Clarissa, Volume 5 | Page 6

would not have you
frighted.
High concern took possession of every sweet feature. She pitied
me!--by my soul, she pitied me!
Where is he?
Too much in a hurry for good manners, [another parenthesis, Jack!
Good manners are so little natural, that we ought to be composed to
observe them: politeness will not live in a storm]. I cannot stay to

answer questions, cries the wench--though desirous to answer [a third
parenthesis--Like the people crying proclamations, running away from
the customers they want to sell to]. This hurry puts the lady in a hurry
to ask, [a fourth, by way of establishing the third!] as the other does the
people in a hurry to buy. And I have in my eye now a whole street
raised, and running after a proclamation or express-crier, as if the first
was a thief, the other his pursuers.
At last, O Lord! let Mrs. Lovelace know!--There is danger, to be sure!
whispered from one nymph to another; but at the door, and so loud, that
my listening fair-one might hear.
Out she darts--As how! as how, Dorcas!
O Madam--A vomiting of blood! A vessel broke, to be sure!
Down she hastens; finds every one as busy over my blood in the entry,
as if it were that of the Neapolitan saint.
In steps my charmer, with a face of sweet concern.
How do you, Mr. Lovelace?
O my best love!--Very well!--Very well!--Nothing at all! nothing of
consequence!--I shall be well in an instant!--Straining again! for I was
indeed plaguy sick, though no more blood came.
In short, Belford, I have gained my end. I see the dear soul loves me. I
see she forgives me all that's past. I see I have credit for a new score.
Miss Howe, I defy thee, my dear--Mrs. Townsend!--Who the devil are
you?-- Troop away with your contrabands. No smuggling! nor
smuggler, but myself! Nor will the choicest of my fair-one's favours be
long prohibited goods to me!
***
Every one is now sure that she loves me. Tears were in her eyes more
than once for me. She suffered me to take her hand, and kiss it as often
as I pleased. On Mrs. Sinclair's mentioning, that I too much confined
myself, she pressed me to take an airing; but obligingly desired me to
be careful of myself. Wished I would advise with a physician. God
made physicians, she said.
I did not think that, Jack. God indeed made us all. But I fancy she
meant physic instead of physicians; and then the phrase might mean
what the vulgar phrase means;--God sends meat, the Devil cooks.
I was well already, on taking the styptic from her dear hands.
On her requiring me to take the air, I asked, If I might have the honour

of her company in a coach; and this, that I might observe if she had an
intention of going out in my absence.
If she thought a chair were not a more proper vehicle for my case, she
would with all her heart!
There's a precious!
I kissed her hand again! She was all goodness!--Would to Heaven I
better deserved it, I said!--But all were golden days before us!--Her
presence and generous concern had done every thing. I was well!
Nothing ailed me. But since my beloved will have it so, I'll take a little
airing!-- Let a chair be called!--O my charmer! were I to have owned
this indisposition to my late harasses, and to the uneasiness I have had
for disobliging you; all is infinitely compensated by your
goodness.--All the art of healing is in your smiles!--Your late
displeasure was the only malady!
While Mrs. Sinclair, and Dorcas, and Polly, and even poor silly Mabell
[for Sally went out, as my angel came in] with uplifted hands and eyes,
stood thanking Heaven that I was better, in audible whispers: See the
power of love, cried one!--What a charming husband, another!--Happy
couple, all!
O how the dear creature's cheek mantled!--How her eyes
sparkled!--How sweetly acceptable is praise to conscious merit, while it
but reproaches when applied to the undeserving!--What a new, what a
gay creation it makes all at once in a diffident or dispirited heart!
And now, Belford, was it not worth while to be sick? And yet I must
tell thee, that too many pleasanter expedients offer themselves, to make
trial any more of this confounded ipecacuanha.

LETTER III
MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWE SATURDAY,
MAY 27.
Mr. Lovelace, my dear, has been very ill. Suddenly taken. With a
vomiting of blood in great quantities. Some vessel broken. He
complained of a disorder in his stomach over night. I was the affected
with it, as I am afraid it was occasioned by the violent contentions
between us.--But was I in