I went down with revenge in my heart, the contents of Miss Howe’s
letter almost engrossing me, the moment that Miss Harlowe and Mrs.
Moore (accompanied by Miss Rawlins) came in: but in my countenance all
the gentle, the placid, the serene, that the glass could teach; and in
my behaviour all the polite, that such an unpolite creature, as she has
often told me I am, could put on.
Miss Rawlins was sent for home almost as soon as she came in, to
entertain an unexpected visiter; to her great regret, as well as to the
disappointment of my fair-one, as I could perceive from the looks of
both: for they had agreed, it seems, if I went to town, as I said I
intended to do, to take a walk upon the Heath, at least in Mrs. Moore’s
garden; and who knows, what might have been the issue, had the spirit
of curiosity in the one met with the spirit of communication in the
other?
Miss Rawlins promised to return, if possible: but sent to excuse
herself: her visiter intending to stay with her all night.
I rejoiced in my heart at her message; and, after much supplication,
obtained the favour of my beloved’s company for another walk in the
garden, having, as I told her, abundance of things to say, to propose,
and to be informed of, in order ultimately to govern myself in my
future steps.
She had vouchsafed, I should have told thee, with eyes turned from me,
and in a half-aside attitude, to sip two dishes of tea in my
company—Dear soul!—How anger unpolishes the most polite! for I never
saw Miss Harlowe behave so awkwardly. I imagined she knew not how to be
awkward.
When we were in the garden, I poured my whole soul into her attentive
ear; and besought her returning favour.
She told me, that she had formed her scheme for her future life: that,
vile as the treatment was which she had received from me, that was not
all the reason she had for rejecting my suit: but that, on the maturest
deliberation, she was convinced that she could neither be happy with
me, nor make me happy; and she injoined me, for both our sakes, to
think no more of her.
The Captain, I told her, was rid down post, in a manner, to forward my
wishes with her uncle.—Lady Betty and Miss Montague were undoubtedly
arrived in town by this time. I would set out early in the morning to
attend them. They adored her. They longed to see her. They would see
her.—They would not be denied her company in Oxfordshire. Whither could
she better go, to be free from her brother’s insults?—Whither, to be
absolutely made unapprehensive of any body else?—Might I have any hopes
of her returning favour, if Miss Howe could be prevailed upon to
intercede for me?
Miss Howe prevailed upon to intercede for you! repeated she, with a
scornful bridle, but a very pretty one.—And there she stopt.
I repeated the concern it would be to me to be under a necessity of
mentioning the misunderstanding to Lady Betty and my cousin, as a
misunderstanding still to be made up; and as if I were of very little
consequence to a dear creature who was of so much to me; urging, that
these circumstances would extremely lower me not only in my own
opinion, but in that of my relations.
But still she referred to Miss Howe’s next letter; and all the
concession I could bring her to in this whole conference, was, that she
would wait the arrival and visit of the two ladies, if they came in a
day or two, or before she received the expected letter from Miss Howe.
Thank Heaven for this! thought I. And now may I go to town with hopes
at my return to find thee, dearest, where I shall leave thee.
But yet, as she may find reasons to change her mind in my absence, I
shall not entirely trust to this. My fellow, therefore, who is in the
house, and who, by Mrs. Bevis’s kind intelligence, will know every step
she can take, shall have Andrew and a horse ready, to give me immediate
notice of her motions; and moreover, go whither she will, he shall be
one of her retinue, though unknown to herself, if possible.
This was all I could make of the fair inexorable. Should I be glad of
it, or sorry for it?—
Glad I believe: and yet my pride is confoundedly abated, to think that
I had so little hold in the affections of this daughter of the
Harlowes.
Don’t tell me that virtue and principle are her guides on this
occasion!—’Tis pride, a greater pride than my own, that governs her.
Love, she has none, thou seest; nor ever had; at least not in a
superior degree. Love, that deserves the name, never was under the
dominion of prudence, or of any reasoning power. She cannot bear to be
thought a woman, I warrant! And if, in the last attempt, I find her not
one, what will she be the worse for the trial?—No one is to blame for
suffering an evil he cannot shun or avoid.
Were a general to be overpowered, and robbed by a highwayman, would he
be less fit for the command of an army on that account?—If indeed the
general, pretending great valour, and having boasted that he never
would be robbed, were to make but faint resistance when he was brought
to the test, and to yield his purse when he was master of his own
sword, then indeed will the highwayman who robs him be thought the
braver man.
But from these last conferences am I furnished with one argument in
defence of my favourite purpose, which I never yet pleaded.
O Jack! what a difficulty must a man be allowed to have to conquer a
predominant passion, be it what it will, when the gratifying of it is
in his power, however wrong he knows it to be to resolve to gratify it!
Reflect upon this; and then wilt thou be able to account for, if not to
excuse, a projected crime, which has habit to plead for it, in a breast
as stormy as uncontroulable!