To George Mordaunt, Esq;
Wednesday Morning.
AFTER four days past in anxiety not
to be told, this ardently-expected
morning is come; I every moment expect
Mr. Herbert; I tremble at every sound:
another hour, and the happiness of my
whole life will be for ever determined:
Mordaunt, the idea chills my soul.
It is now a week since I have heard
from Belmont; not a line from Emily
Howard, or Lady Anne; the unhappy
have few friends; Lord Melvin is the minion
of fortune; he has taken my place in
their esteem.
The time is past, and my friend is not
here; he has therefore no letters from Lord
Belmont; I rated his disinterestedness too
high: misled by the mean despicable maxims
of the world, he resents my passion for
his daughter; he gives her to another,
without deigning even to send me an answer;
he might surely have respected his
own blood. My soul is on fire at this insult:
his age, his virtues, protect him; but Lord
Melvin–let him avoid my fury.
Yet am I not too rash? May not some
accident have retarded my friend? I will
wait patiently till evening; I cannot believe
Lord Belmont–May he not have seen me,
and, suspecting some clandestine design–
Yes, my folly has undone me; what can he
think of such a concealment?–
Mordaunt! I cannot live in this suspence;
I will send William this moment to
Belmont.
Five o'Clock.
William is come back, and has thrown
me into despair: yes, my friend, it is now
beyond a doubt.
Lady Julia is intended for Lord Melvin;
the most splendid preparations are making;
all is joy and festivity at Belmont; a wretch
like me is below their thoughts; messengers
are hourly coming and going from
Lord Rochdale's: it is past, and I am
doomed to despair: my letter has only
hastened my destruction; has only hastened
this detested marriage: over-awed by paternal
authority, she gives me up, she marries
another; she has forgot her vows,
those vows which she called on Heaven to
witness: I have lost all for which life was
worth my care.
Mordaunt! I am no longer master of
myself. Lord Melvin is this moment gone
past to Belmont, dressed like a youthful,
gay, and burning bridegroom; his eyes
sparkle with new fire; his cheek has the
glow of happy love. This very hour, perhaps,
he calls her his–this very hour her
consenting blushes–the idea is insupportable
–First may the avenging bold of Heaven
–But why supplicate Heaven?–My
own arm–I will follow him–I will not
tamely resign her–He shall first–Yes,
through my blood alone–What I intend I
know not–My thoughts are all distraction!
