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

Dear Lovelace, said she, if ever⁠—if ever⁠—if ever⁠—and, unable to speak another word, quitting her clasping hold⁠—down⁠—prostrate on the floor sunk she, neither in a fit nor out of one.

I was quite astonished.⁠—All my purposes suspended for a few moments, I knew neither what to say, nor what to do. But, recollecting myself, am I again, thought I, in a way to be overcome, and made a fool of!⁠—If I now recede, I am gone forever.

I raised her; but down she sunk, as if quite disjointed⁠—her limbs failing her⁠—yet not in a fit neither. I never heard of or saw such a dear unaccountable; almost lifeless, and speechless too for a few moments; what must her apprehensions be at that moment?⁠—And for what?⁠—An high-notioned dear soul!⁠—Pretty ignorance!⁠—thought I.

Never having met with so sincere, so unquestionable a repugnance, I was staggered⁠—I was confounded⁠—yet how should I know that it would be so till I tried?⁠—And how, having proceeded thus far, could I stop, were I not to have had the women to goad me on, and to make light of circumstances, which they pretended to be better judges of than I?

I lifted her, however, into a chair, and in words of disordered passion, told her, all her fears were needless⁠—wondered at them⁠—begged of her to be pacified⁠—besought her reliance on my faith and honour⁠—and revowed all my old vows, and poured forth new ones.

At last, with a heartbreaking sob, I see, I see, Mr. Lovelace, in broken sentences she spoke⁠—I see, I see⁠—that at last⁠—I am ruined!⁠—Ruined, if your pity⁠—let me implore your pity!⁠—and down on her bosom, like a half-broken-stalked lily top-heavy with the overcharging dews of the morning, sunk her head, with a sigh that went to my heart.

All I could think of to reassure her, when a little recovered, I said.

Why did I not send for their coach, as I had intimated? It might return in the morning for the ladies.

I had actually done so, I told her, on seeing her strange uneasiness. But it was then gone to fetch a doctor for Miss Montague, lest his chariot should not be so ready.

Ah! Lovelace! said she, with a doubting face; anguish in her imploring eye.

Lady Betty would think it very strange, I told her, if she were to know it was so disagreeable to her to stay one night for her company in the house where she had passed so many.

She called me names upon this⁠—she had called me names before.⁠—I was patient.

Let her go to Lady Betty’s lodgings then; directly go; if the person I called Lady Betty was really Lady Betty.

If, my dear! Good Heaven! What a villain does that if show you believe me to be!

I cannot help it⁠—I beseech you once more, let me go to Mrs. Leeson’s, if that if ought not to be said.

Then assuming a more resolute spirit⁠—I will go! I will inquire my way!⁠—I will go by myself!⁠—and would have rushed by me.

I folded my arms about her to detain her; pleading the bad way I heard poor Charlotte was in; and what a farther concern her impatience, if she went, would give to poor Charlotte.

She would believe nothing I said, unless I would instantly order a coach, (since she was not to have Lady Betty’s, nor was permitted to go to Mrs. Leeson’s), and let her go in it to Hampstead, late as it was, and all alone, so much the better; for in the house of people of whom Lady Betty, upon inquiry, had heard a bad character, (Dropped foolishly this, by my prating new relation, in order to do credit to herself, by depreciating others), everything, and every face, looking with so much meaning vileness, as well as my own, (thou art still too sensible, thought I, my charmer!) she was resolved not to stay another night.

Dreading what might happen as to her intellects, and being very apprehensive that she might possibly go through a great deal before morning, (though more violent she could not well be with the worst she dreaded), I humoured her, and ordered Will to endeavour to get a coach directly, to carry us to Hampstead; I cared not at what price.

Robbers, with whom I would have terrified her, she feared not⁠—I was all her fear, I found; and this house her terror: for I saw plainly that she now believed that Lady Betty and Miss Montague were both impostors.

But her mistrust is a little of the latest to do her service!

And, O Jack, the rage of love, the rage of revenge is upon me! by turns they tear me! The progress already made⁠—the women’s instigations⁠—the power I shall have to try her to the utmost, and still to marry her, if she be not to be brought to cohabitation⁠—let me perish, Belford, if she escape me now!

Will is not yet come back. Near eleven.

Will is this moment returned. No coach to be got, either for love or money.

Once more she urges⁠—to Mrs. Leeson’s, let me go, Lovelace! Good Lovelace, let me go to Mrs. Leeson’s? What is Miss Montague’s illness to my terror?⁠—For the Almighty’s sake, Mr. Lovelace!⁠—her hands clasped.

O my angel! What a wildness is this! Do you know, do you see, my dearest life, what appearances your causeless apprehensions have given you?⁠—Do you know it is past eleven o’clock?

Twelve, one, two, three, four⁠—any hour, I care not⁠—If you mean me honourably, let me go out of this hated house!

Thou’lt observe, Belford, that though this was written afterwards, yet, (as in other places), I write it as it was spoken and happened, as if I had retired to put down every sentence spoken. I know thou likest this lively present-tense manner, as it is one of my peculiars.

Just as she had repeated the last words, If you mean me honourably, let me go out of this hated house, in came Mrs. Sinclair, in a great ferment⁠—And what, pray, Madam, has this house done to you? Mr. Lovelace, you have known me some time; and, if I have not the