That is the matrimonial one, interrupted he, with a big voice—and to this gentleman.—It shall, it shall, cousin Clary!—And the more you oppose it, the worse it shall be for you.
This, and before the man, who seemed to assume courage upon it, highly provoked me.
Then, Sir, you shall sooner follow me to the grave indeed.—I will undergo the cruelest death—I will even consent to enter into that awful vault of my ancestors, and have that bricked up upon me, rather than consent to be miserable for life. And, Mr. Solmes, turning to him, take notice of what I say: This or any death, I will sooner undergo (that will quickly be over) than be yours, and forever unhappy!
My uncle was in a terrible rage upon this. He took Mr. Solmes by the hand, shocked as the man seemed to be, and drew him to the window—Don’t be surprised, Mr. Solmes, don’t be concerned at this. We know, and rapt out a sad oath, what women will say in their wrath: the wind is not more boisterous, nor more changeable; and again he swore to that.—If you think it worthwhile to wait for such an ungrateful girl as this, I’ll engage she’ll veer about; I’ll engage she shall. And a third time violently swore to it.
Then coming up to me (who had thrown myself, very much disordered by my vehemence, into the most distant window) as if he would have beat me; his face violently working, his hands clinched, and his teeth set—Yes, yes, yes, you shall, Cousin Clary, be Mr. Solmes’s wife; we will see that you shall; and this in one week at farthest.—And then a fourth time he confirmed it!—Poor gentleman! how he swore!
I am sorry, Sir, said I, to see you in such a passion. All this, I am but too sensible, is owing to my brother’s instigation; who would not himself give the instance of duty that is sought to be exacted from me. It is best for me to withdraw. I shall but provoke you farther, I fear: for although I would gladly obey you if I could, yet this is a point determined with me; and I cannot so much as wish to get over it.
How could I avoid making these strong declarations, the man in presence?
I was going out at the door I came in at; the gentlemen looking upon one another, as if referring to each other what to do, or whether to engage my stay, or suffer me to go; and whom should I meet at the door but my brother, who had heard all that had passed!
He bolted upon me so unexpectedly, that I was surprised. He took my hand, and grasped it with violence: Return, pretty Miss, said he; return, if you please. You shall not yet be bricked up. Your instigating brother shall save you from that!—O thou fallen angel, said he, peering up to my downcast face—such a sweetness here!—and such an obstinacy there! tapping my neck—O thou true woman—though so young!—But you shall not have your rake: remember that; in a loud whisper, as if he would be decently indecent before the man. You shall be redeemed, and this worthy gentleman, raising his voice, will be so good as to redeem you from ruin—and hereafter you will bless him, or have reason to bless him, for his condescension; that was the brutal brother’s word!
He had led me up to meet Mr. Solmes, whose hand he took, as he held mine. Here, Sir, said he, take the rebel daughter’s hand: I give it you now: she shall confirm the gift in a week’s time; or will have neither father, mother, nor uncles, to boast of.
I snatched my hand away.
How now, Miss—!
And how now, Sir!—What right have you to dispose of my hand?—If you govern everybody else, you shall not govern me; especially in a point so immediately relative to myself, and in which you neither have, nor ever shall have, anything to do.
I would have broken from him; but he held my hand too fast.
Let me go, Sir!—Why am I thus treated?—You design, I doubt not, with your unmanly gripings, to hurt me, as you do: But again I ask, wherefore is it that I am to be thus treated by you?
He tossed my hand from him with a whirl, that pained my very shoulder. I wept, and held my other hand to the part.
Mr. Solmes blamed him. So did my uncle.
He had no patience, he said, with such a perverse one; and to think of the reflections upon himself, before he entered. He had only given me back the hand I had not deserved he should touch. It was one of my arts to pretend to be so pained.
Mr. Solmes said, he would sooner give up all his hopes of me, than that I should be used unkindly.—And he offered to plead in my behalf to them both; and applied himself with a bow, as if for my approbation of his interposition.
Interpose not, Mr. Solmes, said I, to save me from my brother’s violence. I cannot wish to owe an obligation to a man whose ungenerous perseverance is the occasion of that violence, and of all my disgraceful sufferings.
How generous in you, Mr. Solmes, said my brother, to interpose so kindly in behalf of such an immovable spirit! I beg of you to persist in your address—the unnatural brother called it address!—For all our family’s sake, and for her sake too, if you love her, persist!—Let us save her, if possible, from ruining herself. Look at her person! (and he gazed at me, from head to foot, pointing at me, as he referred to Mr. Solmes), think of her fine qualities!—all the world confesses them, and we all gloried in her till now. She is worth saving; and,
