The Fortunate Foundlings | Page 9

to die between surprize, grief
and shame:--fain she would have spoke, but feared, lest what she
should say would either lose his friendship or encourage his
passion.--Each seemed equally dreadful to her:--no words presented
themselves to her distracted mind that she could think proper to utter,
till he pressing her several times to reply, and seeming a little to resent
her silence--Oh! sir, cried she, how is it possible for me to make any
answer to so strange a proposition!--you were not used to rally my
simplicity; nor can I think you mean what you now mention. If there
wanted no more, said he, than to prove the sincerity of my wishes in
this point to gain your approbation of them, my chaplain should this

moment put it past a doubt, and confirm my proposal:--but, pursued he,
I will not put your modesty to any farther shock at present;--all I
intreat is, that you will consider on what I have said, and what the
passion I am possessed of merits from you. In concluding these words
he kissed her with the utmost tenderness, and quitted her to speak to
some men who were at work in another part of the garden, leaving her
to meditate at liberty on this surprizing turn in her affairs.
It was indeed necessary he should do so, for the various agitations she
laboured under were so violent, as to be near throwing her into a
swoon.--She no sooner found herself alone, than she flew to her
chamber, and locked herself in, to prevent being interrupted by any of
the servants; and as in all emotions of the mind, especially in that of a
surprize, tears are a very great relief, her's found some ease from the
sources of her eyes.--Never had the most dutiful child loved the
tenderest of fathers more than she did Dorilaus; but then it was only a
filial affection, and the very thoughts of his regarding her with that sort
of passion she now found he did, had somewhat in them terribly
alarming.--All she could do to reconcile herself to what seemed to be
her fate was in vain.--This generous man who offers me his heart, said
she, is not my father, or any way of my blood:--he has all the
accomplishments of his whole sex centered in him.--I could wish to be
for ever near him.--All that I am is owing to his goodness.--How
wretched must I have been but for his bounty!--What unaccountable
prejudice is this then that strikes me with such horror at his love!--what
maid of birth and fortune equal to his own but would be proud of his
addresses; and shall I, a poor foundling, the creature of his charity, not
receive the honour he does me with the utmost gratitude!--shall I reject
a happiness so far beyond my expectation! --so infinitely above any
merit I can pretend to!--what must he think of me if I refuse him!--how
madly stupid, how blind to my own interest, how thankless to him must
I appear!--how will he despise my folly!--how hate my ingratitude!
Thus did her reason combat with her prejudice, and she suffered much
the same agonies in endeavouring to love him in the manner he desired,
as he had done to conquer the inclination he had for her, and both
alike were fruitless. Yet was her condition much more to be

commiserated: he had only to debate within himself whether he should
yield or not to the suggestions of his own passion: she to subdue an
aversion for what a thousand reasons concurred to convince her she
ought rather to be ambitious of, and which in refusing she run the
risque of being cast off, and abandoned to beggary and ruin; and what
was still more hateful to her, being hated by that person who, next to
her brother, she loved above the world, tho' in a different way from that
which could alone content him.
Dorilaus, who had taken the disorder he perceived in her for no other
than the effects of a surprize, which a declaration, such as he had made,
might very well occasion, was perfectly contented in his mind, and
passed that night with much more tranquility than he had done many
preceding ones, while he suffered his cruel reason to war against the
dictates of his heart; but having now wholly given himself up to the
latter, the sweet delusion filled him with a thousand pleasing ideas, and
he thought of nothing but the happiness he should enjoy in the
possession of the amiable Louisa. But how confounded was he, when
the next day accosting her with all the tender transports of a lover, she
turned from him, and burst into a flood of tears. How is this, Louisa,
said he; do the