She turned from me her whole face, and paused, and seemed to consider.
But, in a passionate accent, again turning towards me, [O how difficult,
Jack, for a Harlowe spirit to forgive!] Let her Ladyship come, if she
pleases, said she, I cannot, cannot, wish to see her; and if I did see
her, and she were to plead for you, I cannot wish to hear her! The more
I think, the less I can forgive an attempt, that I am convinced was
intended to destroy me. [A plaguy strong word for the occasion,
supposing she was right!] What has my conduct been, that an insult of
such a nature should be offered to me, and it would be a weakness in me
to forgive? I am sunk in my own eyes! And how can I receive a visit
that must depress me more?
The Captain urged her in my favour with greater earnestness than before.
We both even clamoured, as I may say, for mercy and forgiveness. [Didst
thou never hear the good folks talk of taking Heaven by storm?]--
Contrition repeatedly avowed; a total reformation promised; the happy
expedient again urged.
Cl. I have taken my measures. I have gone too far to recede, or to
wish to recede. My mind is prepared for adversity. That I have not
deserved the evils I have met with is my consolation; I have written to
Miss Howe what my intentions are. My heart is not with you--it is
against you, Mr. Lovelace. I had not written to you as I did in the
letter I left behind me, had I not resolved, whatever became of me, to
renounce you for ever.
I was full of hope now. Severe as her expressions were, I saw she was
afraid that I should think of what she had written. And, indeed, her
letter is violence itself.--Angry people, Jack, should never write while
their passion holds.
Lovel. The severity you have shown me, Madam, whether by pen or by
speech, shall never have place in my remembrance, but for your honor. In
the light you have taken things, all is deserved, and but the natural
result of virtuous resentment; and I adore you, even for the pangs you
have given me.
She was silent. She had employment enough with her handkerchief at her
eyes.
Lovel. You lament, sometimes, that you have no friends of your own sex
to consult with. Miss Rawlins, I must confess, is too inquisitive to be
confided in, [I liked not, thou mayest think, her appeal to Miss
Rawlins.] She may mean well. But I never in my life knew a person, who
was fond of prying into the secrets of others, that was fit to be
trusted. The curiosity of such is governed by pride, which is not
gratified but by whispering about a secret till it becomes public, in
order to show either their consequence, or their sagacity. It is so in
every case. What man or woman, who is covetous of power, or of making
a right use of it? But in the ladies of my family you may confide. It
is their ambition to think of you as one of themselves. Renew but your
consent to pass to the world, for the sake of your uncle's expedient, and
for the prevention of mischief, as a lady some time married. Lady Betty
may be acquainted with the naked truth; and you may, (as she hopes you
will,) accompany her to her seat; and, if it must be so, consider me as
in a state of penitence or probation, to be accepted or rejected, as I
may appear to deserve.
The Captain again clapt his hands on his breast, and declared, upon his
honour, that this was a proposal that, were the case that of his own
daughter, and she were not resolved upon immediate marriage, (which yet
he thought by far the more eligible choice,) he should be very much
concerned were she to refuse it.
Cl. Were I with Mr. Lovelace's relations, and to pass as his wife to
the world, I could not have any choice. And how could he be then in a
state of probation?--O Mr. Tomlinson, you are too much his friend to see
into his drift.
Capt. His friend, Madam, as I said before, as I am your's and your
uncle's, for the sake of a general reconciliation, which must begin with
a better understanding between yourselves.
Lovel. Only, my dearest life, resolve to attend the arrival and visit
of Lady Betty; and permit her to arbitrate between us.
Capt. There can be no harm in that, Madam. You can suffer no
inconvenience from that. If Mr. Lovelace's offence be such, that a woman
of Lady Betty's character judges it to be unpardonable, why then--
Cl. [Interrupting; and to me,] If I am not invaded by you, Sir; if I
am, (as I ought to be,) my own mistress, I think to stay here, in this
honest house, [and then had I an eye-beam, as the Captain calls it,
flashed at me,] till I receive a letter from Miss Howe. That, I hope,
will be in a day or two. If in that time the ladies come whom you
expect, and if they are desirous to see the creature whom you have made
unhappy, I shall know whether I can or cannot receive their visit.
She turned short to the door, and, retiring, went up stairs to her
chamber.
O Sir, said the Captain, as soon as she was gone, what an angel of a
woman is this! I have been, and I am a very wicked man. But if any
thing should happen amiss to this admirable lady, through my means, I
shall have more cause for self-reproach than for all the bad actions
of my life put together.
And his eyes glistened.
Nothing can happen amiss, thou sorrowful dog!--What can happen amiss?
Are we to form our opinion of things by the romantic notions of a girl,
who supposes that to be the greatest which is the slightest of evils?
Have I not told thee our whole story? Has she not broken her promise?
Did I not generously spare her, when in my power? I was decent, though
I had her at such advantage.--Greater liberties have I taken with girls
of character at a common romping 'bout, and all has been laughed off,
and handkerchief and head-clothes adjusted, and petticoats shaken to
rights, in my presence. Never man, in the like circumstances, and
resolved as I was resolved, goaded on as I was goaded on, as well by her
own sex, as by the impulses of a violent passion, was ever so decent.
Yet what mercy does she show me?
