I have too long suffered prudence to delay my happiness: I cannot longer live without her: if she loves me, I shall on Tuesday call her mine. Adieu! I shall be with you almost as soon as this letter. Your affectionate Ed. Rivers. LETTER 190. To Colonel Rivers, Clarges Street. Rose-hill, Sept. 21. Is it then possible? can my Rivers doubt his Emily's tenderness? Do I only esteem you, my Rivers? can my eyes have so ill explained the feelings of my heart? You accuse me of not sharing your impatience: do you then allow nothing to the modesty, the blushing delicacy, of my sex? Could you see into my soul, you would cease to call me cold and insensible. Can you forget, my Rivers, those moments, when, doubtful of the sentiments of your heart, mine every instant betrayed its weakness? when every look spoke the resistless fondness of my soul! when, lost in the delight of seeing you, I forgot I was almost the wife of another? But I will say no more; my Rivers tells me I have already said too much: he is displeased with his Emily's tenderness; he complains, that I tell him too often I love him. You say I can give but one certain proof of my affection. I will give you that proof: I will be yours whenever you please, though ruin should be the consequence to both; I despise every other consideration, when my Rivers's happiness is at stake: is there any request he is capable of making, which his Emily will refuse? You are the arbiter of my fate: I have no will but yours; yet I entreat you to believe no common cause could have made me hazard giving a moment's pain to that dear bosom: you will one time know to what excess I have loved you. Were the empire of the world or your affection offered me, I should not hesitate one moment on the choice, even were I certain never to see you more. I cannot form an idea of happiness equal to that of being beloved by the most amiable of mankind. Judge then, if I would lightly wish to defer an event, which is to give me the transport of passing my life in the dear employment of making him happy. I only entreat that you will decline asking me, till I judge proper to tell you, why I first begged our marriage might be deferred: let it be till then forgot I ever made such a request. You will not, my dear Rivers, refuse this proof of complaisance to her who too plainly shews she can refuse you nothing. Adieu! Yours, Emily Montague. LETTER 191. To Miss Montague, Rose-hill, Berkshire. Clarges Street, Sept. 21, Two o'clock. Can you, my angel, forgive my insolent impatience, and attribute it to the true cause, excess of love? Could I be such a monster as to blame my sweet Emily's dear expressions of tenderness? I hate myself for being capable of writing such a letter. Be assured, I will strictly comply with all she desires: what condition is there on which I would not make the loveliest of women mine?