LETTER XLVI.
To James Montford.
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,
was despatched 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 sighs, 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 indispensable
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.
