Miss looks well and clean in any thing, said Polly. But, dear Madam, why
won't you send to your lodgings? Were it but in kindness to the people?
They must have a concern about you. And your Miss Howe will wonder
what's become of you; for, no doubt, you correspond.
She turned from them, and, to herself, said, Too much! Too much!--She
tossed her handkerchief, wet before with her tears, from her, and held
her apron to her eyes.
Don't weep, Miss! said the vile Polly.
Yet do, cried the viler Sally, it will be a relief. Nothing, as Mr.
Lovelace once told me, dries sooner than tears. For once I too wept
mightily.
I could not bear the recital of this with patience. Yet I cursed them
not so much as I should have done, had I not had a mind to get from them
all the particulars of their gentle treatment: and this for two reasons;
the one, that I might stab thee to the heart with the repetition; and the
other, that I might know upon what terms I am likely to see the unhappy
lady to-morrow.
Well, but, Miss Harlowe, cried Sally, do you think these forlorn airs
pretty? You are a good christian, child. Mrs. Rowland tells me, she has
got you a Bible-book.--O there it lies!--I make no doubt but you have
doubled down the useful places, as honest Matt. Prior says.
Then rising, and taking it up.--Ay, so you have.--The Book of Job! One
opens naturally here, I see--My mamma made me a fine Bible-scholar.--You
see, Miss Horton, I know something of the book.
They proposed once more to bail her, and to go home with them. A motion
which she received with the same indignation as before.
Sally told her, That she had written in a very favourable manner, in her
behalf, to you; and that she every hour expected an answer; and made no
doubt, that you would come up with a messenger, and generously pay the
whole debt, and ask her pardon for neglecting it.
This disturbed her so much, that they feared she would have fallen into
fits. She could not bear your name, she said. She hoped she should
never see you more: and, were you to intrude yourself, dreadful
consequences might follow.
Surely, they said, she would be glad to be released from her confinement.
Indeed she should, now they had begun to alarm her with his name, who was
the author of all her woes: and who, she now saw plainly, gave way to
this new outrage, in order to bring her to his own infamous terms.
Why then, they asked, would she not write to her friends, to pay Mrs.
Sinclair's demand?
Because she hoped she should not trouble any body; and because she knew
that the payment of the money if she should be able to pay it, was not
what was aimed at.
Sally owned that she told her, That, truly, she had thought herself as
well descended, and as well educated, as herself, though not entitled to
such considerable fortunes. And had the impudence to insist upon it to
me to be truth.
She had the insolence to add, to the lady, That she had as much reason as
she to expect Mr. Lovelace would marry her; he having contracted to do so
before he knew Miss Clarissa Harlowe: and that she had it under his hand
and seal too--or else he had not obtained his end: therefore it was not
likely she should be so officious as to do his work against herself, if
she thought Mr. Lovelace had designs upon her, like what she presumed to
hint at: that, for her part, her only view was, to procure liberty to a
young gentlewoman, who made those things grievous to her which would not
be made such a rout about by any body else--and to procure the payment of
a just debt to her friend Mrs. Sinclair.
She besought them to leave her. She wanted not these instances, she
said, to convince her of the company she was in; and told them, that, to
get rid of such visiters, and of the still worse she was apprehensive of,
she would write to one friend to raise the money for her; though it would
be death for her to do so; because that friend could not do it without
her mother, in whose eye it would give a selfish appearance to a
friendship that was above all sordid alloys.
They advised her to write out of hand.
But how much must I write for? What is the sum? Should I not have had a
bill delivered me? God knows, I took not your lodgings. But he that
could treat me as he has done, could do this!
Don't speak against Mr. Lovelace, Miss Harlowe. He is a man I greatly
esteem. [Cursed toad!] And, 'bating that he will take his advantage,
where he can, of US silly credulous women, he is a man of honour.
She lifted up her hands and eyes, instead of speaking: and well she
might! For any words she could have used could not have expressed the
anguish she must feel on being comprehended in the US.
She must write for one hundred and fifty guineas, at least: two hundred,
if she were short of more money, might well be written for.
Mrs. Sinclair, she said, had all her clothes. Let them be sold, fairly
sold, and the money go as far as it would go. She had also a few other
valuables; but no money, (none at all,) but the poor half guinea, and the
little silver they had seen. She would give bond to pay all that her
apparel, and the other maters she had, would fall short of. She had
great effects belonging to her of right. Her bond would, and must be
paid, were it for a thousand pounds. But her clothes she should never
want. She believed, if not too much undervalued, those, and her few
valuables, would answer every thing. She wished for no surplus but to
discharge the last expenses; and forty shillings would do as well for
those as forty pounds. 'Let my ruin, said she, lifting up her eyes, be
LARGE! Let it be COMPLETE, in this life!--For a composition, let it be
COMPLETE.'--And there she stopped.
The wretches could not help wishing to me for the opportunity of making
such a purchase for their own wear. How I cursed them! and, in my heart,
thee!--But too probable, thought I, that this vile Sally Martin may hope,
[though thou art incapable of it,] that her Lovelace, as she has the
assurance, behind thy back, to call thee, may present her with some of
the poor lady's spoils!
