Bab Bab 31 · 第31章

“Truly,” said I to him, “I find you would soon have conquered me; and

it is my affliction now, that I am not in a condition to let you see

how easily I should have been reconciled to you, and have passed by all

the tricks you had put upon me, in recompense of so much good-humour.

But, my dear,” said I, “what can we do now? We are both undone, and

what better are we for our being reconciled together, seeing we have

nothing to live on?”

We proposed a great many things, but nothing could offer where there

was nothing to begin with. He begged me at last to talk no more of it,

for, he said, I would break his heart; so we talked of other things a

little, till at last he took a husband’s leave of me, and so we went to

sleep.

He rose before me in the morning; and indeed, having lain awake almost

all night, I was very sleepy, and lay till near eleven o’clock. In this

time he took his horses and three servants, and all his linen and

baggage, and away he went, leaving a short but moving letter for me on

the table, as follows:—

“MY DEAR—I am a dog; I have abused you; but I have been drawn into

do it by a base creature, contrary to my principle and the general

practice of my life. Forgive me, my dear! I ask your pardon with

the greatest sincerity; I am the most miserable of men, in having

deluded you. I have been so happy to possess you, and now am so

wretched as to be forced to fly from you. Forgive me, my dear;

once more I say, forgive me! I am not able to see you ruined by

me, and myself unable to support you. Our marriage is nothing; I

shall never be able to see you again; I here discharge you from

it; if you can marry to your advantage, do not decline it on my

account; I here swear to you on my faith, and on the word of a man

of honour, I will never disturb your repose if I should know of it,

which, however, is not likely. On the other hand, if you should not

marry, and if good fortune should befall me, it shall be all yours,

wherever you are.

I have put some of the stock of money I have left into your pocket;

take places for yourself and your maid in the stage-coach, and

go for London; I hope it will bear your charges thither, without

breaking into your own. Again I sincerely ask your pardon, and will

do so as often as I shall ever think of you.

Adieu, my dear, for ever,

I am, your most affectionately,

J.E.”

Nothing that ever befell me in my life sank so deep into my heart as

this farewell. I reproached him a thousand times in my thoughts for

leaving me, for I would have gone with him through the world, if I had

begged my bread. I felt in my pocket, and there found ten guineas, his

gold watch, and two little rings, one a small diamond ring worth only

about £6, and the other a plain gold ring.

I sat me down and looked upon these things two hours together, and

scarce spoke a word, till my maid interrupted me by telling me my

dinner was ready. I ate but little, and after dinner I fell into a

vehement fit of crying, every now and then calling him by his name,

which was James. “O Jemmy!” said I, “come back, come back. I’ll give

you all I have; I’ll beg, I’ll starve with you.” And thus I ran raving

about the room several times, and then sat down between whiles, and

then walking about again, called upon him to come back, and then cried

again; and thus I passed the afternoon, till about seven o’clock, when

it was near dusk, in the evening, being August, when, to my unspeakable

surprise, he comes back into the inn, but without a servant, and comes

directly up into my chamber.

I was in the greatest confusion imaginable, and so was he too. I could

not imagine what should be the occasion of it, and began to be at odds

with myself whether to be glad or sorry; but my affection biassed all

the rest, and it was impossible to conceal my joy, which was too great

for smiles, for it burst out into tears. He was no sooner entered the

room but he ran to me and took me in his arms, holding me fast, and

almost stopping my breath with his kisses, but spoke not a word. At

length I began. “My dear,” said I, “how could you go away from me?” to

which he gave no answer, for it was impossible for him to speak.

When our ecstasies were a little over, he told me he was gone about

fifteen miles, but it was not in his power to go any farther without

coming back to see me again, and to take his leave of me once more.

I told him how I had passed my time, and how loud I had called him to

come back again. He told me he heard me very plain upon Delamere

Forest, at a place about twelve miles off. I smiled. “Nay,” says he,

“do not think I am in jest, for if ever I heard your voice in my life,

I heard you call me aloud, and sometimes I thought I saw you running

after me.” “Why,” said I, “what did I say?”—for I had not named the

words to him. “You called aloud,” says he, “and said, O Jemmy! O Jemmy!

come back, come back.”

