- How madly stupid, how blind to my own interest, how
thankless to him must I appear!
- How will he despise my folly! - how
hate my ingratitude!
Thus did her reason combat with her prejudice, and she suffered much the
same agonies in endeavouring to love him in the manner he desired, as he
had done to conquer the inclination he had for her, and both alike were
fruitless. Yet was her condition much more to be commiserated: he had
only to debate within himself whether he should yield or not to the
suggestions of his own passion: she to subdue an aversion for what a
thousand reasons concurred to convince her she ought rather to be
ambitious of, and which in refusing she run the risque of being cast
off, and abandoned to beggary and ruin; and what was still more hateful
to her, being hated by that person who, next to her brother, she loved
above the world, tho' in a different way from that which could alone
content him.
Dorilaus, who had taken the disorder he perceived in her for no other
than the effects of a surprize, which a declaration, such as he had
made, might very well occasion, was perfectly contented in his mind, and
passed that night with much more tranquility than he had done many
preceding ones, while he suffered his cruel reason to war against the
dictates of his heart; but having now wholly given himself up to the
latter, the sweet delusion filled him with a thousand pleasing ideas,
and he thought of nothing but the happiness he should enjoy in the
possession of the amiable Louisa. But how confounded was he, when the
next day accosting her with all the tender transports of a lover, she
turned from him, and burst into a flood of tears. How is this, Louisa,
said he; do the offers I make you merit to be treated with disdain? has
my submitting to be your lover forfeited that respect you were wont to
pay me as a guardian? O do not, sir, accuse me of such black
ingratitude, replied she; heaven knows with what sincere and humble duty
I regard you, and that I would sooner die than wilfully offend you; but
if I am so unfortunate as not to be able to obey you in this last
command, impute it, I beseech you, to my ill fate, and rather pity than
condemn me.
You cannot love me then? cried he, somewhat feircely. No otherwise than
I have ever done, answered she. My heart is filled with duty, reverence
and gratitude, of which your goodness is the only source: as for any
other sort of love I know not what it is; were it a voluntary emotion,
believe me, sir, I gladly would give it entrance into my soul, but I
well see it is of a far different nature.
Yet is your person at your own disposal, resumed he; and when possessed
of that, the flame which burns so fiercely in my breast, in time may
kindle one in yours.
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