LETTER XLVI.
To James Montford.
December 9.
Once more, after a night of painful musing
or troubled repose, I am at the pen. I am
plunged into greater difficulties and embarrassments
than ever.
It was scarcely daylight, when a slumber, into
which I had just fallen, was interrupted by a
servant of the Inn. A girl was below, who wanted
to see me. The description quickly proved
it to be Molly. I rose and directed her to be admitted.
She brought two letters from her mistress,
and was told to wait for an answer. Jane, traversed
her room, half distracted and sleepless
during most of the night. Towards morning
she sat down to her desk, and finished a letter,
which, together with one written a couple of
days before, were dispatched to me.
My heart throbbed—I was going to say with
transport; but I am at a loss to say whether
anguish or delight was uppermost, on reading
these letters. She recalls every promise of
eternal separation: she consents to immediate
marriage as the only wise expedient: proposes
ten o'clock this night, to join our hands; will
conceal her purpose from her mother, and resigns
to me the providing of suitable means.
I was overwhelmed with surprise, and—shall
I not say?—delight at this unexpected concession.
An immediate and consenting answer
was required. I hurried to give this answer, but
my tumultuous feelings would not let me write
coherently. I was obliged to lay down the pen,
and take a turn across the room, to calm my
tremors. This gave me time to reflect.
What, thought I, am I going to do? To take
advantage of a momentary impulse in my favor.
To violate my promises to Mrs. Fielder—my
letter to her may be construed into promises not
to seek another interview with Jane, and to leave
the country forever. And shall I betray this
impetuous woman into an irrevocable act, which
her whole future life may be unavailingly consumed
in repenting. Some delay, some deliberation
cannot be injurious.
And yet this has always been my advice. Shall
I reject the hand that is now offered me? How
will she regard these new-born scruples, this
drawing back, when the door spontaneously
opens and solicits my entrance?
Is it in my power to make Jane Talbot mine?
my wife? And shall I hesitate? Ah! would to
Heaven it were a destiny as fortunate for her as
for me; that no tears, no repinings, no compunctions
would follow. Should I not curse the
hour of our union when I heard her fighs, and
instead of affording consolation under the distress
produced by her mother's displeasure,
should I not need that consolation as much as
she?
These reflections had no other effect than to
make me irresolute. I could not return my assent
to her scheme. I could not reject so bewitching
an offer. This offer was the child of a passionate,
a desperate moment. Whither, indeed,
should she fly for refuge from a scene like that
which she describes?
Molly urged me to come to some determination,
as her mistress would impatiently wait
her return. Finding it indispensible to say
something, I at length wrote:—
“I have detected the author of the forgery
which has given us so much disquiet. I propose
to visit your mother this morning, when I shall
claim admission to you. In that interview may
our future destiny be discussed and settled.—
Meanwhile, still regard me as ever ready to
purchase your true happiness by every sacrifice.”
With this billet Molly hastened away. What
cold, repulsive terms were these! My conscience
smote me as she shut the door. But what
could I do?
I had but half determined to seek an interview
with Mrs. Fielder. What purpose would it answer
while the truth, respecting the counterfeit
letter, still remained imperfectly discovered?
And why should I seek an interview with Jane?
Would her mother permit it; and should I employ
my influence to win her from her mother's
side or rivet her more closely to it?
What, my friend, shall I do? You are too far
off to answer me, and you leave me to my own
destiny. You hear not, and will not seasonably
hear what I say. To day will surely settle
all difficulties, one way or another. This night,
if I will, I may be the husband of this angel,
or I may raise obstacles insuperable between us.
Our interests and persons may be united forever,
or we may start out into separate paths,
and never meet again.
Another messenger! with a letter for me!
Miss Jessup's servant—it is, perhaps—but let
me read it.
