What shall I do, if he comes again?—­You see how I am.—­I cannot fly from him now—­If he has any pity left for the poor creature whom he has thus reduced, let him not come.—­But have you heard from him lately?  And will he come?

I hope not, Madam.  I have not heard from him since Thursday last, that he went out of town, rejoicing in the hopes your letter gave him of a reconciliation between your friends and you, and that he might in good time see you at your father’s; and he is gone down to give all his friends joy of the news, and is in high spirits upon it.

Alas! for me:  I shall then surely have him come up to persecute me again!  As soon as he discovers that that was only a stratagem to keep him away, he will come up, and who knows but even now he is upon the road?  I thought I was so bad that I should have been out of his and every body’s way before now; for I expected not that this contrivance would serve me above two or three days; and by this time he must have found out that I am not so happy as to have any hope of a reconciliation with my family; and then he will come, if it be only in revenge for what he will think a deceit, but is not, I hope, a wicked one.

I believe I looked surprised to hear her confess that her letter was a stratagem only; for she said, You wonder, Mr. Belford, I observe, that I could be guilty of such an artifice.  I doubt it is not right:  it was done in a hurry of spirits.  How could I see a man who had so mortally injured me; yet pretending a sorrow for his crimes, (and wanting to see me,) could behave with so much shocking levity, as he did to the honest people of the house?  Yet, ’tis strange too, that neither you nor he found out my meaning on perusal of my letter.  You have seen what I wrote, no doubt?

I have, Madam.  And then I began to account for it, as an innocent artifice.

Thus far indeed, Sir, it is an innocent, that I meant him no hurt, and had a right to the effect I hoped for from it; and he had none to invade me.  But have you, Sir, that letter of his in which he gives you (as I suppose he does) the copy of mine?

I have, Madam.  And pulled it out of my letter-case.  But hesitating—­ Nay, Sir, said she, be pleased to read my letter to yourself—­I desire not to see his—­and see if you can be longer a stranger to a meaning so obvious.

I read it to myself—­Indeed, Madam, I can find nothing but that you are going down to Harlowe-place to be reconciled to your father and other friends:  and Mr. Lovelace presumed that a letter from your sister, which he saw brought when he was at Mr. Smith’s, gave you the welcome news of it.

She then explained all to me, and that, as I may say, in six words—­A religious meaning is couched under it, and that’s the reason that neither you nor I could find it out.

’Read but for my father’s house, Heaven, said she, and for the interposition of my dear blessed friend, suppose the mediation of my Saviour (which I humbly rely upon); and all the rest of the letter will be accounted for.’  I hope (repeated she) that it is a pardonable artifice.  But I am afraid it is not strictly right.