Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson [black authors fiction .txt] 📗

to you, when I recollect the many instances, equally ungenerous and unpolite, of your behaviour to one whom you have brought into distress⁠—and I can hardly bear you in my sight.

She turned from me, standing up; and, lifting up her folded hands, and charming eyes swimming in tears, O my father, said the inimitable creature, you might have spared your heavy curse, had you known how I have been punished ever since my swerving feet led me out of your garden-doors to meet this man!⁠—Then, sinking into her chair, a burst of passionate tears forced their way down her glowing cheeks.

My dearest life, (taking her still folded hands in mine), who can bear an invocation so affecting, though so passionate?

And, as I hope to live, my nose tingled, as I once, when a boy, remember it did (and indeed once more very lately) just before some tears came into my eyes; and I durst hardly trust my face in view of hers.

What have I done to deserve this impatient exclamation?⁠—Have I, at any time, by word, by deeds, by looks, given you cause to doubt my honour, my reverence, my adoration, I may call it, of your virtues? All is owing to misapprehension, I hope, on both sides. Condescend to clear up but your part, as I will mine, and all must speedily be happy.⁠—Would to Heaven I loved that Heaven as I love you! and yet, if I doubted a return in love, let me perish if I should know how to wish you mine!⁠—Give me hope, dearest creature, give me but hope, that I am your preferable choice!⁠—Give me but hope, that you hate me not: that you do not despise me.

O Mr. Lovelace, we have been long enough together to be tired of each other’s humours and ways; ways and humours so different, that perhaps you ought to dislike me, as much as I do you.⁠—I think, I think, that I cannot make an answerable return to the value you profess for me. My temper is utterly ruined. You have given me an ill opinion of all mankind; of yourself in particular: and withal so bad a one of myself, that I shall never be able to look up, having utterly and forever lost all that self-complacency, and conscious pride, which are so necessary to carry a woman through this life with tolerable satisfaction to herself.

She paused. I was silent. By my soul, thought I, this sweet creature will at last undo me!

She proceeded: What now remains, but that you pronounce me free of all obligation to you? and that you hinder me not from pursuing the destiny that shall be allotted me?

Again she paused. I was still silent; meditating whether to renounce all further designs upon her; whether I had not received sufficient evidence of a virtue, and of a greatness of soul, that could not be questioned or impeached.

She went on: Propitious to me be your silence, Mr. Lovelace!⁠—Tell me, that I am free of all obligation to you. You know, I never made you promises. You know, that you are not under any to me.⁠—My broken fortunes I matter not⁠—

She was proceeding⁠—My dearest life, said I, I have been all this time, though you fill me with doubts of your favour, busy in the nuptial preparations. I am actually in treaty for equipage.

Equipage, Sir!⁠—Trappings, tinsel!⁠—What is equipage; what is life; what is anything; to a creature sunk so low as I am in my own opinion!⁠—Labouring under a father’s curse!⁠—Unable to look backward without self-reproach, or forward without terror!⁠—These reflections strengthened by every cross accident!⁠—And what but cross accidents befall me!⁠—All my darling schemes dashed in pieces, all my hopes at an end; deny me not the liberty to refuge myself in some obscure corner, where neither the enemies you have made me, nor the few friends you have left me, may ever hear of the supposed rash-one, till those happy moments are at hand, which shall expiate for all!

I had not a word to say for myself. Such a war in my mind had I never known. Gratitude, and admiration of the excellent creature before me, combating with villanous habit, with resolutions so premeditatedly made, and with view so much gloried in!⁠—An hundred new contrivances in my head, and in my heart, that to be honest, as it is called, must all be given up, by a heart delighting in intrigue and difficulty⁠—Miss Howe’s virulences endeavoured to be recollected⁠—yet recollection refusing to bring them forward with the requisite efficacy⁠—I had certainly been a lost man, had not Dorcas come seasonably in with a letter.⁠—On the superscription written⁠—Be pleased, Sir, to open it now.

I retired to the window⁠—opened it⁠—it was from Dorcas herself.⁠—These the contents⁠—“Be pleased to detain my lady: a paper of importance to transcribe. I will cough when I have done.”

I put the paper in my pocket, and turned to my charmer, less disconcerted, as she, by that time, had also a little recovered herself.⁠—One favour, dearest creature⁠—Let me but know, whether Miss Howe approves or disapproves of my proposals? I know her to be my enemy. I was intending to account to you for the change of behaviour you accused me of at the beginning of the conversation; but was diverted from it by your vehemence. Indeed, my beloved creature, you were very vehement. Do you think it must not be matter of high regret to me, to find my wishes so often delayed and postponed in favour of your predominant view to a reconciliation with relations who will not be reconciled to you?⁠—To this was owing your declining to celebrate our nuptials before we came to town, though you were so atrociously treated by your sister, and your whole family; and though so ardently pressed to celebrate by me⁠—to this was owing the ready offence you took at my four friends; and at the unavailing attempt I made to see a dropped letter; little imagining, from what two such ladies could write