The two inner letters I had from my lady, before she went off the prems’s. One was to be left at Mr. Wilson’s for Miss Howe. The next was to be for your Honner. But I knowed you was not at the plase directed; and being afear’d of what fell out, so I kept them for your Honner, and so could not give um to you, until I seed you. Miss How’s I only made belief to her ladyship as I carried it, and sed as how there was nothing left for hur, as she wished to knoe: so here they be bothe.
I am, may it please your Honner,
The two inner letters, as Will calls them, ’tis plain, were written for no other purpose, but to send him out of the way with them, and one of them to amuse me. That directed to Miss Howe is only this:—
Thursday, June 8.
I write this, my dear Miss Howe, only for a feint, and to see if it will go current. I shall write at large very soon, if not miserably prevented!!!
Now, Jack, will not her feints justify mine! Does she not invade my province, thinkest thou? And is it not now fairly come to—Who shall most deceive and cheat the other? So, I thank my stars, we are upon a par at last, as to this point, which is a great ease to my conscience, thou must believe. And if what Hudibras tells us is true, the dear fugitive has also abundance of pleasure to come.
Doubtless the pleasure is as great
In being cheated, as to cheat.
As lookers-on find most delight,
Who least perceive the juggler’s sleight;
And still the less they understand,
The more admire the slight of hand.
This my dear juggler’s letter to me; the other inner letter sent by Will
Thursday, June 8.
Mr. Lovelace,
Do not give me cause to dread your return. If you would not that I should hate you forever, send me half a line by the bearer, to assure me that you will not attempt to see me for a week to come. I cannot look you in the face without equal confusion and indignation. The obliging me in this, is but a poor atonement for your last night’s vile behaviour.
You may pass this time in a journey to Lord M.’s; and I cannot doubt, if the ladies of your family are as favourable to me, as you have assured me they are, but that you will have interest enough to prevail with one of them to oblige me with their company. After your baseness of last night, you will not wonder, that I insist upon this proof of your future honour.
If Captain Tomlinson comes meantime, I can hear what he has to say, and send you an account of it.
But in less than a week if you see me, it must be owing to a fresh act of violence, of which you know not the consequence.
Send me the requested line, if ever you expect to have the forgiveness confirmed, the promise of which you extorted from
The unhappy
Now, Belford, what canst thou say in behalf of this sweet rogue of a lady? What canst thou say for her? ’Tis apparent, that she was fully determined upon an elopement when she wrote it. And thus would she make me of party against myself, by drawing me in to give her a week’s time to complete it. And, more wicked still, send me upon a fool’s errand to bring up one of my cousins.—When we came to have the satisfaction of finding her gone off, and me exposed forever!—What punishment can be bad enough for such a little villain of a lady?
But mind, moreover, how plausibly she accounts by this billet, (supposing she should not find an opportunity of eloping before I returned), for the resolution of not seeing me for a week; and for the bread and butter expedient!—So childish as we thought it!
The chariot is not come; and if it were, it is yet too soon for everything but my impatience. And as I have already taken all my measures, and can think of nothing but my triumph, I will resume her violent letter, in order to strengthen my resolutions against her. I was before in too gloomy a way to proceed with it. But now the subject is all alive to me, and my gayer fancy, like the sunbeams, will irradiate it, and turn the solemn deep-green into a brighter verdure.
When I have called upon my charmer to explain some parts of her letter, and to atone for others, I will send it, or a copy of it, to thee.
Suffice it at present to tell thee, in the first place, that she is determined never to be my wife
.—To be sure there ought to be no compulsion in so material a case. Compulsion was her parents’ fault, which I have censured so severely, that I shall hardly be guilty of the same. I am therefore glad I know her mind as to this essential point.
I have ruined her! she says.—Now that’s a fib, take it her own way—if I had, she would not, perhaps, have run away from me.
She is thrown upon the wide world
! Now I own that Hampstead-heath affords very pretty and very extensive prospects; but ’tis not the wide world neither. And suppose that to be her grievance, I hope soon to restore her to a narrower.
I am the enemy of her soul, as well as of her honour
!—Confoundedly severe! Nevertheless, another fib!—For I love her soul very well; but think no more of it in this case than of my own.
She is to be thrown upon strangers
!—And is not that