Will not Mrs. Sinclair, proceeded she, think my clothes a security, till
they can be sold? They are very good clothes. A suit or two but just
put on, as it were; never worn. They cost much more than it demanded of
me. My father loved to see me fine.--All shall go. But let me have the
particulars of her demand. I suppose I must pay for my destroyer [that
was her well-adapted word!] and his servants, as well as for myself. I
am content to do so--I am above wishing that any body, who could thus
act, should be so much as expostulated with, as to the justice and equity
of this payment. If I have but enough to pay the demand, I shall be
satisfied; and will leave the baseness of such an action as this, as an
aggravation of a guilt which I thought could not be aggravated.
I own, Lovelace, I have malice in this particularity, in order to sting
thee on the heart. And, let me ask thee, what now thou can'st think of
thy barbarity, thy unprecedented barbarity, in having reduced a person of
her rank, fortune, talents, and virtue, so low?
The wretched women, it must be owned, act but in their profession: a
profession thou hast been the principal means of reducing these two to
act in. And they know what thy designs have been, and how far
prosecuted. It is, in their opinions, using her gently, that they have
forborne to bring her to the woman so justly odious to her: and that they
have not threatened her with the introducing to her strange men: nor yet
brought into her company their spirit-breakers, and humbling-drones,
(fellows not allowed to carry stings,) to trace and force her back to
their detested house; and, when there, into all their measures.
Till I came, they thought thou wouldst not be displeased at any thing she
suffered, that could help to mortify her into a state of shame and
disgrace; and bring her to comply with thy views, when thou shouldst come
to release her from these wretches, as from a greater evil than
cohabiting with thee.
When thou considerest these things, thou wilt make no difficulty of
believing, that this their own account of their behaviour to this
admirable woman has been far short of their insults: and the less, when I
tell thee, that, all together, their usage had such effect upon her, that
they left her in violent hysterics; ordering an apothecary to be sent
for, if she should continue in them, and be worse; and particularly (as
they had done from the first) that they kept out of her way any edged or
pointed instrument; especially a pen-knife; which, pretending to mend a
pen, they said, she might ask for.
At twelve, Saturday night, Rowland sent to tell them, that she was so
ill, that he knew not what might be the issue; and wished her out of his
house.
And this made them as heartily wish to hear from you. For their
messenger, to their great surprise, was not then returned from M. Hall.
And they were sure he must have reached that place by Friday night.
Early on Sunday morning, both devils went to see how she did. They had
such an account of her weakness, lowness, and anguish, that they forebore
(out of compassion, they said, finding their visits so disagreeable to
her) to see her. But their apprehension of what might be the issue was,
no doubt, their principal consideration: nothing else could have softened
such flinty bosoms.
They sent for the apothecary Rowland had had to her, and gave him, and
Rowland, and his wife and maid, strict orders, many times repeated, for
the utmost care to be taken of her--no doubt, with an Old-Bailey
forecast. And they sent up to let her know what orders they had given:
but that, understanding she had taken something to compose herself, they
would not disturb her.
She had scrupled, it seems, to admit the apothecary's visit over night,
because he was a MAN. Nor could she be prevailed upon to see him, till
they pleaded their own safety to her.
They went again, from church, [Lord, Bob., these creatures go to church!]
but she sent them down word that she must have all the remainder of the
day to herself.
When I first came, and told them of thy execrations for what they had
done, and joined my own to them, they were astonished. The mother said,
she had thought she had known Mr. Lovelace better; and expected thanks,
and not curses.
While I was with them, came back halting and cursing, most horribly,
their messenger; by reason of the ill-usage he had received from you,
instead of the reward he had been taught to expect for the supposed good
news that he carried down.--A pretty fellow, art thou not, to abuse
people for the consequences of thy own faults?
Dorcas, whose acquaintance this fellow is, and who recommended him for
the journey, had conditioned with him, it seems, for a share in the
expected bounty from you. Had she been to have had her share made good,
I wish thou hadst broken every bone in his skin.
Under what shocking disadvantages, and with this addition to them, that I
am thy friend and intimate, am I to make a visit to this unhappy lady
to-morrow morning! In thy name, too!--Enough to be refused, that I am of
a sex, to which, for thy sake, she has so justifiable an aversion: nor,
having such a tyrant of a father, and such an implacable brother, has she
the reason to make an exception in favour of any of it on their accounts.
It is three o'clock. I will close here; and take a little rest: what I
have written will be a proper preparative for what shall offer by-and-by.
Thy servant is not to return without a letter, he tells me; and that thou
expectest him back in the morning. Thou hast fellows enough where thou
art at thy command. If I find any difficulty in seeing the lady, thy
messenger shall post away with this.--Let him look to broken bones, and
other consequences, if what he carries answer not thy expectation. But,
if I am admitted, thou shalt have this and the result of my audience both
together. In the former case, thou mayest send another servant to wait
the next advices from