Self-control: A Novel

by Mary Brunton

He darted forward, regardless of the snow that was falling on his uncovered head, till it suddenly occurred to him that he would not suffer her to triumph in the belief of having deceived him. 'No,' cried he, 'I will once more see that deceitful face; reproach her with her treachery; enjoy her confusion, and then spurn her from me for ever.'

He returned precipitately to the house; and, flying up stairs, saw Laura, the traces of melancholy reflection on her countenance, waiting for admission at her father's door. 'Madam', said he, in a voice scarcely articulate, 'I must speak with you for a few minutes.' 'Not for a moment, Sir,' said Laura, laying her hand upon the lock. 'Yes, by Heaven, you shall hear me,' cried Hargrave; and rudely seizing her, he forced her into the painting-room, and bolted the door.

'Answer me,' said he fiercely, 'how came that book into your possession?' pointing to it as it still lay upon the floor. 'When have you this infernal likeness? Speak!'

Laura looked at the drawing, then at the book, and at once understood the cause of her lover's frenzy. Sincere compassion filled her heart; yet she felt how unjust was the treatment which she received; and, with calm dignity, said, 'I will answer all your questions, and then you will judge whether you have deserved that I should do so.'

'Whom would not that face deceive?' said Hargrave, gnashing his teeth in agony. 'Speak sorceress—tell me, if you dare, that this is not the portrait of De Courcy—that he is not the lover for whom I am loathed and spurned.'

'That is the portrait of De Courcy,' replied Laura, with the simple majesty of truth. 'It is the sketch from which I finished a picture for his sister. That book too is his,' and she stooped to lift it from the ground. 'Touch not the vile thing,' cried Hargrave in a voice of thunder. With quiet self-possession, Laura continued, 'Mr De Courcy's father was, as you know, the friend of mine. Mr De Courcy himself was, when an infant, known to my father; and they met, providentially met, when we had great need of a considerate friend. That friend Mr De Courcy was to us, and no selfish motive sullied his benevolence; for he is not, nor ever was, nor, I trust, ever will be, known to me as a lover!'

The voice of sober truth had its effect upon Hargrave, and he said, more composedly, 'Will you then give me your word, that De Courcy is not, nor ever will be, dear to you?'

'No!' answered Laura, 'I will not say so, for he must be loved wherever his virtues are known; but I have no regard for him that should disquiet you. It is not such,' continued she, struggling with the rising tears—'it is not such as would pardon outrage, and withstand neglect, and humble itself before unjust aspersion.'

'Oh Laura,' said Hargrave, at once convinced and softened, 'I must believe you, or my heart will burst.'

'I have a right to be believed,' returned Laura, endeavouring to rally her spirits. 'Now, then, release me, after convincing me that the passion of which you boast so much, is consistent with the most insolent disrespect, the most unfounded suspicion.' But Hargrave was again at her feet, exhausting every term of endearment, and breathing forth the most fervent petitions for forgiveness.