Clarissa, Volume 6 | Page 7

who was one of
her trustees for that estate, would enable her, (and that, as she hoped,
without litigation,) to pursue. And if he can, and does, what, Sir, let me
ask you, said she, have I seen in your conduct, that should make me
prefer to it an union of interest, where there is such a disunion in
minds?
So thou seest, Jack, there is reason, as well as resentment, in the
preference she makes against me!--Thou seest, that she presumes to
think that she can be happy without me; and that she must be unhappy
with me!
I had besought her, in the conclusion of my re-urged arguments, to

write to Miss Howe before Miss Howe's answer could come, in order to
lay before her the present state of things; and if she would pay a
deference to her judgment, to let her have an opportunity to give it, on
the full knowledge of the case--
So I would, Mr. Lovelace, was the answer, if I were in doubt myself,
which I would prefer--marriage, or the scheme I have mentioned. You
cannot think, Sir, but the latter must be my choice. I wish to part with
you with temper--don't put me upon repeating--
Part with me, Madam! interrupted I--I cannot bear those words!--But
let me beseech you, however, to write to Miss Howe. I hope, if Miss
Howe is not my enemy--
She is not the enemy of your person, Sir;--as you would be convinced,
if you saw her last letter* to me. But were she not an enemy to your
actions, she would not be my friend, nor the friend of virtue. Why will
you provoke from me, Mr. Lovelace, the harshness of expression,
which, however, which, however deserved by you, I am unwilling just
now to use, having suffered enough in the two past days from my own
vehemence?
* The lady innocently means Mr. Lovelace's forged one. See Vol. V.
Letter XXX.
I bit my lip for vexation. And was silent.
Miss Howe, proceeded she, knows the full state of matters already, Sir.
The answer I expect from her respects myself, not you. Her heart is too
warm in the cause of friendship, to leave me in suspense one moment
longer than is necessary as to what I want to know. Nor does her
answer absolutely depend upon herself. She must see a person first, and
that person perhaps see others.
The cursed smuggler-woman, Jack!--Miss Howe's Townsend, I doubt
not-- Plot, contrivance, intrigue, stratagem!--Underground-moles these
women-- but let the earth cover me!--let me be a mole too, thought I, if
they carry their point!--and if this lady escape me now!
She frankly owned that she had once thought of embarking out of all
our ways for some one of our American colonies. But now that she had
been compelled to see me, (which had been her greatest dread), and
which she might be happiest in the resumption of her former favourite
scheme, if Miss Howe could find her a reputable and private asylum,
till her cousin Morden could come.--But if he came not soon, and if she

had a difficulty to get to a place of refuge, whether from her brother or
from any body else, [meaning me, I suppose,] she might yet perhaps go
abroad; for, to say the truth, she could not think of returning to her
father's house, since her brother's rage, her sister's upbraidings, her
father's anger, her mother's still-more-affecting sorrowings, and her
own consciousness under them all, would be unsupportable to her.
O Jack! I am sick to death, I pine, I die, for Miss Howe's next letter! I
would bind, gag, strip, rob, and do any thing but murder, to intercept it.
But, determined as she seems to be, it was evident to me, nevertheless,
that she had still some tenderness for me.
She often wept as she talked, and much oftener sighed. She looked at
me twice with an eye of undoubted gentleness, and three times with an
eye tending to compassion and softness; but its benign rays were as
often snatched back, as I may say, and her face averted, as if her sweet
eyes were not to be trusted, and could not stand against my eager eyes;
seeking, as they did, for a lost heart in her's, and endeavouring to
penetrate to her very soul.
More than once I took her hand. She struggled not much against the
freedom. I pressed it once with my lips--she was not very angry. A
frown indeed--but a frown that had more distress in it than indignation.
How came the dear soul, (clothed as it is with such a silken vesture,) by
all its steadiness?* Was it necessary that the active gloom of such a
tyrant of a father, should commix with