“I would the letter had been longer; then he might have bled to death,” growled my papa. “Go on, miss.”
“‘Such, madam, is the admiration I conceived for the incomparable Clarissa on that happy evening when her resplendent charms burst for the first time upon my enraptured gaze, that since she quitted me in anger I have neither ate nor drank nor slept——’”
“Come, if this go on, we shall kill him yet,” says Mr Freyne.
“‘That the failure of my attempts to conceal the passion with which she inspired me should have alarmed her delicacy were calamity enough, but that she should carry her apprehensions so far as to flee from the expression of my adoration is a punishment that would (I appeal to the charmer herself if this ben’t truth) be over severe for the most heinous of crimes. To the worm that was permitted to bask for a few brief moments in the sunshine of her smiles ’tis a veritable sentence of death. But, madam, he who now ventures to address himself to you en’t one to welcome death tamely. He’ll fight for his life, and such is the love he has for you that he’ll gratify it even though he must needs wade through rivers of blood, though Calcutta be razed to the ground in the course of the measures he’ll take, and the English swept out of Bengall. But he don’t desire to alarm Clarissa a second time by the warmth of the sentiments he entertains, and would therefore only hint that his charmer has it in her power not merely to attach to herself for ever a grateful adorer whom her condescension will have preserved from death, but to oblige her countrymen in the highest degree, and gain for herself a name greater than that of the victorious Mr Clive as the protector of the British settlements in the Indies. Let her but vouchsafe to free herself from the perils of a distasteful alliance that now beset her, and honour her devoted slave by confiding herself to his care. A Christian priest shall be at hand and remove the only scruple that a lady of Clarissa’s modesty and prudence might be troubled with in granting such a prayer, and in an hour after the lightest intimation of Clarissa’s pleasure has been conveyed to the house named to her two days ago, she shall be safe for ever from the persecutions of tyrannical parents and a tiresome lover.’”
“Well, indeed, miss!” says my papa, “I must make you my best compliments on the style of your adorer’s letter. Pray, does he expect love or fear to incite you most to grant his request? And the forethought of the gentleman! ‘A priest at hand’ in an hour! I vow you’re a lucky girl.”
“A mighty tasteful piece of writing, indeed!” says the Captain.
But I was in no mind to join in their pleasantry. “Oh, sir,” I cried, turning to my papa with the tears in my eyes, “is this a letter that should be sent to your daughter, who has never (if she may humbly venture to say so) given occasion to any to speak lightly of her? En’t it enough for me to be pestered with the detestable attentions of this wretch in a public place, that his vile missives must pursue me even into the retirements of my papa’s dwelling? Have I deserved this indifference which you, sir, are pleased to show in a matter of such singular moment to me?”
“There, there, Miss Sylvy,” says my dear papa, patting my neck in the kindest manner imaginable, while I sobbed like a fool; “don’t cry, for you shan’t be rallied any more. Don’t my girl trust her papa? Sure the Captain and I are both itching to have our swords at the fellow’s throat, but we had the same thought of making little of the matter for fear it might alarm Miss and prey upon her spirits. But since she accuses us of indifference, why, she shall know all that we do, and spur us on when our eagerness seems to her to flag. You say your iya knew nothing of this charming billet?”
“So she tells me, sir—oh, pray forgive my undutiful words.”
“Tut, tut, miss! I like your spirit. ’Tis well to see a young woman nice about what touches her honour. You’re your papa’s own girl. And now come, we’ll examine the household. Call the servants together, consummer.”