And won't you take it? won't you do this last office for me?--I have no
other person to ask it of; else, believe me, I would not request it of
you. But take it, or not, laying it upon the table----you must withdraw,
Sir: I am very ill. I would fain get a little rest, if I could. I find
I am going to be bad again.
And offering to rise, she sunk down through excess of weakness and grief,
in a fainting fit.
Why, Lovelace, was thou not present thyself?----Why dost thou commit such
villanies, as even thou art afraid to appear in; and yet puttest a weaker
heart and head upon encountering with them?
The maid coming in just then, the woman and she lifted her up on a
decrepit couch; and I withdrew with this Rowland; who wept like a child,
and said, he never in his life was so moved.
Yet so hardened a wretch art thou, that I question whether thou wilt shed
a tear at my relation.
They recovered her by hartshorn and water. I went down mean while; for
the detestable woman had been below some time. O how I did curse her! I
never before was so fluent in curses.
She tried to wheedle me; but I renounced her; and, after she had
dismissed the action, sent her away crying, or pretending to cry, because
of my behaviour to her.
You will observe, that I did not mention one word to the lady about you.
I was afraid to do it. For 'twas plain, that she could not bear your
name: your friend, and the company you have seen me in, were the words
nearest to naming you she could speak: and yet I wanted to clear your
intention of this brutal, this sordid-looking villany.
I sent up again, by Rowland's wife, when I heard that the lady was
recovered, beseeching her to quit that devilish place; and the woman
assured her that she was at liberty to do so, for that the action was
dismissed.
But she cared not to answer her: and was so weak and low, that it was
almost as much out of her power as inclination, the woman told me, to
speak.
I would have hastened away for my friend Doctor H., but the house is such
a den, and the room she was in such a hole, that I was ashamed to be seen
in it by a man of his reputation, especially with a woman of such an
appearance, and in such uncommon distress; and I found there was no
prevailing upon her to quit it for the people's bed-room, which was neat
and lightsome.
The strong room she was in, the wretches told me, should have been in
better order, but that it was but the very morning that she was brought
in that an unhappy man had quitted it; for a more eligible prison, no
doubt; since there could hardly be a worse.
Being told that she desired not to be disturbed, and seemed inclined to
doze, I took this opportunity to go to her lodgings in Covent-garden: to
which Dorcas (who first discovered her there, as Will. was the setter
from church) had before given me a direction.
The man's name is Smith, a dealer in gloves, snuff, and such petty
merchandize: his wife the shopkeeper: he a maker of the gloves they sell.
Honest people, it seems.
I thought to have got the woman with me to the lady; but she was not
within.
I talked with the man, and told him what had befallen the lady; owing, as
I said, to a mistake of orders; and gave her the character she deserved;
and desired him to send his wife, the moment she came in, to the lady;
directing him whither; not doubting that her attendance would be very
welcome to her; which he promised.
He told me that a letter was left for her there on Saturday; and, about
half an hour before I came, another, superscribed by the same hand; the
first, by the post; the other, by a countryman; who having been informed
of her absence, and of all the circumstances they could tell him of it,
posted away, full of concern, saying, that the lady he was sent from
would be ready to break her heart at the tidings.
I thought it right to take the two letters back with me; and, dismissing
my coach, took a chair, as a more proper vehicle for the lady, if I (the
friend of her destroyer) could prevail upon her to leave Rowland's.
And here, being obliged to give way to an indispensable avocation, I will
make thee taste a little, in thy turn, of the plague of suspense; and
break off, without giving thee the least hint of the issue of my further
proceedings. I know, that those least bear disappointment, who love most
to give it. In twenty instances, hast thou afforded me proof of the
truth of this observation. And I matter not thy raving.
Another letter, however, shall be ready, send for it a soon as thou wilt.
But, were it not, have I not written enough to convince thee, that I am
Thy ready and obliging friend,
J. BELFORD.