I obeyed her, ashamed that I should deserve and receive such rebuke from a Papist, and at that same moment there come back to my mind that wise saying of Dr Thomas Browne, to the effect that Suicide is not so much to fear death as to be afraid of life. When to live is more terrible than death, then is it the truest valour to dare to live; but I groaned again to remember how often my cousin Dorothy and I had read those words together, and also to think how much more terrible life would now be to me than death, though surely this should not have been so, seeing I was assured of my lady’s continued happiness.
“Sir,” says Madam Heliodora, “you have yet much to live for. Humble yourself to your employers, as I have already recommended to you, and then, if your cousin be still willing to espouse you, make to her the best amends in your power for your faithlessness.”
“Madam,” I replied, “I will obey you so far as in me lies; but this thing I can’t do. The man that hath once lived in the hope (vain and foolish though it were), to be beloved by you, can never bend his thoughts towards any other. Were Mrs Dorothy Brandon possessed of every perfection under heaven, I could not bring myself to wed her—yea, though she herself besought me on her bended knees.”
Alas, what fools are we! I can now scarce bring myself to write down these shameful words, knowing, as I do, of the day wherein these my vauntings lay upon me as heavy as lead, so that they were like to drag me down into despair, and when, for one kind word from the dear lady whose love I thus slighted, I had willingly died.
“Be silent, sir!” cried Madam Heliodora in extreme heat. “Such words don’t befit either yourself or Mrs Brandon. If I know her aright from all you have told me, you are far more like to sue in vain for her favour than she for yours. You are a mean-spirited craven, sir, to speak thus to me touching one of my own sex.”
“Madam, forgive me,” I entreated. “I am sore disquieted, and I ask your pardon if my words wan’t seemly, though I must remain fixed in their spirit. What does your ladyship desire me to do?”
“You must leave this city at once, sir, which hath been, indeed, your Capua,” says my lady, in a voice of displeasure, “and do as I have recommended you. If your name should ever again come to my ears, I trust to hear of you as an honourable gentleman, and married to the excellent lady whose happiness is in your keeping.”
“Give me some slight token, madam,” I entreated, “that I may know that I an’t for ever disgraced in your sight.”
“Nay, truly!” she cried; then, checking herself, “you may chance to meet the Viscount de Galampré on your travels, sir, for he was sent from our Factory of Surat on a mission for his majesty to the emperor and the Moratty king. He is of the religion, a Hugonot, like yourself, wherefore you should agree. Convey to him my loving commendations. You understand me?”
“Madam, I will obey you,” said I, and laden with this message of kind cruelty, departed.