The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling, Henry Fielding [best ereader under 100 TXT] 📗

many warm and passionate declarations of affection and duty, she begged him “not to make her the most miserable creature on earth by forcing her to marry a man whom she detested. This I entreat of you, dear sir,” said she, “for your sake, as well as my own, since you are so very kind to tell me your happiness depends on mine.”⁠—“How! what!” says Western, staring wildly.⁠—“Oh! sir,” continued she, “not only your poor Sophy’s happiness; her very life, her being, depends upon your granting her request. I cannot live with Mr. Blifil. To force me into this marriage would be killing me.”⁠—“You can’t live with Mr. Blifil?” says Western.⁠—“No, upon my soul I can’t,” answered Sophia.⁠—“Then die and be d⁠⸺⁠d,” cries he, spurning her from him.⁠—“Oh! sir,” cries Sophia, catching hold of the skirt of his coat, “take pity on me, I beseech you. Don’t look and say such cruel⁠—Can you be unmoved while you see your Sophy in this dreadful condition? Can the best of fathers break my heart? Will he kill me by the most painful, cruel, lingering death?”⁠—“Pooh! pooh!” cries the squire; “all stuff and nonsense; all maidenish tricks. Kill you, indeed! Will marriage kill you?”⁠—“Oh! sir,” answered Sophia, “such a marriage is worse than death. He is not even indifferent; I hate and detest him.”⁠—“If you detest un never so much,” cries Western, “you shall ha’un.” This he bound by an oath too shocking to repeat; and after many violent asseverations, concluded in these words: “I am resolved upon the match, and unless you consent to it I will not give you a groat, not a single farthing; no, though I saw you expiring with famine in the street, I would not relieve you with a morsel of bread. This is my fixed resolution, and so I leave you to consider on it.” He then broke from her with such violence, that her face dashed against the floor; and he burst directly out of the room, leaving poor Sophia prostrate on the ground.

When Western came into the hall, he there found Jones; who seeing his friend looking wild, pale, and almost breathless, could not forbear enquiring the reason of all these melancholy appearances. Upon which the squire immediately acquainted him with the whole matter, concluding with bitter denunciations against Sophia, and very pathetic lamentations of the misery of all fathers who are so unfortunate to have daughters.

Jones, to whom all the resolutions which had been taken in favour of Blifil were yet a secret, was at first almost struck dead with this relation; but recovering his spirits a little, mere despair, as he afterwards said, inspired him to mention a matter to Mr. Western, which seemed to require more impudence than a human forehead was ever gifted with. He desired leave to go to Sophia, that he might endeavour to obtain her concurrence with her father’s inclinations.

If the squire had been as quicksighted as he was remarkable for the contrary, passion might at present very well have blinded him. He thanked Jones for offering to undertake the office, and said, “Go, go, prithee, try what canst do”; and then swore many execrable oaths that he would turn her out of doors unless she consented to the match.

VIII

The meeting between Jones and Sophia.

Jones departed instantly in quest of Sophia, whom he found just risen from the ground, where her father had left her, with the tears trickling from her eyes, and the blood running from her lips. He presently ran to her, and with a voice full at once of tenderness and terrour, cried, “O my Sophia, what means this dreadful sight?” She looked softly at him for a moment before she spoke, and then said, “Mr. Jones, for Heaven’s sake how came you here?⁠—Leave me, I beseech you, this moment.”⁠—“Do not,” says he, “impose so harsh a command upon me⁠—my heart bleeds faster than those lips. O Sophia, how easily could I drain my veins to preserve one drop of that dear blood.”⁠—“I have too many obligations to you already,” answered she, “for sure you meant them such.” Here she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and then bursting into an agony, cried, “Oh, Mr. Jones, why did you save my life? my death would have been happier for us both.”⁠—“Happier for us both!” cried he. “Could racks or wheels kill me so painfully as Sophia’s⁠—I cannot bear the dreadful sound. Do I live but for her?” Both his voice and looks were full of inexpressible tenderness when he spoke these words; and at the same time he laid gently hold on her hand, which she did not withdraw from him; to say the truth, she hardly knew what she did or suffered. A few moments now passed in silence between these lovers, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, and hers declining towards the ground: at last she recovered strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for that her certain ruin would be the consequence of their being found together; adding, “Oh, Mr. Jones, you know not, you know not what hath passed this cruel afternoon.”⁠—“I know all, my Sophia,” answered he; “your cruel father hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me hither to you.”⁠—“My father sent you to me!” replied she: “sure you dream.”⁠—“Would to Heaven,” cries he, “it was but a dream! Oh, Sophia, your father hath sent me to you, to be an advocate for my odious rival, to solicit you in his favour. I took any means to get access to you. O speak to me, Sophia! comfort my bleeding heart. Sure no one ever loved, ever doted like me. Do not unkindly withhold this dear, this soft, this gentle hand⁠—one moment, perhaps, tears you forever from me⁠—nothing less than this cruel occasion could, I believe, have ever conquered the respect and awe with which you have inspired me.” She stood a moment silent, and covered with confusion; then lifting up her eyes