Mock me not with outward gestures of respect. The heart, Clary, is what
I want.
Indeed, Madam, you have it. It is not so much mine as my Mamma's!
Fine talking!--As somebody says, If words were to pass for duty,
Clarissa Harlowe would be the dutifulest child breathing.
God bless that somebody!--Be it whom it will, God bless that
somebody!--And I courtesied, and, pursuant to her last command, was
going.
She seemed struck; but was to be angry with me.
So turning from me, she spoke with quickness, Whither now, Clary
Harlowe?
You commanded me, Madam, to go to my chamber.
I see you are very ready to go out of my presence.--Is your compliance
the effect of sullenness, or obedience?--You are very ready to leave me.
I could hold no longer; but threw myself at her feet: O my dearest
Mamma! Let me know all I am to suffer! Let me know what I am to be!--I
will bear it, if I can bear it: but your displeasure I cannot bear!
Leave me, leave me, Clary Harlowe!--No kneeling!--Limbs so supple! Will
so stubborn!--Rise, I tell you.
I cannot rise! I will disobey my Mamma, when she bids me leave her
without being reconciled to me! No sullens, my Mamma: no perverseness:
but, worse than either: this is direct disobedience!--Yet tear not
yourself from me! [wrapping my arms about her as I kneeled; she
struggling to get from me; my face lifted up to hers, with eyes
running over, that spoke not my heart if they were not all humility and
reverence] You must not, must not, tear yourself from me! [for still
the dear lady struggled, and looked this way and that, all in a sweet
disorder, as if she knew not what to do].--I will neither rise, nor
leave you, nor let you go, till you say you are not angry with me.
O thou ever-moving child of my heart! [folding her dear arms about my
neck, as mine embraced her knees] Why was this task--But leave me!--You
have discomposed me beyond expression! Leave me, my dear!--I won't be
angry with you--if I can help it--if you'll be good.
I arose trembling, and, hardly knowing what I did, or how I stood or
walked, withdrew to my chamber. My Hannah followed me as soon as she
heard me quit my mother's presence, and with salts and spring-water just
kept me from fainting; and that was as much as she could do. It was near
two hours before I could so far recover myself as to take up my pen, to
write to you how unhappily my hopes have ended.
My mother went down to breakfast. I was not fit to appear: but if I
had been better, I suppose I should not have been sent for; since the
permission for my attending her down, was given by my father (when in
my chamber) only on condition that she found me worthy of the name of
daughter. That, I doubt, I shall never be in his opinion, if he be not
brought to change his mind as to this Mr. Solmes.