“Oh go, go!” cried he, passionately; “in pity-in compassion,-if
thou valuest my senses, leave me,-and for ever!”
“I will, I will,” cried I, greatly terrified; and I moved hastily
towards the
door: yet, stopping when I reached it, and, almost involuntarily,
dropping on my knees, “Vouchsafe,” cried I, “Oh, Sir, vouchsafe
but once to bless your daughter, and her sight shall never more
offend you!”
“Alas,” cried he, in a softened voice, “I am not worthy to bless
thee!-I am
not worthy to call thee daughter!-I am not worthy that the fair
light of Heaven should visit my eyes!-Oh God! that I could but call
back the time ere thou wast born,-or else bury its remembrance in
eternal oblivion!”
“Would to Heaven,” cried I, “that the sight of me were less terrible
to you!
that, instead of irritating, I could soothe your sorrows!-Oh Sir, how
thankfully would I then prove my duty, even at the hazard of my life!”
“Are you so kind?” cried he, gently; “come hither, child;-rise,
Evelina:-Alas, it is for me to kneel,-not you;-and I would kneel,-I
would crawl upon the earth,-I would kiss the dust,-could I, by such
submission, obtain the forgiveness of the representative of the most
injured of women!”
“Oh, Sir,” exclaimed I, “that you could but read my heart!-that you
could but
see the filial tenderness and concern with which it overflows!-you
would not then talk thus,-you would not then banish me your presence,
and exclude me from your affection!”
“Good God,” cried he, “is it then possible that you do not hate
me?-Can the
child of the wronged Caroline look at,-and not execrate me? Wast thou
not born to abhor, and bred to curse me? Did not thy mother bequeath
thee her blessing on condition that thou should’st detest and avoid
me ?”
“Oh no, no, no!” cried I; “think not so unkindly of her, nor so
hardly of
me.” I then took from my pocketbook her last letter; and, pressing
it to my lips, with a trembling hand, and still upon my knees, I held
it out to him.
Hastily snatching it from me, “Great Heaven!” cried he, “’tis her
writing-Whence comes this?-who gave it you-why had I it not sooner?”
I made no answer; his vehemence intimidated me, and I ventured not
to move
from the suppliant posture in which I had put myself.