“Proposals have been made to you on my Behalf for the Hand of your fair and amiable Daughter, Miss Aurelia Delavie. I am well aware how preposterous and even shocking they may well appear to you; yet, let me assure you, on the Faith of a Man of Honour that if you will entrust her to me, wretched Recluse though I be, and will permit her to bear my Name, I will answer for her Happiness and Welfare. Situated as I am, I cannot enter into further explanations; but we are old Acquaintance, though we have not met for many Years, and therefore I venture to beg of you to believe me when I say that if you will repose Confidence in me, and exercise Patience, I can promise your admirable Daughter such Preferment as she is far from expecting. She has been the Blessing of my darkened Life, but I would never have presumed to ask further were it not that I have no other Means of protecting her, nor of shielding her from Evils that may threaten her, and that might prove far worse than bearing the Name of “Your obedient Servant to command, “AMYAS BELAMOUR. “Bowstead Park, Dec. 3rd, 1737.” “Enigmatical!” said Betty. “It could hardly be otherwise if he had to employ a secretary” said her father. “Who can have written for him?” “His friend, Dr. Godfrey, most probably,” said Betty. “It is well spelt as well as indited, and has not the air of being drawn up by a lawyer.” “No, it is not Hargrave’s hand. It is strange that he says nothing of the settlements.” “Here is a postscript, adding, ‘Should you consent, Hargrave will give you ample satisfaction as to the property which I can settle on your daughter.’” “Of that I have no doubt,” said the Major. “Well, Betty, on reflection, if I were only secure that no force was put on the child’s will, and if I could exchange a few words face to face with Amyas Belamour, I should not be so utterly averse as I was at first sight. She is a good child, and if she like him, and find it not hard to do her duty by him, she might be as happy as another. And since she is out of our reach it might save her from worse. What say you, child?” “That last is the strongest plea with me,” said Betty, with set lips. They took another evening for deliberation, but there was something in the tone of the letter that wrought on them, and it ended in a cautious consent being given, on the condition of the father being fully satisfied of his daughter’s free and voluntary acquiescence. “After all,” he said to Betty, “I shall be able to go up to Bowstead for the wedding, and if I find that her inclinations have been forced, I can take her away at all risks.” CHAPTER XIX. WOOING IN THE DARK. You may put out my eyes with a ballad-maker’s pen, and hang me up for the sign of blind Cupid.--_Much Ado About Nothing_.