The Captain shall give her away, as proxy for her uncle.  My Lord will die.  My fortune will help my will, and set me above every thing and every body.

But here is the curse—­she despises me, Jack!—­What man, as I have heretofore said, can bear to be despised—­especially by his wife!—­O Lord!—­O Lord!  What a hand, what a cursed hand, have I made of this plot!—­And here ends

The history of the lady and the penknife!—­The devil take the penknife!  —­It goes against me to say,

God bless the lady!

Near 5, sat.  Morn.

LETTER XXXVII

Mr. Lovelace, to miss Clarissa Harlowe
[SUPERSCRIBED to Mrs. Lovelace.]
M. Hall, sat.  Night, June 24.

MY DEAREST LIFE,

If you do not impute to live, and to terror raised by love, the poor figure I made before you last night, you will not do me justice.  I thought I would try to the very last moment, if, by complying with you in every thing, I could prevail upon you to promise to be mine on Thursday next, since you refused me an earlier day.  Could I have been so happy, you had not been hindered going to Hampstead, or wherever else you pleased.  But when I could not prevail upon you to give me this assurance, what room had I, (my demerit so great,) to suppose, that your going thither would not be to lose you for ever?

I will own to you, Madam, that yesterday afternoon I picked up the paper dropt by Dorcas; who has confessed that she would have assisted you in getting away, if she had had opportunity so to do; and undoubtedly dropped it by accident.  And could I have prevailed upon you as to Thursday next, I would have made no use of it; secure as I should have been in your word given, to be mine.  But when I found you inflexible, I was resolved to try, if, by resenting Dorcas’s treachery, I could not make your pardon of me the condition of mine to her:  and if not, to make a handle of it to revoke my consent to your going away from Mrs. Sinclair’s; since the consequence of that must have been so fatal to me.

So far, indeed, was my proceeding low and artful:  and when I was challenged with it, as such, in so high and noble a manner, I could not avoid taking shame to myself upon it.

But you must permit me, Madam, to hope, that you will not punish me too heavily for so poor a contrivance, since no dishonour was meant you:  and since, in the moment of its execution, you had as great an instance of my incapacity to defend a wrong, a low measure, and, at the same time, in your power over me, as mortal man could give—­in a word, since you must have seen, that I was absolutely under the controul both of conscience and of love.

I will not offer to defend myself, for wishing you to remain where you are, till either you give me your word to meet me at the altar on Thursday; or till I have the honour of attending you, preparative to the solemnity which will make that day the happiest of my life.