She looked not favourably upon me.  A cloud hung upon her brow at her entrance:  but as she was going to answer me, a still greater solemnity took possession of her charming features.

Your air, and your countenance, my beloved creature, are not propitious to me.  Let me beg of you, before you speak, to forbear all further recriminations:  for already I have such a sense of my vileness to you, that I know not how to bear the reproaches of my own mind.

I have been endeavouring, said she, since I am not permitted to avoid you, to obtain a composure which I never more expected to see you in.  How long I may enjoy it, I cannot tell.  But I hope I shall be enabled to speak to you without that vehemence which I expressed yesterday, and could not help it.*

* The Lady, in her minutes, says, ’I fear Dorcas is a false one.  May I not be able to prevail upon him to leave me at my liberty?  Better to try than to trust to her.  If I cannot prevail, but must meet him and my uncle, I hope I shall have fortitude enough to renounce him then.  But I would fain avoid qualifying with the wretch, or to give him an expectation which I intend not to answer.  If I am mistress of my own resolutions, my uncle himself shall not prevail with me to bind my soul in covenant with so vile a man.’

After a pause (for I was all attention) thus she proceeded: 

It is easy for me, Mr. Lovelace, to see that further violences are intended me, if I comply not with your purposes, whatever they are, I will suppose them to be what you solemnly profess they are.  But I have told you as solemnly my mind, that I never will, that I never can be your’s; nor, if so, any man’s upon earth.  All vengeance, nevertheless, for the wrongs you have done me, I disclaim.  I want but to slide into some obscure corner, to hide myself from you and from every one who once loved me.  The desire lately so near my heart, of a reconciliation with my friends, is much abated.  They shall not receive me now, if they would.  Sunk in mine own eyes, I now think myself unworthy of their favour.  In the anguish of my soul, therefore, I conjure you, Lovelace, [tears in her eyes,] to leave me to my fate.  In doing so, you will give me a pleasure the highest I now can know.

Where, my dearest life——­

No matter where.  I will leave to Providence, when I am out of this house, the direction of my future steps.  I am sensible enough of my destitute condition.  I know that I have not now a friend in the world.  Even Miss Howe has given me up—­or you are—­But I would fain keep my temper!—­By your means I have lost them all—­and you have been a barbarous enemy to me.  You know you have.

She paused.

I could not speak.

The evils I have suffered, proceeded she, [turning from me,] however irreparable, are but temporarily evils.  Leave me to my hopes of being enabled to obtain the Divine forgiveness for the offence I have been drawn in to give to my parents and to virtue; that so I may avoid the evils that are more than temporary.  This is now all I have to wish for.  And what is it that I demand, that I have not a right to, and from which it is an illegal violence to withhold me?