Now, Jack, this pitiful dog was such another unfortunate one as thyself
--his arguments serving to confirm me in the very purpose he brought them
to prevail upon me to give up. Had he left me to myself, to the
tenderness of my own nature, moved as I was when the lady withdrew, and
had he set down, and made odious faces, and said nothing--it is very
possible that I should have taken the chair over against him, which she
had quitted, and have cried and blubbered with him for half an hour
together. But the varlet to argue with me!--to pretend to convince a
man, who knows in is heart that he is doing a wrong thing!--He must needs
think that this would put me upon trying what I could say for myself; and
when the extended compunction can be carried from the heart to the lips
it must evaporate in words.
Thou, perhaps, in this place, wouldst have urged the same pleas that he
urged. What I answered to him therefore may do for thee, and spare thee
the trouble of writing, and me of reading, a good deal of nonsense.
Capt. You were pleased to tell me, Sir, that you only proposed to try
her virtue; and that you believed you should actually marry her.
Lovel. So I shall, and cannot help it. I have no doubt but I shall.
And as to trying her, is she not now in the height of her trial? Have I
not reason to think that she is coming about? Is she not now yielding up
her resentment for an attempt which she thinks she ought not to forgive?
And if she do, may she not forgive the last attempt?--Can she, in a word,
resent that more than she does this? Women often, for their own sakes,
will keep the last secret; but will ostentatiously din the ears of gods
and men with their clamours upon a successless offer. It was my folly,
my weakness, that I gave her not more cause for this her unsparing
violence!
Capt. O Sir, you will never be able to subdue this lady without force.
Lovel. Well, then, puppy, must I not endeavour to find a proper time
and place--
Capt. Forgive me, Sir! but can you think of force to such a fine
creature?
Lovel. Force, indeed, I abhor the thought of; and for what, thinkest
thou, have I taken all the pains I have taken, and engaged so many
persons in my cause, but to avoid the necessity of violent compulsion?
But yet, imaginest thou that I expect direct consent from such a lover of
forms as this lady is known to be! Let me tell thee, M'Donald, that thy
master, Belford, has urged on thy side of the question all that thou
canst urge. Must I have every sorry fellow's conscience to pacify, as
well as my own?--By my soul, Patrick, she has a friend here, [clapping my
hand on my breast,] that pleads for her with greater and more
irresistible eloquence than all the men in the world can plead for her.
And had she not escaped me--And yet how have I answered my first design
of trying her,* and in her the virtue of the most virtuous of the sex?--
Perseverance, man!--Perseverance!--What! wouldst thou have me decline a
trial that they make for the honour of a sex we all so dearly love?
* See Vol. III. Letter XVIII.
Then, Sir, you have no thoughts--no thoughts--[looking still more
sorrowfully,] of marrying this wonderful lady?
Yes, yes, Patrick, but I have. But let me, first, to gratify my pride,
bring down her's. Let me see, that she loves me well enough to forgive
me for my own sake. Has she not heretofore lamented that she staid not
in her father's house, though the consequence must have been, if she had,
that she would have been the wife of the odious Solmes? If now she be
brought to consent to be mine, seest thou not that the reconciliation
with her detested relations is the inducement, as it always was, and not
love of me?--Neither her virtue nor her love can be established but upon
full trial; the last trial--but if her resistance and resentment be such
as hitherto I have reason to expect they will be, and if I find in that
resentment less of hatred of me than of the fact, then shall she be mine
in her own way. Then, hateful as is the life of shackles to me, will I
marry her.
Well, Sir, I can only say, that I am dough in your hands, to be moulded
into what shape you please. But if, as I said before--
None of thy Said-before's, Patrick. I remember all thou saidst--and I
know all thou canst farther say--thou art only, Pontius Pilate like,
washing thine own hands, (don't I know thee?) that thou mayest have
something to silence thy conscience with by loading me. But we have gone
too far to recede. Are not all our engines in readiness? Dry up thy
sorrowful eyes. Let unconcern and heart's ease once more take possession
of thy solemn features. Thou hast hitherto performed extremely well.--
Shame not thy past by thy future behaviour; and a rich reward awaits
thee. If thou art dough be dough; and I slapt him on the shoulder--
Resume but thy former shape, and I'll be answerable for the event.
He bowed assent and compliance; went to the glass; and began to untwist
and unsadden his features; pulled his wig right, as if that, as well as
his head and heart had been discomposed by his compunction, and once more
became old Lucifer's and mine.
But didst thou think, Jack, that there was so much--What-shall-I-call-it?
--in this Tomlinson? Didst thou imagine that such a fellow as that had
bowels? That nature, so long dead and buried in him, as to all humane
effects, should thus revive and exert itself?--Yet why do I ask this
question of thee, who, to my equal surprise, hast shown, on the same
occasion, the like compassionate sensibilities?
As to Tomlinson, it looks as if poverty had made him the wicked fellow he
is; as plenty and wantonness have made us what we are. Necessity, after
all, is the test of principle. But what is there in this dull word, or
thing, called HONESTY, that even I, who cannot in my present views be
served by it, cannot help thinking even the accidental emanations of it
amiable in Tomlinson, though demonstrated in a female case; and judging
better of him for being capable of such?