You and I!  Vilest of Men!—­

My name is Lovelace, Madam—­

Therefore it is that I call you the vilest of men. [Was this pardonable, Jack!]—­You and I know the truth, the whole truth.—­I want not to clear up my reputation with these gentlewomen:—­that is already lost with every one I had most reason to value:  but let me have this new specimen of what you are capable of—­say, wretch, (say, Lovelace, if thou hadst rather,) art thou really and truly my wedded husband?—­Say; answer without hesitation.

She trembled with impatient indignation; but had a wildness in her manner, which I took some advantage of, in order to parry this cursed thrust.  And a cursed thrust it was; since, had I positively averred it, she would never have believed any thing I said:  and had I owned that I was not married, I had destroyed my own plot, as well with the women as with her; and could have no pretence for pursuing her, or hindering her from going wheresoever she pleased.  Not that I was ashamed to aver it, had it been consistent with policy.  I would not have thee think me such a milk-sop neither.

Lovel.  My dearest love, how wildly you talk!  What would you have me answer?  It is necessary that I should answer?  May I not re-appeal this to your own breast, as well as to Captain Tomlinson’s treaty and letter?  You know yourself how matters stand between us.—­And Captain Tomlinson—­

Cl.  O wretch!  Is this an answer to my question?  Say, are we married, or are we not?

Lovel.  What makes a marriage, we all know.  If it be the union of two hearts, [there was a turn, Jack!] to my utmost grief, I must say that we are not; since now I see you hate me.  If it be the completion of marriage, to my confusion and regret, I must own we are not.  But, my dear, will you be pleased to consider what answer half a dozen people whence you came, could give to your question?  And do not now, in the disorder of your mind, and the height of passion, bring into question before these gentlewomen a point you have acknowledged before those who know us better.

I would have whispered her about the treaty with her uncle, and about the contents of the Captain’s letter; but, retreating, and with a rejecting hand, Keep thy distance, man, cried the dear insolent—­to thine own heart I appeal, since thou evadest me thus pitifully!—­I own no marriage with thee!—­Bear witness, Ladies, I do not.  And cease to torment me, cease to follow me.—­Surely, surely, faulty as I have been, I have not deserved to be thus persecuted!—­I resume, therefore, my former language:  you have no right to pursue me:  you know you have not:  begone then, and leave me to make the best of my hard lot.  O my dear, cruel father! said she, in a violent fit of grief [falling upon her knees, and clasping her uplifted hands together] thy heavy curse is completed upon thy devoted daughter!  I am punished, dreadfully punished, by the very wretch in whom I had placed my wicked confidence!