I have another letter from Mr. Lovelace. I opened it with the
expectation of its being filled with bold and free complaints, on my
not writing to prevent his two nights watching, in weather not extremely
agreeable. But, instead of complaints, he is 'full of tender concern
lest I may have been prevented by indisposition, or by the closer
confinement which he has frequently cautioned me that I may expect.'
He says, 'He had been in different disguises loitering about our garden
and park wall, all the day on Sunday last; and all Sunday night was
wandering about the coppice, and near the back door. It rained; and he
has got a great cold, attended with feverishness, and so hoarse, that he
has almost lost his voice.'
Why did he not flame out in his letter?--Treated as I am treated by my
friends, it is dangerous to be laid under the sense of an obligation to
an addresser's patience; especially when such a one suffers in health
for my sake.
'He had no shelter, he says, but under the great overgrown ivy, which
spreads wildly round the heads of two or three oaklings; and that was
soon wet through.'
You remember the spot. You and I, my dear, once thought ourselves
obliged to the natural shade which those ivy-covered oaklings afforded
us, in a sultry day.
I can't help saying, I am sorry he has suffered for my sake; but 'tis
his own seeking.
His letter is dated last night at eight: 'And, indisposed as he is,
he tells me that he will watch till ten, in hopes of my giving him the
meeting he so earnestly request. And after that, he has a mile to walk
to his horse and servant; and four miles then to ride to his inn.'
He owns, 'That he has an intelligencer in our family; who has failed
him for a day or two past: and not knowing how I do, or how I may be
treated, his anxiety is increased.'
This circumstance gives me to guess who this intelligencer is: Joseph
Leman: the very creature employed and confided in, more than any other,
by my brother.
This is not an honourable way of proceeding in Mr. Lovelace. Did
he learn this infamous practice of corrupting the servants of other
families at the French court, where he resided a good while?
I have been often jealous of this Leman in my little airings and
poultry-visits. Doubly obsequious as he was always to me, I have
thought him my brother's spy upon me; and although he obliged me by
his hastening out of the garden and poultry-yard, whenever I came into
either, have wondered, that from his reports my liberties of those kinds
have not been abridged.* So, possibly, this man may be bribed by both,
yet betray both. Worthy views want not such obliquities as these on
either side. An honest mind must rise into indignation both at the
traitor-maker and the traitor.
* Mr. Lovelace accounts for this, Vol. I, Letter XXXV.
'He presses with the utmost earnestness for an interview. He would not
presume, he says, to disobey my last personal commands, that he should
not endeavour to attend me again in the wood-house. But says, he can
give me such reasons for my permitting him to wait upon my father
or uncles, as he hopes will be approved by me: for he cannot help
observing, that it is no more suitable to my own spirit than to his,
that he, a man of fortune and family, should be obliged to pursue such a
clandestine address, as would only become a vile fortune-hunter. But, if
I will give my consent for his visiting me like a man, and a gentleman,
no ill treatment shall provoke him to forfeit his temper.
'Lord M. will accompany him, if I please: or Lady Betty Lawrance will
first make the visit to my mother, or to my aunt Hervey, or even to my
uncles, if I choose it. And such terms shall be offered, as shall have
weight upon them.
'He begs, that I will not deny him making a visit to Mr. Solmes. By
all that's good, he vows, that it shall not be with the least intention
either to hurt or affront him; but only to set before him, calmly and
rationally, the consequences that may possibly flow from so fruitless a
perseverance, as well as the ungenerous folly of it, to a mind as noble
as mine. He repeats his own resolution to attend my pleasure, and Mr.
Morden's arrival and advice, for the reward of his own patience.
'It is impossible, he says, but one of these methods must do.
Presence, he observes, even of a disliked person, takes off the edge of
resentments which absence whets, and makes keen.
'He therefore most earnestly repeats his importunities for the
supplicated interview.' He says, 'He has business of consequence in
London: but cannot stir from the inconvenient spot where he has for
some time resided, in disguises unworthy of himself, until he can be
absolutely certain, that I shall not be prevailed upon, either by force
or otherwise; and until he finds me delivered from the insults of my
brother. Nor ought this to be an indifferent point to one, for whose
sake all the world reports me to be used unworthily. But one remark, he
says, he cannot help making: that did my friends know the little favour
I shew him, and the very great distance I keep him at, they would
have no reason to confine me on his account. And another, that they
themselves seem to think him entitled to a different usage, and expect
that he receives it; when, in truth, what he meets with from me is
exactly what they wish him to meet with, excepting in the favour of
my correspondence I honour him with; upon which, he says, he puts the
highest value, and for the sake of which he has submitted to a thousand
indignities.
'He renews his professions of reformation. He is convinced, he says,
that he has already run a long and dangerous course; and that it is high
time to think of returning. It must be from proper conviction, he says,
that a person who has lived too gay a life, resolves to reclaim, before
age or sufferings come upon him.
'All generous spirits, he observes, hate compulsion. Upon this
observation he dwells; but regrets, that he is likely to owe all his
hopes to this compulsion; this injudicious compulsion, he justly calls
it; and none to my esteem for him. Although he presumes upon some
merit--in this implicit regard to my will--in the bearing the daily
indignities offered not only to him, but to his relations, by my
brother--in the nightly watchings, his present indisposition makes him
mention, or he had not debased the nobleness of his passion for me, by
such a selfish instance.'