This alarming hurry I mentioned under my date of last night, and Betty's
saucy dark hints, come out to be owing to what I guessed they were; that
is to say, to the private intimation Mr. Lovelace contrived our family
should have of his insolent resolution [insolent I must call it] to
prevent my being carried to my uncle's.
I saw at the time that it was as wrong with respect to answering his own
view, as it was insolent: For, could he think, as Betty (I suppose from
her betters) justly observed, that parents would be insulted out of
their right to dispose of their own child, by a violent man, whom they
hate; and who could have no pretension to dispute that right with them,
unless what he had from her who had none over herself? And how must
this insolence of his, aggravated as my brother is able to aggravate it,
exasperate them against me?
The rash man has indeed so far gained his point, as to intimidate them
from attempting to carry me away: but he has put them upon a surer and
a more desperate measure: and this has driven me also into one as
desperate; the consequence of which, although he could not foresee it,*
may perhaps too well answer his great end, little as he deserves to have
it answered.
* She was mistaken in this. Mr. Lovelace did foresee this
consequence. All his contrivances led to it, and the whole
family, as he boasts, unknown to themselves, were but so
many puppets danced by his wires. See Vol.I. Letter XXXI.
In short, I have done, as far as I know, the most rash thing that ever I
did in my life.
But let me give you the motive, and then the action will follow of
course.
About six o'clock this evening, my aunt (who stays here all night, on my
account, no doubt) came up and tapped at my door; for I was writing;
and had locked myself in. I opened it; and she entering, thus delivered
herself:
I come once more to visit you, my dear; but sorely against my will;
because it is to impart to you matters of the utmost concern to you, and
to the whole family.
What, Madam, is now to be done with me? said I, wholly attentive.
You will not be hurried away to your uncle's, child; let that comfort
you.--They see your aversion to go.--You will not be obliged to go to
your uncle Antony's.
How you revive me, Madam! this is a cordial to my heart!
I little thought, my dear, what was to follow this supposed
condescension.
And then I ran over with blessings for this good news, (and she
permitted me so to do, by her silence); congratulating myself, that
I thought my father could not resolve to carry things to the last
extremity.--
Hold, Niece, said she, at last--you must not give yourself too much joy
upon the occasion neither.--Don't be surprised, my dear.--Why look you
upon me, child, with so affecting an earnestness?--but you must be Mrs.
Solmes, for all that.