r concession, to put and end to her own life,
rather than yield to give me but that assurance!

* The Lady mentions, in her memorandum-book, that she had no other way,
as is apprehended, to save herself from instant dishonour, but by making
this concession. Her only hope, now, she says, if she cannot escape by
Dorcas's connivance, (whom, nevertheless she suspects,) is to find a way
to engage the protection of her uncle, and even of the civil magistrate,
on Thursday next, if necessary. 'He shall see,' says she, 'tame and
timid as he thought me, what I dare to do, to avoid so hated a
compulsion, and a man capable of a baseness so premeditatedly vile and
inhuman.'

This, however, shows me, that she is aware that the reluctantly-given
assurance may be fairly construed into a matrimonial expectation on my
side. And if she will now, even now, look forward, I think, from my
heart, that I will put on her livery, and wear it for life.

What a situation am I in, with all my cursed inventions! I am puzzled,
confounded, and ashamed of myself, upon the whole. To take such pains to
be a villain!--But (for the fiftieth time) let me ask thee, Who would
have thought that there had been such a woman in the world?--
Nevertheless, she had best take care that she carries not her obstinacy
much farther. She knows not what revenge for slighted love will make me
do.

The busy scenes I have just passed through have given emotions to my
heart, which will not be quieted one while. My heart, I see,
(on re-perusing what I have written,) has communicated its tremors to my
fingers; and in some places the characters are so indistinct and
unformed, that thou'lt hardly be able to make them out. But if one half
of them is only intelligible, that will be enough to expose me to thy
contempt, for the wretched hand I have made of my plots and contrivances.
--But surely, Jack, I have gained some ground by this promise.

And now, one word to the assurances thou sendest me, that thou hast not
betrayed my secrets in relation to this charming creature. Thou mightest
have spared them, Belford. My suspicions held no longer than while I
wrote about them.* For well I knew, when I allowed myself time to think,
that thou hadst no principles, no virtue, to be misled by. A great deal
of strong envy, and a little of weak pity, I knew to be thy motives.
Thou couldst not provoke my anger, and my compassion thou ever hadst; and
art now more especially en