LETTER XVIII MR. LOVELACE, TO JOHN BELFORD, ESQ. SUNDAY NIGHT.
My dear--my love--I--I--I never--no never--lips trembling, limbs quaking, voice inward, hesitating, broken--never surely did miscreant look so like a miscreant! while thus she proceeded, waving her snowy hand, with all the graces of moving oratory.
I have no pride in the confusion visible in thy whole person. I have been all the day praying for a composure, if I could not escape from this vile house, that should once more enable me to look up to my destroyer with the consciousness of an innocent sufferer. Thou seest me, since my wrongs are beyond the power of words to express, thou seest me, calm enough to wish, that thou may'st continue harassed by the workings of thy own conscience, till effectual repentance take hold of thee, that so thou may'st not forfeit all title to that mercy which thou hast not shown to the poor creature now before thee, who had so well deserved to meet with a faithful friend where she met with the worst of enemies.
But tell me, (for no doubt thou hast some scheme to pursue,) tell me, since I am a prisoner, as I find, in the vilest of houses, and have not a friend to protect or save me, what thou intendest shall become of the remnant of a life not worth the keeping!--Tell me, if yet there are more evils reserved for me; and whether thou hast entered into a compact with the grand deceiver, in the person of his horrid agent in this house; and if the ruin of my soul, that my father's curse may be fulfilled, is to complete the triumphs of so vile a confederacy?--Answer me!--Say, if thou hast courage to speak out to her whom thou hast ruined, tell me what farther I am to suffer from thy barbarity?
She stopped here, and, sighing, turned her sweet face from me, drying up with her handkerchief those tears which she endeavoured to restrain; and, when she could not, to conceal from my sight.
As I told thee, I had prepared myself for high passions, raving, flying, tearing execration; these transient violences, the workings of sudden grief, and shame, and vengeance, would have set us upon a par with each other, and quitted scores. These have I been accustomed to; and as nothing violent is lasting, with these I could have wished to encounter. But such a majestic composure--seeking me--whom, yet it is plain, by her attempt to get away, she would have avoided seeking--no Lucretia-like vengeance upon herself in her thought--yet swallowed up, her whole mind swallowed up, as I may say, by a grief so heavy, as, in her own words, to be beyond the power of speech to express--and to be able, discomposed as she was, to the very morning, to put such a home-question to me, as if she had penetrated my future view--how could I avoid looking like a fool, and answering, as before, in broken sentences and confusion?
What--what-a--what has been done--I, I, I--cannot but say--must own--must confess--hem--hem----is not right--is not what should have been--but-a-- but--but--I am truly--truly--sorry for it--upon my soul I am--and--and-- will do all--do every thing--do what--whatever is incumbent upon me--all that you--that you--that you shall require, to make you amends!----
O Belford! Belford! whose the triumph now! HER'S, or MINE?
Amends! O thou truly despicable wretch! Then lifting up her eyes--Good Heaven! who shall pity the creature who could fall by so base a mind!-- Yet--[and then she looked indignantly upon me!] yet, I hate thee not (base and low-souled as thou art!) half so much as I hate myself, that I saw thee not sooner in thy proper colours! That I hoped either morality, gratitude, or humanity, from a libertine, who, to be a libertine, must have got over and defied all moral sanctions.*