Dorcas, however, tells me that she says, if she were at her own liberty, she would never see me more; and that she had been asking after the characters and conditions of the neighbours.  I suppose, now she has found her voice, to call out for help from them, if there were any to hear her.

She will have it now, it seems, that I had the wickedness from the very beginning, to contrive, for her ruin, a house so convenient for dreadful mischief.

Dorcas begs of her to be pacified—­entreats her to see me with patience—­ tells her that I am one of the most determined of men, as she has heard say.  That gentleness may do with me; but that nothing else will, she believes.  And what, as her ladyship (as she always styles her,) is married, if I had broken my oath, or intended to break it!—­

She hinted plain enough to the honest wench, that she was not married.  But Dorcas would not understand her.

This shows she is resolved to keep no measures.  And now is to be a trial of skill, whether she shall or not.

Dorcas has hinted to her my Lord’s illness, as a piece of intelligence that dropt in conversation from me.

But here I stop.  My beloved, pursuant to my peremptory message, is just gone up into the dining-room.

LETTER XXI

Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford, ESQ. 
Monday afternoon.

Pity me, Jack, for pity’s sake; since, if thou dost not, nobody else will:  and yet never was there a man of my genius and lively temper that wanted it more.  We are apt to attribute to the devil every thing happens to us, which we would not have happen:  but here, being, (as perhaps thou’lt say,) the devil myself, my plagues arise from an angel.  I suppose all mankind is to be plagued by its contrary.

She began with me like a true woman, [she in the fault, I to be blamed,] the moment I entered the dining-room:  not the least apology, not the least excuse, for the uproar she had made, and the trouble she had given me.

I come, said she, into thy detested presence, because I cannot help it.  But why am I to be imprisoned here?—­Although to no purpose, I cannot help——­

Dearest Madam, interrupted I, give not way to so much violence.  You must know, that your detention is entirely owing to the desire I have to make you all the amends that is in my power to make you.  And this, as well for your sake as my own.  Surely there is still one way left to repair the wrongs you have suffered——­

Canst thou blot out the past week!  Several weeks past, I should say; ever since I have been with thee?  Canst thou call back time?—­If thou canst——­

Surely, Madam, again interrupting her, if I may be permitted to call you legally mine, I might have but anticip——­