Fie upon me! for meeting the seducer!—Let
all end as happily as it now may, I have laid up for
myself remorse for my whole life.
What still more concerns me is, that every time I
see this man, I am still at a greater loss than before
what to make of him. I watch every turn of his
countenance: and I think I see very deep lines
in it. He looks with more meaning, I verily
think, than he used to look; yet not more serious;
not less gay—I don’t know how he looks—but
with more confidence a great deal than formerly; and
yet he never wanted that.
But here is the thing; I behold him with fear now,
as conscious of the power my indiscretion has given
him over me. And well may he look more elate,
when he sees me deprived of all the self-supposed significance,
which adorns and exults a person who has been accustomed
to respect; and who now, by a conscious inferiority,
allows herself to be overcome, and in a state of obligation,
as I may say, to a man who from a humble suitor to
her for her favour, assumes the consequence and airs
of a protector.
I shall send this, as my former, by a poor man, who
travels every day with pedlary matters. He will
leave it at Mrs. Knolly’s, as you direct.
If you hear any thing of my father and mother, and
of their health, and how my friends were affected
by my unhappy step, pray be so good as to write me
a few lines by the messenger, if his waiting for them
can be known to you.
I am afraid to ask you, Whether, upon reading that
part of my narrative already in your hands, you think
any sort of extenuation lies for
Your unhappy
Clarissa Harlowe?
Mr. Lovelace, to John Belford,
ESQ.
Tuesday, WEDN. April 11, 12.
You claim my promise, that I will be as particular
as possible, in all that passes between me and my
goddess. Indeed, I never had a more illustrious
subject to exercise my pen. And, moreover, I
have leisure; for by her good will, my access would
be as difficult to her, as that of the humblest slave
to an Eastern monarch. Nothing, then, but inclination
to write can be wanting; and since our friendship,
and your obliging attendance upon me at the White
Hart, will not excuse that, I will endeavour to keep
my word.
I parted with thee and thy brethren, with a full resolution,
thou knowest, to rejoin ye, if she once again disappointed
me, in order to go together (attended by our servants,
for shew sake) to the gloomy father; and demand audience
of the tyrant upon the freedoms taken with my character.
In short, to have tried by fair resolutions, and treat
his charming daughter with less inhumanity, and me
with more civility.
I told thee my reasons for not going in search of
a letter of countermand. I was right; for if
I had, I should have found such a one; and had I received
it, she would not have met me. Did she think,
that after I had been more than once disappointed,
I would not keep her to her promise; that I would
not hold her to it, when I had got her in so deeply?
