These things made me excessively uneasy. I knew not what to resolve upon.
At one time, What have I to do, thought I, but to throw myself at once into the protection of Lady Betty Lawrance?—But then, in resentment of his fine contrivances, which had so abominably disconcerted me, I soon resolved to the contrary: and at last concluded to ask the favour of another half-hour’s conversation with my aunt.
I sent Betty to her with my request.
She came.
I put it to her, in the most earnest manner, to tell me, whether I might not obtain the favour of a fortnight’s respite?
She assured me, it would not be granted.
Would a week? Surely a week would?
She believed a week might, if I would promise two things: the first, upon my honour, not to write a line out of the house, in that week: for it was still suspected, she said, that I found means to write to somebody. And, secondly, to marry Mr. Solmes, at the expiration of it.
Impossible! Impossible! I said with a passion—What! might not I be obliged with one week, without such a horrid condition as the last?
She would go down, she said, that she might not seem of her own head to put upon me what I thought a hardship so great.
She went down: and came up again.
Did I want, was the answer, to give the vilest of men an opportunity to put his murderous schemes into execution?—It was time for them to put an end to my obstinacy (they were tired out with me) and to his hopes at once. And an end should be put on Tuesday or Wednesday next, at furthest; unless I would give my honour to comply with the condition upon which my aunt had been so good as to allow me a longer time.
I even stamped with impatience!—I called upon her to witness, that I was guiltless of the consequence of this compulsion; this barbarous compulsion, I called it; let that consequence be what it would.
My aunt chid me in a higher strain than ever she did before.
While I, in a half frenzy, insisted upon seeing my father; such usage, I said, set me above fear. I would rejoice to owe my death to him, as I did my life.
I did go down halfway of the stairs, resolved to throw myself at his feet wherever he was.—My aunt was frighted. She owned, that she feared for my head.—Indeed I was in a perfect frenzy for a few minutes—but hearing my brother’s voice, as talking to somebody in my sister’s apartment just by, I stopped; and heard the barbarous designer say, speaking to my sister, This works charmingly, my dear Arabella!
It does! It does! said she, in an exulting accent.
Let us keep it up, said my brother.—The villain is caught in his own trap!—Now must she be what we would have her be.
Do you keep my father to it; I’ll take care of my mother, said Bella.
Never fear, said he!—and a laugh of congratulation to each other, and derision of me (as I made it out) quite turned my frantic humour into a vindictive one.
My aunt then just coming down to me, and taking my hand led me up; and tried to sooth me.
My raving was turned into sullenness.
She preached patience and obedience to me.
I was silent.
At last she desired me to assure her, that I would offer no violence to myself.
God, I said, had given me more grace, I hoped, than to permit me to be guilty of so horrid a rashness, I was his creature, and not my own.
She then took leave of me; and I insisted upon her taking down with her the odious parchments.
Seeing me in so ill an humour, and very earnest that she should take them with her, she took them; but said, that my father should not know that she did: and hoped I would better consider of the matter, and be calmer next time they were offered to my perusal.
I revolved after she was gone all that my brother and sister had said. I dwelt upon their triumphings over me; and found rise in my mind a rancour that was new to me; and which I could not withstand.—And putting everything together, dreading the near day, what could I do?—Am I in any manner excusable for what I did do?—If I shall be condemned by the world, who know not my provocations, may I be acquitted by you?—If not, I am unhappy indeed!—for this I did.
Having shaken off the impertinent Betty, I wrote to Mr. Lovelace, to let him know, “That all that was threatened at my uncle Antony’s, was intended to be executed here. That I had come to a resolution to throw myself upon the protection of either of his two aunts, who would afford it me—in short, that by endeavouring to obtain leave on Monday to dine in the ivy summerhouse, I would, if possible, meet him without the garden-door, at two, three, four, or five o’clock on Monday afternoon, as I should be able. That in the meantime he should acquaint me, whether I might hope for either of those ladies’ protection
: and if I might, I absolutely insisted that he should leave me with either, and go to London himself, or remain at Lord M.’s; nor offer to visit me, till I were satisfied that nothing could be done with my friends in an amicable way; and that I could not obtain possession of my own estate
, and leave to live upon it: and particularly, that he should not hint marriage to me,
