O the dreadful weight of a father's curse, thus in the very letter of it—
And then her voice dying away in murmurs inarticulate, I looked through the key-hole, and saw her on her knees, her face, though not towards me, lifted up, as well as hands, and these folded, depreciating, I suppose, that gloomy tyrant's curse.
I could not help being moved.
My dearest life! admit me to your presence but for two minutes, and confirm your promised pardon; and may lightning blast me on the spot, if I offer any thing but my penitence, at a shrine so sacred!—I will afterwards leave you for a whole day; till to-morrow morning; and then attend you with writings, all ready to sign, a license obtained, or if it cannot, a minister without one. This once believe me! When you see the reality of the danger that gave occasion for this your unhappy resentment, you will think less hardly of me. And let me beseech you to perform a promise on which I made a reliance not altogether ungenerous.
I cannot see you! Would to Heaven I never had! If I write, that's all I can do.
Let your writing then, my dearest life, confirm your promise: and I will withdraw in expectation of it.
PAST ELEVEN O'CLOCK.
She rung her bell for Dorcas; and, with her door in her hand, only half opened, gave her a billet for me.
How did the dear creature look, Dorcas?
She was dressed. She turned her face quite from me; and sighed, as if her heart would break.