voucher for him.

'He desires my leave (in company with my Lord), in a pacific manner,
to attend my father and uncles, in order to make proposals that must be
accepted, if they will see him, and hear what they are: and tells me,
that he will submit to any measures that I shall prescribe, in order to
bring about a reconciliation.'

He presumes to be very earnest with me, 'to give him a private meeting
some night, in my father's garden, attended by whom I please.'

Really, my dear, were you to see his letter, you would think I had given
him great encouragement, and that I am in direct treaty with him; or
that he is sure that my friends will drive me into a foreign protection;
for he has the boldness to offer, in my Lord's name, an asylum to me,
should I be tyrannically treated in Solmes's behalf.

I suppose it is the way of this sex to endeavour to entangle the
thoughtless of ours by bold supposals and offers, in hopes that we shall
be too complaisant or bashful to quarrel with them; and, if not checked,
to reckon upon our silence, as assents voluntarily given, or concessions
made in their favour.

There are other particulars in this letter which I ought to mention to
you: but I will take an opportunity to send you the letter itself, or a
copy of it.

For my own part, I am very uneasy to think how I have been drawn on one
hand, and driven on the other, into a clandestine, in short, into a mere
loverlike correspondence, which my heart condemns.

It is easy to see, if I do not break it off, that Mr. Lovelace's
advantages, by reason of my unhappy situation, will every day increase,
and I shall be more and more entangled. Yet if I do put an end to
it, without making it a condition of being freed from Mr. Solmes's
address--May I, my dear, is it best to continue it a little longer, in
order to extricate myself out of the other difficulty, by giving up all
thoughts of Mr. Lovelace?--Whose advice can I now ask but yours.

All my relations are met. They are at breakfast together. Mr. Solmes is
expected. I am excessively uneasy. I must lay down my pen.

***

They are all going to church together. Grievously disordered they appear
to be, as Hannah tells me. She believes something is resolved upon.

SUNDAY NOON.

What a cruel thing is suspense!--I will ask leave to go to church this
afternoon. I expect to be denied. But, if I do not ask, they may allege,
that my not going is owing to myself.

***

I des