Curse upon my stars!--Disappointed again! It was about eight when I
arrived at Smith's.--The woman was in the shop.
So, old acquaintance, how do you now? I know my love is above.--Let her
be acquainted that I am here, waiting for admission to her presence, and
can take no denial. Tell her, that I will approach her with the most
respectful duty, and in whose company she pleases; and I will not touch
the hem of her garment, without her leave.
Indeed, Sir, you are mistaken. The lady is not in this house, nor near
it.
I'll see that.--Will.! beckoning him to me, and whispering, see if thou
canst any way find out (without losing sight of the door, lest she should
be below stairs) if she be in the neighbourhood, if not within.
Will. bowed, and went off. Up went I, without further ceremony; attended
now only by the good woman.
I went into each apartment, except that which was locked before, and was
now also locked: and I called to my Clarissa in the voice of love; but,
by the still silence, was convinced she was not there. Yet, on the
strength of my intelligence, I doubted not but she was in the house.
I then went up two pairs of stairs, and looked round the first room: but
no Miss Harlowe.
And who, pray, is in this room? stopping at the door of another.
A widow gentlewoman, Sir.--Mrs. Lovick.
O my dear Mrs. Lovick! said I.--I am intimately acquainted with Mrs.
Lovick's character, from my cousin John Belford. I must see Mrs. Lovick
by all means.--Good Mrs. Lovick, open the door.
She did.
Your servant, Madam. Be so good as to excuse me.--You have heard my
story. You are an admirer of the most excellent woman in the world.
Dear Mrs. Lovick, tell me what is become of her?
The poor lady, Sir, went out yesterday, on purpose to avoid you.
How so? she knew not that I would be here.
She was afraid you would come, when she heard you were recovered from
your illness. Ah! Sir, what pity it is that so fine a gentleman should
make such ill returns for God's goodness to him!
You are an excellent woman, Mrs. Lovick: I know that, by my cousin John
Belford's account of you: and Miss Clarissa Harlowe is an angel.
Miss Harlowe is indeed an angel, replied she; and soon will be company
for angels.
No jesting with such a woman as this, Jack.
Tell me of a truth, good Mrs. Lovick, where I may see this dear lady.
Upon my soul, I will neither fright for offend her. I will only beg of
her to hear me speak for one half-quarter of an hour; and, if she will
have it so, I will never trouble her more.
Sir, said the widow, it would be death for her to see you. She was at
home last night; I'll tell you truth: but fitter to be in bed all day.
She came home, she said, to die; and, if she could not avoid your visit,
she was unable to fly from you; and believed she should die in your
presence.
And yet go out again this morning early? How can that be, widow?
Why, Sir, she rested not two hours, for fear of you. Her fear gave her
strength, which she'll suffer for, when that fear is over. And finding
herself, the more she thought of your visit, the less able to stay to
receive it, she took chair, and is gone nobody knows whither. But, I
believe, she intended to be carried to the waterside, in order to take
boat; for she cannot bear a coach. It extremely incommoded her
yesterday.
But before we talk any further, said I, if she be gone abroad, you can
have no objection to my looking into every apartment above and below;
because I am told she is actually in the house.
Indeed, Sir, she is not. You may satisfy yourself, if you please: but
Mrs. Smith and I waited on her to her chair. We were forced to support
her, she was so weak. She said, Whither can I go, Mrs. Lovick? whither
can I go, Mrs. Smith?--Cruel, cruel man!--tell him I called him so, if he
come again!--God give him that peace which he denies me!
Sweet creature! cried I; and looked down, and took out my handkerchief.
The widow wept. I wish, said she, I had never known so excellent a lady,
and so great a sufferer! I love her as my own child!
Mrs. Smith wept.
I then gave over the hope of seeing her for this time, I was extremely
chagrined at my disappointment, and at the account they gave of her ill
health.
Would to Heaven, said I, she would put it in my power to repair her
wrongs! I have been an ungrateful wretch to her. I need not tell you,
Mrs. Lovick, how much I have injured her, nor how much she suffers by her
relations' implacableness, Mrs. Smith, that cuts her to the heart. Her
family is the most implacable family on earth; and the dear creature, in
refusing to see me, and to be reconciled to me, shows her relation to
them a little too plainly.
O Sir, said the widow, not one syllable of what you say belongs to this
lady. I never saw so sweet a temper! she is always accusing herself, and
excusing her relations. And, as to you, Sir, she forgives you: she
wishes you well; and happier than you will let her die in peace? 'tis all
she wishes for. You don't look like a hard-hearted gentleman!--How can
you thus hunt and persecute a poor lady, whom none of her relations will
look upon? It makes my heart bleed for her.
And then she wept again. Mrs. Smith wept also. My seat grew uneasy to
me. I shifted to another several times; and what Mrs. Lovick farther
said, and showed me, made me still more uneasy.
Bad as the poor lady was last night, said she, she transcribed into her
book a meditation on your persecuting her thus. I have a copy of it. If
I thought it would have any effect, I would read it to you.
Let me read it myself, Mrs. Lovick.
She gave it to me. It has an Harlowe-spirited title: and, from a
forgiving spirit, intolerable. I desired to take it with me. She
consented, on condition that I showed it to 'Squire Belford. So here,
Mr. 'Squire Belford, thou mayest read it, if thou wilt.