Life's Progress Through the Passions; Or, The Adventures of NaturaHaywood, Eliza Fowler
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Life's Progress Through the Passions; Or, The Adventures of Natura
Haywood, Eliza Fowler
English fiction -- 18th century
The transport, however, that so unexpected a condescension gave him,
prevented him from examining too deeply what might be the motives that
induced them to it, and he gave himself wholly up to love, gratitude,
and the delightful thoughts of being in a short time possessed of all
he at present wished, or imagined he ever should ask of Heaven.
But how were all these rapturous expectations dashed, when soon after
going to visit Maria, he found her lovely eyes half drowned in tears,
and her whole frame in the utmost disorder:--'What, madam,' cried he,
with a voice which denoted both grief and surprize, 'can have
happened, to give you any cause of the disquiet I see in you!'--'You,'
replied she, snatching away her hand, which he had taken, 'you alone
are the cause;--what encouragement did I ever give you,' continued
she, 'that should make you imagine the offers you have made my parents
would be agreeable to me?--Did I ever authorize you to ask a consent
from them, which I was determined never to grant myself, and which, I
will suffer a thousand deaths rather than ratify.'
The confusion Natura was in at these words was so great, that it
prevented him from making any answer; but he looked on her in such a
manner as made her ashamed of what she had said, and perhaps too of
the passion that had so far transported her; and perceiving he still
continued silent, 'I own myself obliged for the affection you express
for me,' resumed she, with more mildness, 'though it is at present the
greatest misfortune could have happened to me. Could I have thought
you would have declared yourself in the manner you have done to my
father and mother, I would have convinced you how impossible it would
be for you to reap any advantage from it, and that by so doing you
would only make me the most wretched creature in the world; but all is
now too late, and I foresee the cruel consequence.'--Here her tears
interrupted the passage of her words, and Natura having recollected
himself, began to complain of the severity of his destiny, which
compelled him to _love_ with the most violent passion a person who
could only return it with an equal degree of hate.--'Love,' replied
she, with a deep sigh, 'is not in our power;--let me therefore conjure
you, by all that which you pretend to have for me, to proceed no
farther in this business, nor endeavour to prevail on my parents to
force an inclination, which no obligations to them, services from you,
or length of time can ever influence in your favour; for be assured,
that if you do, you will only see the hand should be given you at the
altar, employed in cutting my own throat, or plunging a dagger in my
breast.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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