She was distressed. I was afraid at one time she would have fainted. Yet neither of us would rise without some concessions. I pleaded my own sake; the Captain, his dear friend, her uncle’s; and both re-pleaded the prevention of future mischief; and the peace and happiness of the two families.
She owned herself unequal to the conflict. She sighed. She sobbed. She wept. She wrung her hands.
I was perfectly eloquent in my vows and protestations. Her tearful eyes were cast down upon me; a glow upon each charming cheek; a visible anguish in every lovely feature—at last, her trembling knees seemed to fail her, she dropped into the next chair; her charming face, as if seeking for a hiding place (which a mother’s bosom would have best supplied) sinking upon her own shoulder.
I forgot at the instant all my vows of revenge. I threw myself at her feet, as she sat; and, snatching her hand, pressed it with my lips. I besought Heaven to forgive my past offences, and prosper my future hopes, as I designed honourably and justly by the charmer of my heart, if once more she should restore me to her favour. And I thought I felt drops of scalding water (could they be tears?) trickle down upon my cheeks; while my cheeks, glowing like fire, seemed to scorch up the unwelcome strangers.
I then arose, not doubting of an implied pardon in this silent distress. I raised the Captain. I whispered him—by my soul, man, I am in earnest.—Now talk of reconciliation, of her uncle, of the license, of settlement—and raising my voice, If now at last, Captain Tomlinson, my angel will give me leave to call so great a blessing mine, it will be impossible that you should say too much to her uncle in praise of my gratitude, my affection, and fidelity to his charming niece; and he may begin as soon as he pleases his kind schemes for effecting the desirable reconciliation!—Nor shall he prescribe any terms to me that I will not comply with.
The Captain blessed me with his eyes and hands—Thank God! whispered he. We approached the lady together.
Capt. What hinders, dearest Madam, what now hinders, but that Lady Betty Lawrance, when she comes, may be acquainted with the truth of everything? And that then she may assist privately at your nuptials? I will stay till they are celebrated; and then shall go down with the happy tidings to my dear Mr. Harlowe. And all will, all must, soon be happy.
I must have an answer from Miss Howe, replied the still trembling fair-one. I cannot change my new measures but with her advice. I will forfeit all my hopes of happiness in this world, rather than forfeit her good opinion, and that she should think me giddy, unsteady, or precipitate. All I shall further say on the present subject is this, that when I have her answer to what I have written, I will write to her the whole state of the matter, as I shall then be enabled to do.
Lovel. Then must I despair forever!—O Captain Tomlinson, Miss Howe hates me!—Miss Howe—
Capt. Not so, perhaps—when Miss Howe knows your concern for having offended, she will never advise that, with such prospects of general reconciliation, the hopes of so many considerable persons in both families should be frustrated. Some little time, as this excellent lady had foreseen and hinted, will necessarily be taken up in actually procuring the license, and in perusing and signing the settlements. In that time Miss Howe’s answer may be received; and Lady Betty may arrive; and she, no doubt, will have weight to dissipate the lady’s doubts, and to accelerate the day. It shall be my part, meantime, to make Mr. Harlowe easy. All I fear is from Mr. James Harlowe’s quarter; and therefore all must be conducted with prudence and privacy: as your uncle, Madam, has proposed.
She was silent, I rejoiced in her silence. The dear creature, thought I, has actually forgiven me in her heart!—But why will she not lay me under obligation to her, by the generosity of an explicit declaration?—And yet, as that would not accelerate anything, while the license is not in my hands, she is the less to be blamed (if I do her justice) for taking more time to descend.
I proposed, as on the morrow night, to go to town; and doubted not to bring the license up with me on Monday morning; would she be pleased to assure me, that she would not depart from Mrs. Moore’s.
She should stay at Mrs. Moore’s till she had an answer from Miss Howe.
I told her that I hoped I might have her tacit consent at least to the obtaining of the license.
I saw by the turn of her countenance that I should not have asked this question. She was so far from tacitly consenting, that she declared to the contrary.
As I never intended, I said, to ask her to enter again into a house, with the people of which she was so much offended, would she be pleased to give orders for her clothes to be brought up hither? Or should Dorcas attend her for any of her commands on that head?
She desired not ever more to see anybody belonging to that house. She might perhaps get Mrs. Moore or Mrs. Bevis to go thither for her, and take her keys with them.
I doubted not, I said, that Lady Betty would arrive by that time. I hoped she had no objection to my bringing that lady and my cousin Montague up with me?
She was silent.
To be sure, Mr. Lovelace, said the Captain, the lady can have no objection to this.
She was still silent. So silence
