To George Mordaunt, Esq;
Wednesday, Five in the Morning.
GREAT Heaven! what a night have
I past! all other fears give way before
that of displeasing her. Yes, let me
be wretched, but let her not suppose me
unworthy: let her not see me in the light
of a man who barters the sentiments of his
soul for sordid views of avarice or ambition,
and, using means proportioned to
the baseness of his end, forges a falsehood
to excuse his attendance on her,
seduces an heiress to give him clandestine
assignations, and in a place guarded, doubly
guarded at this time, by the sacred and inviolable
laws of hospitality, from such unworthy
purposes.
I will clear my conduct, though at the
hazard of exposing her whose love for me
deserves a different treatment: let her be
the victim of that indiscretion by which
she has ruined me.–And can I be thus
base?–Can I betray the believing unsuspecting
heart?–My mind is distracted–
but why do I say betray? I know Lady
Anne's greatness of mind; and for Lady
Julia–yes, the secret will be as safe with
them as in my own bosom.
Shall I own all my folly? I cannot, tho'
she shall never know my passion for herself,
support one moment the idea of Lady Julia's
imagining I love another.
I will go to Lady Anne, as soon as she
is up, and beg her to convince her lovely
friend my meeting this Lady was accidental;
I will not, if I can avoid it, say
more.
I cannot see her before this explanation.
I will ride out, and breakfast with some
friend: I would not return till they are
gone back to their apartments, that I may
see Lady Anne alone.
Twelve o'Clock.
Lady Anne has probed me to the quick;
I have trusted her without reserve as to
this affair; I have begged her to vindicate
me to Lady Julia, who is walking in the
garden with some Ladies of the neighbourhood:
we are going to follow them,
I am to take the Ladies aside, whilst Lady
Anne pleads my cause: she calls me.
Farewell.
Twelve at Night.
She forgives me, and I am most happy.
Lady Anne has told her all, and has had
the goodness to introduce me to her as we
walked, unobserved by the Ladies who
were with us. I have kissed her hand as a
seal of my pardon. That moment! Oh!
Mordaunt! with what difficulty did I restrain
the transport of my soul!
Yes, my friend, she forgives me, a sweet
benign serenity reigns in her lovely eyes;
she approves my conduct; she is pleased
with the concern I shew at giving pain to
the heart which loves me; her chearfulness
is returned, and has restored mine; she rules
every movement of my heart as she pleases:
never did I pass so happy a day. I am all
joy; no sad idea can enter; I have scarce
room even for the tender compassion I owe
to her I have made wretched. I am going
to-bed, but without the least expectation of
sleep: joy will now have the same effect as
I last night found from a contrary cause.
Adieu!
H. Mandeville.
