When Western came into the hall, he there found Jones;
who seeing his friend looking wild, pale, and almost
breathless, could not forbear enquiring the reason
of all these melancholy appearances. Upon which
the squire immediately acquainted him with the whole
matter, concluding with bitter denunciations against
Sophia, and very pathetic lamentations of the misery
of all fathers who are so unfortunate to have daughters.
Jones, to whom all the resolutions which had been
taken in favour of Blifil were yet a secret, was at
first almost struck dead with this relation; but recovering
his spirits a little, mere despair, as he afterwards
said, inspired him to mention a matter to Mr Western,
which seemed to require more impudence than a human
forehead was ever gifted with. He desired leave
to go to Sophia, that he might endeavour to obtain
her concurrence with her father’s inclinations.
If the squire had been as quicksighted as he was remarkable
for the contrary, passion might at present very well
have blinded him. He thanked Jones for offering
to undertake the office, and said, “Go, go,
prithee, try what canst do;” and then swore many
execrable oaths that he would turn her out of doors
unless she consented to the match.
The meeting between Jones and Sophia.
Jones departed instantly in quest of Sophia, whom
he found just risen from the ground, where her father
had left her, with the tears trickling from her eyes,
and the blood running from her lips. He presently
ran to her, and with a voice full at once of tenderness
and terrour, cried, “O my Sophia, what means
this dreadful sight?” She looked softly at him
for a moment before she spoke, and then said, “Mr
Jones, for Heaven’s sake how came you here?—Leave
me, I beseech you, this moment.”—“Do
not,” says he, “impose so harsh a command
upon me—my heart bleeds faster than those
lips. O Sophia, how easily could I drain my veins
to preserve one drop of that dear blood.”—“I
have too many obligations to you already,” answered
she, “for sure you meant them such.”
Here she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and
then bursting into an agony, cried, “Oh, Mr Jones,
why did you save my life? my death would have been
happier for us both.”—“Happier
for us both!” cried he. “Could racks
or wheels kill me so painfully as Sophia’s—I
cannot bear the dreadful sound. Do I live but
for her?” Both his voice and looks were full
of inexpressible tenderness when he spoke these words;
and at the same time he laid gently hold on her hand,
which she did not withdraw from him; to say the truth,
she hardly knew what she did or suffered. A few
moments now passed in silence between these lovers,
while his eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, and hers
declining towards the ground: at last she recovered
strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for
that her certain ruin would be the consequence of
