ly looking
all round her,) give me but the means, and I will instantly convince you
that my honour is dearer to me than my life!

Then, with still folded hands, and fresh streaming eyes, I was her
blessed Lovelace; and she would thank me with her latest breath if I
would permit her to make that preference, or free her from farther
indignities.

I sat suspended for a moment: by my soul, thought I, thou art, upon full
proof, an angel and no woman! still, however, close clasping her to my
bosom, as I raised her from her knees, she again slid through my arms,
and dropped upon them.--'See, Mr. Lovelace!--Good God! that I should live
to see this hour, and to bear this treatment!--See at your feet a poor
creature, imploring your pity; who, for your sake, is abandoned of all
the world. Let not my father's curse thus dreadfully operate! be not you
the inflicter, who have been the cause of it: but spare me, I beseech
you, spare me!--for how have I deserved this treatment from you? for your
own sake, if not for my sake, and as you would that God Almighty, in your
last hour, should have mercy upon you, spare me!'

What heart but must have been penetrated!

I would again have raised the dear suppliant from her knees; but she
would not be raised, till my softened mind, she said, had yielded to her
prayer, and bid her rise to be innocent.

Rise then, my angel! rise, and be what you are, and all you wish to be!
only pronounce me pardoned for what has passed, and tell me you will
continue to look upon me with that eye of favour and serenity which I
have been blessed with for some days past, and I will submit to my
beloved conqueress, whose power never was at so great an height with me,
as now, and retire to my apartment.

God Almighty, said she, hear your prayers in your most arduous moments,
as you have heard mine! and now leave me, this moment leave me, to my own
recollection: in that you will leave me to misery enough, and more than
you ought to wish to your bitterest enemy.

Impute not every thing, my best beloved, to design, for design it was
not--

O Mr. Lovelace!

Upon my soul, Madam, the fire was real--[and so it was, Jack!]--The
house, my dearest life, might have been consumed by it, as you will be
convinced in the morning by ocular demonstration.

O Mr. Lovelace!--

Let my passion for you, Madam, and the unexpected meeting of you at your
chamber-door, in an attitude so charming--

Leave me, leave me, this mome