,
he desired presently to speak with him.
When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the case of the bank-notes to
him, without mentioning any name, and asked in what manner such a
person might be punished. To which Dowling answered, “He thought he
might be indicted on the Black Act; but said, as it was a matter of
some nicety, it would be proper to go to counsel. He said he was to
attend counsel presently upon an affair of Mr Western's, and if Mr
Allworthy pleased he would lay the case before them.” This was agreed
to; and then Mrs Miller, opening the door, cried, “I ask pardon, I did
not know you had company;” but Allworthy desired her to come in,
saying he had finished his business. Upon which Mr Dowling withdrew,
and Mrs Miller introduced Mr Nightingale the younger, to return thanks
for the great kindness done him by Allworthy: but she had scarce
patience to let the young gentleman finish his speech before she
interrupted him, saying, “O sir! Mr Nightingale brings great news
about poor Mr Jones: he hath been to see the wounded gentleman, who is
out of all danger of death, and, what is more, declares he fell upon
poor Mr Jones himself, and beat him. I am sure, sir, you would not
have Mr Jones be a coward. If I was a man myself, I am sure, if any
man was to strike me, I should draw my sword. Do pray, my dear, tell
Mr Allworthy, tell him all yourself.” Nightingale then confirmed what
Mrs Miller had said; and concluded with many handsome things of Jones,
who was, he said, one of the best-natured fellows in the world, and
not in the least inclined to be quarrelsome. Here Nightingale was
going to cease, when Mrs Miller again begged him to relate all the
many dutiful expressions he had heard him make use of towards Mr
Allworthy. “To say the utmost good of Mr Allworthy,” cries
Nightingale, “is doing no more than strict justice, and can have no
merit in it: but indeed, I must say, no man can be more sensible of
the obligations he hath to so good a man than is poor Jones. Indeed,
sir, I am convinced the weight of your displeasure is the heaviest
burthen he lies under. He hath often lamented it to me, and hath as
often protested in the most solemn manner he hath never been
intentionally guilty of any offence towards you; nay, he hath sworn he
would rather die a thousand deaths than he would have his conscience
upbraid him with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful thought
towards you. But I ask pardon, sir, I am afraid I presume to
intermeddle too far in so tender a point.” “You have spoke no more
than what a Christian ought,” cries Mrs Miller. “Indeed, Mr
Nightingale,” answered Allworthy, “I applaud your generous friendship,
and I wish he may merit it of you. I confess I am glad to hear the
report you bring from this unfortunate gentleman; and, if that matter
should turn out to be as you represent it (and, indeed, I doubt
nothing of what you say), I may, perhaps, in time, be brought to think
better than lately I have of this young man; for this good gentlewoman
here, nay, all who know me, can witness that I loved him as dearly as
if he had been my own son. Indeed, I have considered him as a child
sent by fortune to my care. I still remember the innocent, the
helpless situation in which I found him. I feel the tender pressure of