EVELINA TO THE REV. MR. VILLARS Howard Grove, May 18.
WELL, my dear Sir, all is now over! the letter so anxiously expected
is at length arrived, and my doom is fixed. The various feelings
which oppress me, I have not language to describe; nor need I-you
know my heart, you have yourself formed it-and its sensations upon
this occasion you may but too readily imagine.
Outcast as I am, and rejected for ever by him to whom I of right
belong-shall
I now implore your continued protection?-No, no;-I will not offend
your generous heart, which, open to distress, has no wish but to
relieve it, with an application that would seem to imply a doubt. I
am more secure than ever of your kindness, since you now know upon
that is my sole dependence.
I endeavour to bear this stroke with composure, and in such a manner
as if I
had already received your counsel and consolation. Yet, at times,
my emotions are almost too much for me. O, Sir, what a letter for a
parent to write! Must I not myself be deaf to the voice of nature,
if I could endure to be thus absolutely abandoned without regret? I
dare not even to you, nor would I, could I help it, to myself,
acknowledge all that I might think; for, indeed, I have sometimes
sentiments upon this rejection, which my strongest sense of duty can
scarcely correct. Yet, suffer me to ask-might not this answer have
been softened?-was it not enough to disclaim me for ever, without
treating me with contempt, and wounding me with derision?
But while I am thus thinking of myself, I forget how much more he is
the object of sorrow than I am! Alas! what amends can he make himself
for the anguish he is hoarding up for time to come! My heart bleeds
for him, whenever this reflection occurs to me.
What is said of you, my protector, my friend, my benefactor! I dare
not trust
myself to comment upon. Gracious Heaven! what a return for goodness
so unparalleled!
I would fain endeavour to divert my thoughts from this subject;
but even that
is not in my power; for, afflicting as this letter is to me, I find
that it will not be allowed to conclude the affair, though it does
all my expectations; for Madame Duval has determined not to let it
rest here. She heard the letter in great wrath, and protested she
would not be so easily answered; she regretted her facility in having
been prevailed upon to yield the direction of this affair to those
who knew not how to manage it, and vowed she would herself undertake
and conduct it in future.
It is in vain that I have pleaded against her resolution, and
besought her to forbear an attack where she has nothing to expect but
resentment: especially as there seems to be a hint, that Lady Howard
will one day be more openly dealt with. She will not hear me: she is
furiously bent upon a project which is terrible to think of;-for she
means to go herself to Paris, take me with her, and there, face to
face, demand justice!
How to appease or to persuade her, I know not; but for the universe
would I not be dragged, in such a manner, to an interview so awful,
with a parent I have never yet beheld!
Lady Howard and Mrs. Mirvan are both of them infinitely shocked at
the present state of affairs, and they seem to be even more kind to
me than ever; and my dear Maria, who is the friend of my heart, uses
her utmost efforts to console me; and, when she fails in her design,
with still greater kindness she sympathises in my sorrow.
I very much rejoice, however, that Sir Clement Willoughby had left
us before this letter arrived. I am sure the general confusion of
the house would otherwise have betrayed to him the whole of a tale
which I now, more than ever, wish to have buried in oblivion.
Lady Howard thinks I ought not to disoblige Madame Duval, yet she
acknowledges the impropriety of my accompanying her abroad on such
an enterprise. Indeed, I would rather die than force myself into his
presence. But so vehement is Madame Duval, that she would instantly
have compelled me to attend her to town, in her way to Paris, had
not Lady Howard so far exerted herself, as to declare she could by no
means consent to my quitting her house, till she gave me up to you,
by whose permission I had entered it.
She was extremely angry at this denial; and the Captain, by his sneers
and raillery, so much increased her rage, that she has positively
declared, should your next letter dispute her authority to guide me
by her own pleasure, she will, without hesitation, make a journey to
Berry Hill, and teach you to know who she is.
Should she put this threat in execution, nothing could give me greater
uneasiness: for her violence and volubility would almost distract you.
Unable as I am to act for myself, or to judge what conduct I ought
to pursue, how grateful do I feel myself, that I have such a guide
and director to counsel and instruct me as yourself!
Adieu, my dearest Sir! Heaven, I trust, will never let me live to be
repulsed, and derided by you, to whom I may now sign myself, wholly
your EVELINA.