Chapter viii.

The meeting between Jones and Sophia.

Jones departed instantly in quest of Sophia, whom he found just risen

from the ground, where her father had left her, with the tears

trickling from her eyes, and the blood running from her lips. He

presently ran to her, and with a voice full at once of tenderness and

terrour, cried, “O my Sophia, what means this dreadful sight?” She

looked softly at him for a moment before she spoke, and then said, “Mr

Jones, for Heaven's sake how came you here?--Leave me, I beseech you,

this moment.”--“Do not,” says he, “impose so harsh a command upon

me--my heart bleeds faster than those lips. O Sophia, how easily could

I drain my veins to preserve one drop of that dear blood.”--“I have

too many obligations to you already,” answered she, “for sure you

meant them such.” Here she looked at him tenderly almost a minute, and

then bursting into an agony, cried, “Oh, Mr Jones, why did you save my

life? my death would have been happier for us both.”--“Happier for us

both!” cried he. “Could racks or wheels kill me so painfully as

Sophia's--I cannot bear the dreadful sound. Do I live but for her?”

Both his voice and looks were full of inexpressible tenderness when he

spoke these words; and at the same time he laid gently hold on her

hand, which she did not withdraw from him; to say the truth, she

hardly knew what she did or suffered. A few moments now passed in

silence between these lovers, while his eyes were eagerly fixed on

Sophia, and hers declining towards the ground: at last she recovered

strength enough to desire him again to leave her, for that her certain

ruin would be the consequence of their being found together; adding,

“Oh, Mr Jones, you know not, you know not what hath passed this cruel

afternoon.”--“I know all, my Sophia,” answered he; “your cruel father

hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me hither to you.”--“My

father sent you to me!” replied she: “sure you dream.”--“Would to

Heaven,” cries he, “it was but a dream! Oh, Sophia, your father hath

sent me to you, to be an advocate for my odious rival, to solicit you

in his favour. I took any means to get access to you. O speak to me,

Sophia! comfort my bleeding heart. Sure no one ever loved, ever doated

like me. Do not unkindly withhold this dear, this soft, this gentle

hand--one moment, perhaps, tears you for ever from me--nothing less

than this cruel occasion could, I believe, have ever conquered the

respect and awe with which you have inspired me.” She stood a moment

silent, and covered with confusion; then lifting up her eyes gently

towards him, she cried, “What would Mr Jones have me say?”--“O do but

promise,” cries he, “that you never will give yourself to

Blifil.”--“Name not,” answered she, “the detested sound. Be assured I

never will give him what is in my power to withhold from him.”--“Now

then,” cries he, “while you are so perfectly kind, go a little

farther, and add that I may hope.”--“Alas!” says she, “Mr Jones,

whither will you drive me? What hope have I to bestow? You know my

father's intentions.”--“But I know,” answered he, “your compliance

with them cannot be compelled.”--“What,” says she, “must be the

dreadful consequence of my disobedience? My own ruin is my least

concern. I cannot bear the thoughts of being the cause of my father's

misery.”--“He is himself the cause,” cries Jones, “by exacting a power

over you which Nature hath not given him. Think on the misery which I

am to suffer if I am to lose you, and see on which side pity will turn

the balance.”--“Think of it!” replied she: “can you imagine I do not

feel the ruin which I must bring on you, should I comply with your

desire? It is that thought which gives me resolution to bid you fly

from me for ever, and avoid your own destruction.”--“I fear no

destruction,” cries he, “but the loss of Sophia. If you would save me

from the most bitter agonies, recall that cruel sentence. Indeed, I

can never part with you, indeed I cannot.”

The lovers now stood both silent and trembling, Sophia being unable to

withdraw her hand from Jones, and he almost as unable to hold it; when

the scene, which I believe some of my readers will think had lasted

long enough, was interrupted by one of so different a nature, that we

shall reserve the relation of it for a different chapter.