LETTER XXXIX MISS CLARISSA HARLOWE, TO MISS HOWETHURSDAY NIGHT.
This alarming hurry I mentioned under my date of last night, and Betty's saucy dark hints, come out to be owing to what I guessed they were; that is to say, to the private intimation Mr. Lovelace contrived our family should have of his insolent resolution [insolent I must call it] to prevent my being carried to my uncle's.
I saw at the time that it was as wrong with respect to answering his own view, as it was insolent: For, could he think, as Betty (I suppose from her betters) justly observed, that parents would be insulted out of their right to dispose of their own child, by a violent man, whom they hate; and who could have no pretension to dispute that right with them, unless what he had from her who had none over herself? And how must this insolence of his, aggravated as my brother is able to aggravate it, exasperate them against me?
The rash man has indeed so far gained his point, as to intimidate them from attempting to carry me away: but he has put them upon a surer and a more desperate measure: and this has driven me also into one as desperate; the consequence of which, although he could not foresee it,* may perhaps too well answer his great end, little as he deserves to have it answered.
* She was mistaken in this. Mr. Lovelace did foresee this consequence. All his contrivances led to it, and the whole family, as he boasts, unknown to themselves, were but so many puppets danced by his wires. See Vol.I. Letter XXXI.
In short, I have done, as far as I know, the most rash thing that ever I did in my life.
But let me give you the motive, and then the action will follow of course.
About six o'clock this evening, my aunt (who stays here all night, on my account, no doubt) came up and tapped at my door; for I was writing; and had locked myself in. I opened it; and she entering, thus delivered herself:
I come once more to visit you, my dear; but sorely against my will; because it is to impart to you matters of the utmost concern to you, and to the whole family.
What, Madam, is now to be done with me? said I, wholly attentive.
You will not be hurried away to your uncle's, child; let that comfort you.--They see your aversion to go.--You will not be obliged to go to your uncle Antony's.
How you revive me, Madam! this is a cordial to my heart!
I little thought, my dear, what was to follow this supposed condescension.
And then I ran over with blessings for this good news, (and she permitted me so to do, by her silence); congratulating myself, that I thought my father could not resolve to carry things to the last extremity.--
Hold, Niece, said she, at last--you must not give yourself too much joy upon the occasion neither.--Don't be surprised, my dear.--Why look you upon me, child, with so affecting an earnestness?--but you must be Mrs. Solmes, for all that.
I was dumb.
She then told me, that they had undoubted information, that a certain desperate ruffian (I must excuse her that word, she said) had prepared armed men to way-lay my brother and uncles, and seize me, and carry me off.--Surely, she said, I was not consenting to a violence that might be followed by murder on one side or the other; perhaps on both.
I was still silent.
That therefore my father (still more exasperated than before) had changed his resolution as to my going to my uncle's; and was determined next Tuesday to set out thither himself with my mother; and that (for it was to no purpose to conceal a resolution so soon to be put into execution)-- I must not dispute it any longer--on Wednesday I must give my hand--as they would have me.