BOOK VII. CONTAINING THREE DAYS.
2. Chapter ii. Containing a conversation which Mr Jones had with himself.
Containing a conversation which Mr Jones had with himself.
Jones received his effects from Mr Allworthy's early in the morning,
with the following answer to his letter:--
"I am commanded by my uncle to acquaint you, that as he did not
proceed to those measures he had taken with you, without the
greatest deliberation, and after the fullest evidence of your
unworthiness, so will it be always out of your power to cause the
least alteration in his resolution. He expresses great surprize at
your presumption in saying you have resigned all pretensions to a
young lady, to whom it is impossible you should ever have had any,
her birth and fortune having made her so infinitely your superior.
Lastly, I am commanded to tell you, that the only instance of your
compliance with my uncle's inclinations which he requires, is, your
immediately quitting this country. I cannot conclude this without
offering you my advice, as a Christian, that you would seriously
think of amending your life. That you may be assisted with grace so
to do, will be always the prayer of
"Your humble servant,
Many contending passions were raised in our heroe's mind by this
letter; but the tender prevailed at last over the indignant and
irascible, and a flood of tears came seasonably to his assistance, and
possibly prevented his misfortunes from either turning his head, or
bursting his heart.
He grew, however, soon ashamed of indulging this remedy; and starting
up, he cried, "Well, then, I will give Mr Allworthy the only instance
he requires of my obedience. I will go this moment--but whither?--why,
let Fortune direct; since there is no other who thinks it of any
consequence what becomes of this wretched person, it shall be a matter
of equal indifference to myself. Shall I alone regard what no
other--Ha! have I not reason to think there is another?--one whose
value is above that of the whole world!--I may, I must imagine my
Sophia is not indifferent to what becomes of me. Shall I then leave
this only friend--and such a friend? Shall I not stay with
her?--Where--how can I stay with her? Have I any hopes of ever seeing
her, though she was as desirous as myself, without exposing her to the
wrath of her father, and to what purpose? Can I think of soliciting
such a creature to consent to her own ruin? Shall I indulge any
passion of mine at such a price? Shall I lurk about this country like
a thief, with such intentions?--No, I disdain, I detest the thought.
Farewel, Sophia; farewel, most lovely, most beloved--" Here passion
stopped his mouth, and found a vent at his eyes.