I laughed at him. “My dear,” says he, “do not laugh, for, depend upon

it, I heard your voice as plain as you hear mine now; if you please,

I’ll go before a magistrate and make oath of it.” I then began to be

amazed and surprised, and indeed frightened, and told him what I had

really done, and how I had called after him, as above.

When we had amused ourselves a while about this, I said to him: “Well,

you shall go away from me no more; I’ll go all over the world with you

rather.” He told me it would be a very difficult thing for him to leave

me, but since it must be, he hoped I would make it as easy to me as I

could; but as for him, it would be his destruction that he foresaw.

However, he told me that he considered he had left me to travel to

London alone, which was too long a journey; and that as he might as

well go that way as any way else, he was resolved to see me safe

thither, or near it; and if he did go away then without taking his

leave, I should not take it ill of him; and this he made me promise.

He told me how he had dismissed his three servants, sold their horses,

and sent the fellows away to seek their fortunes, and all in a little

time, at a town on the road, I know not where. “And,” says he, “it cost

me some tears all alone by myself, to think how much happier they were

than their master, for they could go to the next gentleman’s house to

see for a service, whereas,” said he, “I knew not wither to go, or what

to do with myself.”

I told him I was so completely miserable in parting with him, that I

could not be worse; and that now he was come again, I would not go from

him, if he would take me with him, let him go whither he would, or do

what he would. And in the meantime I agreed that we would go together

to London; but I could not be brought to consent he should go away at

last and not take his leave of me, as he proposed to do; but told him,

jesting, that if he did, I would call him back again as loud as I did

before. Then I pulled out his watch and gave it him back, and his two

rings, and his ten guineas; but he would not take them, which made me

very much suspect that he resolved to go off upon the road and leave

me.

The truth is, the circumstances he was in, the passionate expressions

of his letter, the kind, gentlemanly treatment I had from him in all

the affair, with the concern he showed for me in it, his manner of

parting with that large share which he gave me of his little stock

left—all these had joined to make such impressions on me, that I really

loved him most tenderly, and could not bear the thoughts of parting

with him.

Two days after this we quitted Chester, I in the stage-coach, and he on

horseback. I dismissed my maid at Chester. He was very much against my

being without a maid, but she being a servant hired in the country, and

I resolving to keep no servant at London, I told him it would have been

barbarous to have taken the poor wench and have turned her away as soon

as I came to town; and it would also have been a needless charge on the

road, so I satisfied him, and he was easy enough on the score.

He came with me as far as Dunstable, within thirty miles of London, and

then he told me fate and his own misfortunes obliged him to leave me,

and that it was not convenient for him to go to London, for reasons

which it was of no value to me to know, and I saw him preparing to go.

The stage-coach we were in did not usually stop at Dunstable, but I

desiring it but for a quarter of an hour, they were content to stand at

an inn-door a while, and we went into the house.

Being in the inn, I told him I had but one favour more to ask of him,

and that was, that since he could not go any farther, he would give me

leave to stay a week or two in the town with him, that we might in that

time think of something to prevent such a ruinous thing to us both, as

a final separation would be; and that I had something of moment to

offer him, that I had never said yet, and which perhaps he might find

practicable to our mutual advantage.

This was too reasonable a proposal to be denied, so he called the

landlady of the house, and told her his wife was taken ill, and so ill

that she could not think of going any farther in the stage-coach, which

had tired her almost to death, and asked if she could not get us a

lodging for two or three days in a private house, where I might rest me

a little, for the journey had been too much for me. The landlady, a

good sort of woman, well-bred and very obliging, came immediately to

see me; told me she had two or three very good rooms in a part of the

house quite out of the noise, and if I saw them, she did not doubt but

I would like them, and I should have one of her maids, that should do

nothing else but be appointed to wait on me. This was so very kind,

that I could not but accept of it, and thank her; so I went to look on

the rooms and liked them very well, and indeed they were

extraordinarily furnished, and very pleasant lodgings; so we paid the

stage-coach, took out our baggage, and resolved to stay here a while.