Do not give me cause to dread your return. If you would not that I
should hate you for ever, send me half a line by the bearer, to assure me
that you will not attempt to see me for a week to come. I cannot look
you in the face without equal confusion and indignation. The obliging me
in this, is but a poor atonement for your last night's vile behaviour.
You may pass this time in a journey to Lord M.'s; and I cannot doubt, if
the ladies of your family are as favourable to me, as you have assured me
they are, but that you will have interest enough to prevail with one of
them to oblige me with their company. After your baseness of last night,
you will not wonder, that I insist upon this proof of your future honour.
If Captain Tomlinson comes mean time, I can hear what he has to say, and
send you an account of it.
But in less than a week if you see me, it must be owing to a fresh act of
violence, of which you know not the consequence.
Send me the requested line, if ever you expect to have the forgiveness
confirmed, the promise of which you extorted from
The unhappy
CL. H.
***
Now, Belford, what canst thou say in behalf of this sweet rogue of a
lady? What canst thou say for her? 'Tis apparent, that she was fully
determined upon an elopement when she wrote it. And thus would she make
me of party against myself, by drawing me in to give her a week's time to
complete it. And, more wicked still, send me upon a fool's errand to
bring up one of my cousins.--When we came to have the satisfaction of
finding her gone off, and me exposed for ever!--What punishment can be
bad enough for such a little villain of a lady?
But mind, moreover, how plausibly she accounts by this billet, (supposing
she should not find an opportunity of eloping before I returned,) for the
resolution of not seeing me for a week; and for the bread and butter
expedient!--So childish as we thought it!
The chariot is not come; and if it were, it is yet too soon for every
thing but my impatience. And as I have already taken all my measures,
and can think of nothing but my triumph, I will resume her violent
letter, in order to strengthen my resolutions against her. I was before
in too gloomy a way to proceed with it. But now the subject is all alive
to me, and my gayer fancy, like the sunbeams, will irradiate it, and turn
the solemn deep-green into a brighter verdure.
When I have called upon my charmer to explain some parts of her letter,
and to atone for others, I will send it, or a copy of it, to thee.
Suffice it at present to tell thee, in the first place, that she is
determined never to be my wife.--To be sure there ought to be no
compulsion in so material a case. Compulsion was her parents' fault,
which I have censured so severely, that I shall hardly be guilty of the
same. I am therefore glad I know her mind as to this essential point.
I have ruined her! she says.--Now that's a fib, take it her own way--if I
had, she would not, perhaps, have run away from me.
She is thrown upon the wide world! Now I own that Hampstead-heath
affords very pretty and very extensive prospects; but 'tis not the wide
world neither. And suppose that to be her grievance, I hope soon to
restore her to a narrower.
I am the enemy of her soul, as well as of her honour!--Confoundedly
severe! Nevertheless, another fib!--For I love her soul very well; but
think no more of it in this case than of my own.
She is to be thrown upon strangers!--And is not that her own fault?--Much
against my will, I am sure!
She is cast from a state of independency into one of obligation. She
never was in a state of independency; nor is it fit a woman should, of
any age, or in any state of life. And as to the state of obligation,
there is no such thing as living without being beholden to somebody.
Mutual obligation is the very essence and soul of the social and
commercial life:--Why should she be exempt from it? I am sure the person
she raves at desires not such an exemption; has been long dependent upon
her; and would rejoice to owe further obligations to her than he can
boast of hitherto.
She talks of her father's curse!--But have I not repaid him for it an
hundred fold in the same coin? But why must the faults of other people
be laid at my door? Have I not enow of my own?
But the grey-eyed dawn begins to peep--let me sum up all.
In short, then, the dear creature's letter is a collection of invectives
not very new to me: though the occasion for them, no doubt is new to her.
A little sprinkling of the romantic and contradictory runs through it.
She loves, and she hates; she encourages me to pursue her, by telling me
I safely may; and yet she begs I will not. She apprehends poverty and
want, yet resolves to give away her estate; To gratify whom?--Why, in
short, those who have been the cause of her misfortunes. And finally,
though she resolves never to be mine, yet she has some regrets at leaving
me, because of the opening prospects of a reconciliation with her
friends.
But never did morning dawn so tardily as this!--Neither is the chariot
yet come.
***
A gentleman to speak with me, Dorcas?--Who can want me thus early?
Captain Tomlinson, sayest thou? Surely he must have traveled all night!
Early riser as I am, how could he think to find me up thus early?
Let but the chariot come, and he shall accompany me in it to the bottom
of the hill, (though he return to town on foot; for the Captain is all
obliging goodness,) that I may hear all he has to say, and tell him all
my mind, and lose no time.
Well, now I am satisfied that this rebellious flight will turn to my
advantage, as all crushed rebellions do to the advantage of a sovereign
in possession.
***
Dear Captain, I rejoice to see you--just in the nick of time--See! See!
The rosy-finger'd morn appears,
And from her mantle shakes her tears:
The sun arising mortals cheers,
And drives the rising mists away,
In promise of a glorious day.
Excuse me, Sir, that I salute you from my favourite bard. He that rises
with the lark will sing with the lark. Strange news since I saw you,
Captain!--Poor mistaken lady!--But you have too much goodness, I know, to
reveal to her uncle Harlowe the error of this capricious beauty. It will
all turn out for the best. You must accompany me part of the way. I
know the delight you take in composing differences. But 'tis the task of
the prudent to heal the breaches made by the rashness and folly of the
imprudent.
***
And now, (all around me so still and so silent,) the rattling of the
chariot-wheels at a street's distance do I hear! And to this angel of a
woman I fly!
Reward, O God of Love! [The cause is thy own!] Reward thou, as it
deserves, my suffering perseverance!--Succeed my endeavours to bring back
to thy obedience this charming fugitive! Make her acknowledge her
rashness; repent her insults; implore my forgiveness; beg to be
reinstated in my favour, and that I will bury in oblivion the remembrance
of her heinous offence against thee, and against me, thy faithful votary.
***
The chariot at the door!--I come! I come!