The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders - Page 30/256

I guessed at his question presently, namely, whether I was sure I was

not with child? As to that, I told him he need not be concerned about

it, for I was not with child. 'Why, then, my dear,' says he, 'we have

no time to talk further now. Consider of it, and think closely about

it; I cannot but be of the opinion still, that it will be the best

course you can take.' And with this he took his leave, and the more

hastily too, his mother and sisters ringing at the gate, just at the

moment that he had risen up to go.

He left me in the utmost confusion of thought; and he easily perceived

it the next day, and all the rest of the week, for it was but Tuesday

evening when we talked; but he had no opportunity to come at me all

that week, till the Sunday after, when I, being indisposed, did not go

to church, and he, making some excuse for the like, stayed at home.

And now he had me an hour and a half again by myself, and we fell into

the same arguments all over again, or at least so near the same, as it

would be to no purpose to repeat them. At last I asked him warmly,

what opinion he must have of my modesty, that he could suppose I should

so much as entertain a thought of lying with two brothers, and assured

him it could never be. I added, if he was to tell me that he would

never see me more, than which nothing but death could be more terrible,

yet I could never entertain a thought so dishonourable to myself, and

so base to him; and therefore, I entreated him, if he had one grain of

respect or affection left for me, that he would speak no more of it to

me, or that he would pull his sword out and kill me. He appeared

surprised at my obstinacy, as he called it; told me I was unkind to

myself, and unkind to him in it; that it was a crisis unlooked for upon

us both, and impossible for either of us to foresee, but that he did

not see any other way to save us both from ruin, and therefore he

thought it the more unkind; but that if he must say no more of it to

me, he added with an unusual coldness, that he did not know anything

else we had to talk of; and so he rose up to take his leave. I rose up

too, as if with the same indifference; but when he came to give me as

it were a parting kiss, I burst out into such a passion of crying, that

though I would have spoke, I could not, and only pressing his hand,

seemed to give him the adieu, but cried vehemently.