make me think of it with pleasure.
* * * *
I have just received your letter — and it has almost broken my heart! — Oh, Sir! the illusion is over, indeed! how vainly have I flattered, how miserably deceived myself! Long since, doubtful of the situation of my heart, I dreaded a scrutiny; — but now, now that I have so long escaped, I began, indeed, to think my safety insured, to hope that my fears were causeless, and to believe that my good opinion and esteem of Lord Orville might be owned without suspicion, and felt without danger; — miserably deceived, indeed! His sight is baneful to my repose; — his society is death to my future tranquillity! Oh, Lord Orville! could I have believed that a friendship so grateful to my heart, so soothing to my distresses, a friendship, which, in every respect, did me so much honour, would only serve to embitter all my future moments! — What a strange, what an unhappy circumstance, that my gratitude, though so justly excited, should be so fatal to my peace!
Yes, Sir, I will quit him; — would to Heaven I could at this moment! without seeing him again — without trusting to my now conscious emotion! — Oh, Lord Orville, how little do you know the evils I owe to you! how little suppose that, when most dignified by your attention, I was most to be pitied — and when most exalted by your notice, you were most my enemy!
You, Sir, relied upon my ignorance; — I, alas, upon your experience; and, whenever I doubted the weakness of my heart, the idea that you did not suspect it, reassured me — restored my courage, and confirmed my error! — Yet am I most sensible of the kindness of your silence.
Oh, Sir! why have I ever quitted you? why been exposed to dangers to which I am so unequal?
But I will leave this place, leave Lord Orville — leave him, perhaps, for ever! — no matter; your counsel, your goodness, may teach me how to recover the peace and the serenity of which my unguarded folly has beguiled me. To you alone do I trust — in you alone confide, for every future hope I may form.
The more I consider the parting with Lord Orville, the less fortitude do I feel to bear the separation; — the friendship he has shown me — his politeness — his sweetness of manners — his concern in my affairs — his solicitude to oblige me — all, all to be given up! —
No, I cannot tell him I am going — I dare not trust myself to take leave of him — I will run away without seeing him:— implicitly will I follow your advice, avoid his sight, and shun his society!
To-morrow morning I will set off for Berry Hill. Mrs. Selwyn and Mrs. Beaumont shall alone know my intention. And today — I will spend in my own room. The readiness of my obedience is the only atonement I can offer for the weakness which calls for its exertion.
Can you, will you, most honoured, most dear Sir! sole prop by which the poor Evelina is supported — can you, without reproach, without displeasure, receive the child you have so carefully reared — from whose education better fruit might have been expected, and who, blushing for her unworthiness, fears to meet the eye by which she has been cherished? — Oh, yes, I am sure you will! Your Evelina’s errors are those of the judgment; and you, I well know, pardon all but those of the heart!
LETTER 71
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
Clifton, October 1st.
I have only time, my dearest Sir, for three words, to overtake my last letter, and prevent your expecting me immediately; for, when I communicated my intention to Mrs. Selwyn, she would not hear of it, and declared it would be highly ridiculous for me to go before I received an answer to my intelligence concerning the journey from Paris. She has, therefore, insisted upon my waiting till your next letter arrives. I hope you will not be displeased at my compliance, though it is rather against my own judgment: but Mrs. Selwyn quite overpowered me with the force of her arguments. I will, however, see very little of Lord Orville; I will never come down stairs before breakfast; give up all my walks in the garden; seat myself next to Mrs. Selwyn; and not merely avoid his conversation, but shun his presence. I will exert all the prudence and all the resolution in my power, to prevent this short delay from giving you any further uneasiness.
Adieu, my dearest Sir. I shall not now leave Clifton till I have your directions.
LETTER 72
EVELINA IN CONTINUATION
October 2nd.
Yesterday, from the time I received your kind, though heart-piercing letter, I kept my room — for I was equally unable and unwilling to see Lord Orville; but this morning, finding I seemed destined to pass a few days longer here, I endeavoured to calm my spirits, and to appear as usual; though I determined to avoid him to the utmost of my power. Indeed, as I entered the parlour, when called to breakfast, my thoughts were so much occupied with your letter, that I felt as much confusion at his sight, as if he had himself been informed of its contents.
Mrs. Beaumont made me a slight compliment upon my recovery, for I had pleaded illness to excuse keeping my room: Lady Louisa spoke not a word; but Lord Orville, little imagining himself the cause of my indisposition, enquired concerning my health with the most distinguishing politeness. I hardly made any answer; and, for the first time since I have been here, contrived to sit at some distance from him.
I could not help observing that my reserve surprised him; yet he persisted in his civilities, and seemed to wish to remove it. But I paid him very little attention; and the moment breakfast was over, instead of taking a book, or walking in the garden, I retired to my own room.
Soon after, Mrs. Selwyn came to tell me, that Lord Orville had been proposing I should take an airing, and persuading her to let him drive us both in his phaeton. She delivered the message with an archness that made me blush; and added, that an airing, in my Lord Orville’s carriage, could not fail to revive my spirits. There is no possibility of escaping her discernment; she has frequently rallied me upon his Lordship’s attention — and, alas! — upon the pleasure with which I have received it! However, I absolutely refused the offer.
“Well,” said she, laughing, “I cannot just now indulge you with any solicitation; for, to tell you the truth, I have business to transact at the Wells, and am glad to be excused myself. I would ask you to walk with me; — but since Lord Orville is refused, I have not the presumption to hope for success.”
“Indeed,” cried I, “you are mistaken; I will attend you with pleasure.”
“O rare coquetry!” cried she, “surely it must be inherent in our sex, or it could not have been imbibed at Berry Hill.”
I had not spirits to answer her, and therefore put on my hat and cloak in silence.
“I presume,” continued she, drily, “his Lordship may walk with us.”
“If so, Madam,” said I, “you will have a companion, and I will stay at home.”
“My dear child,” cried she, “did you bring the certificate of your birth with you?”
“Dear Madam, no!”
“Why then, we shall never be known again at Berry Hill.”
I
