I raised my voice to drown her's.—You used, my dearest creature, to have a tender and apprehensive heart.—You never had so much reason for such a one as now.

Let me judge for myself, upon what I shall see, not upon what I shall hear.—Do you think I shall ever?—

I dreaded her going on—I must be heard, Madam, (raising my voice still higher,)—you must let me read one paragraph or two out of this letter to you, if you will not read it yourself—

Begone from me, Man!—Begone from me with thy letters! What pretence hast thou for tormenting me thus? What right?—What title?—

Dearest creature! what questions you ask!—Questions that you can as well answer yourself—

I can, I will, and thus I answer them—

Still louder I raised my voice.—She was overborne.—Sweet soul! It would be hard, thought I, [and yet I was very angry with her,] if such a spirit as thine cannot be brought to yield to such a one as mine!

I lowered my voice on her silence. All gentle, all intreative, my accent. My head bowed—one hand held out—the other on my honest heart. —For heaven's sake, my dearest creature, resolve to see Captain Tomlinson with temper. He would have come along with me, but I was willing to try to soften your mind first on this fatal misapprehension, and this for the same of your own wishes. For what is it otherwise to me, whether your friends are, or are not, reconciled to us?—Do I want any favour from them?—For your own mind's sake, therefore, frustrate not Captain Tomlinson's negociation. That worthy gentleman will be here in the afternoon; Lady Betty will be in town, with my cousin Montague, in a day or two.—They will be your visiters. I beseech you do not carry this misunderstanding so far, as that Lord M. and Lady Betty, and Lady Sarah, may know it. [How considerable this made me look to the women!] Lady Betty will not let you rest till you consent to accompany her to her own seat—and to that lady may you safely intrust your cause.

Again, upon my pausing a moment, she was going to break out. I liked not the turn of her countenance, nor the tone of her voice—'And thinkest thou, base wretch,' were the words she did utter: I again raised my voice, and drowned her's.—Base wretch, Madam?—You know that I have not deserved the violent names you have called me. Words so opprobrious from a mind so gentle!—But this treatment is from you, Madam?—From you, whom I love more than my own soul!—By that soul, I swear that I do.—[The women looked upon each other—they seemed pleased with my ardour.—Women, whether wives, maids, or widows, love ardours: even Miss Howe, thou knowest, speaks up for ardours,*]—Nevertheless, I must say, that you have carried matters too far for the occasion. I see you hate me—

* See Vol. IV. Letters XXIX. and XXXIV.