Madam, I will go to the Commons, and proceed in every particular as if I had not the misfortune to be under your displeasure.

I must insist upon it, that however faulty my passion, on so unexpected an incident, made me appear to a lady of your delicacy, yet my compliance with your entreaties at such a moment [as it gave you an instance of your power over me, which few men could have shown] ought, duly considered, to entitle me to the effects of that solemn promise which was the condition of my obedience.

I hope to find you in a kinder, and, I will say, juster disposition on my return.  Whether I get the license, or not, let me beg of you to make the soon you have been pleased to bid me hope for, to-morrow morning.  This will reconcile every thing, and make me the happiest of men.

The settlements are ready to sign, or will be by night.

For Heaven’s sake, Madam, do not carry your resentment into a displeasure so disproportionate to the offence.  For that would be to expose us both to the people below; and, what is of infinite more consequence to us, to Captain Tomlinson.  Let us be able, I beseech you, Madam, to assure him, on his next visit, that we are one.

As I have no hope to be permitted to dine with you, I shall not return till evening:  and then, I presume to say, I expect [your promise authorizes me to use the word] to find you disposed to bless, by your consent for to-morrow,

Your adoring
Lovelace.

***

What pleasure did I propose to take, how to enjoy the sweet confusion in which I expected to find her, while all was so recent!—­But she must, she shall, see me on my return.  It were better to herself, as well as for me, that she had not made so much ado about nothing.  I must keep my anger alive, lest it sink into compassion.  Love and compassion, be the provocation ever so great, are hard to be separated:  while anger converts what would be pity, without it, into resentment.  Nothing can be lovely in a man’s eye with which he is thoroughly displeased.

I ordered Dorcas, on putting the last billet under the door, and finding it taken up, to tell her, that I hoped an answer to it before I went out.

Her reply was verbal, tell him that I care not whither he goes, nor what he does.—­And this, re-urged by Dorcas, was all she had to say to me.

I looked through the key-hole at my going by her door, and saw her on her knees, at her bed’s feet, her head and bosom on the bed, her arms extended; [sweet creature how I adore her!] and in an agony she seemed to be, sobbing, as I heard at that distance, as if her heart would break.—­ By my soul, Jack, I am a pityful fellow!  Recollection is my enemy!—­ Divine excellence!—­Happy with her for so many days together!  Now so unhappy!—­And for what?—­But she is purity herself.  And why, after all, should I thus torment—­but I must not trust myself with myself, in the humour I am in.