บทที่ บทที่ 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.