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

one house cannot hold us.⁠—Why, if it would, did I fly from him, to seek refuge among strangers?”

Then, in answer to somewhat else they pleaded⁠—“ ’Tis a mistake, Madam; I am not reconciled to him, I will believe nothing he says. Has he not given you a flagrant specimen of what a man he is, and of what his is capable, by the disguises you saw him in? My story is too long, and my stay here will be but short; or I could convince you that my resentments against him are but too well founded.”

I suppose that they pleaded for her leave for my dining with them; for she said⁠—“I have nothing to say to that: it is your own house, Mrs. Moore⁠—it is your own table⁠—you may admit whom you please to it, only leave me at my liberty to choose my company.”

Then, in answer, as I suppose, to their offer of sending her up a plate⁠—“A bit of bread, if you please, and a glass of water; that’s all I can swallow at present. I am really very much discomposed. Saw you not how bad I was? Indignation only could have supported my spirits!⁠—

“I have no objections to his dining with you, Madam;” added she, in reply, I suppose, to a farther question of the same nature⁠—“But I will not stay a night in the same house where he lodges.”

I presume Miss Rawlins had told her that she would not stay dinner: for she said⁠—“Let me not deprive Mrs. Moore of your company, Miss Rawlins. You will not be displeased with his talk. He can have no design upon you.”

Then I suppose they pleaded what I might say behind her back, to make my own story good:⁠—“I care not what he says or what he thinks of me. Repentance and amendment are all the harm I wish him, whatever becomes of me!”

By her accent she wept when she spoke these last words.

They came out both of them wiping their eyes; and would have persuaded me to relinquish the lodgings, and to depart till her uncle’s friend came. But I knew better. I did not care to trust the Devil, well as she and Miss Howe suppose me to be acquainted with him, for finding her out again, if once more she escaped me.

What I am most afraid of is, that she will throw herself among her own relations; and, if she does, I am confident they will not be able to withstand her affecting eloquence. But yet, as thou’lt see, the Captain’s letter to me is admirably calculated to obviate my apprehensions on this score; particularly in that passage where it is said, that her uncle thinks not himself at liberty to correspond directly with her, or to receive applications from her⁠—but through Captain Tomlinson, as is strongly implied.203

I must own, (notwithstanding the revenge I have so solemnly vowed), that I would very fain have made for her a merit with myself in her returning favour, and have owed as little as possible to the mediation of Captain Tomlinson. My pride was concerned in this: and this was one of my reasons for not bringing him with me.⁠—Another was, that, if I were obliged to have recourse to his assistance, I should be better able, (by visiting without him), to direct him what to say or do, as I should find out the turn of her humour.

I was, however, glad at my heart that Mrs. Moore came up so seasonably with notice that dinner was ready. The fair fugitive was all in all. She had the excuse for withdrawing, I had time to strengthen myself; the Captain had time to come; and the lady to cool.⁠—Shakespeare advises well:

Oppose not rage, whilst rage is in its force;
But give it way awhile, and let it waste.
The rising deluge is not stopped with dams;
Those it o’erbears, and drowns the hope of harvest.
But, wisely manag’d, its divided strength
Is sluic’d in channels, and securely drain’d:
And when its force is spent, and unsupply’d,
The residue with mounds may be restrain’d,
And dry-shod we may pass the naked ford.

I went down with the women to dinner. Mrs. Moore sent her fair boarder up a plate, but she only ate a little bit of bread, and drank a glass of water. I doubted not but she would keep her word, when it was once gone out. Is she not an Harlowe? She seems to be enuring herself to hardships, which at the worst she can never know; since, though she should ultimately refuse to be obliged to me, or (to express myself more suitable to my own heart), to oblige me, everyone who sees her must befriend her.

But let me ask thee, Belford, Art thou not solicitous for me in relation to the contents of the letter which the angry beauty had written and dispatched away by man and horse; and for what may be Miss Howe’s answer to it? Art thou not ready to inquire, Whether it be not likely that Miss Howe, when she knows of her saucy friend’s flight, will be concerned about her letter, which she must know could not be at Wilson’s till after that flight, and so, probably, would fall into my hands?⁠—

All these things, as thou’lt see in the sequel, are provided for with as much contrivance as human foresight can admit.

I have already told thee that Will is upon the lookout for old Grimes⁠—old Grimes is, it seems, a gossiping, sottish rascal; and if Will can but light of him, I’ll answer for the consequence; For has not Will been my servant upwards of seven years?

Letter 236 Mr. Lovelace

[In continuation]

We had at dinner, besides Miss Rawlins, a young widow-niece of Mrs. Moore, who is come to stay a month with her aunt⁠—Bevis her name; very forward, very lively, and a great admirer of me, I assure you;⁠—hanging smirkingly upon all I said; and prepared to approve of every word before I spoke: and who, by