Даниэль Дефо - Roxana

As I went out one-way, my Friend the QUAKER went the other, to receive this unwelcome Guest: The Girl made but little Ceremony; but having bid the Coachman ring at the Gate, gets down, out of the Coach, and comes to the Door; a Country-Girl going to the Door, (belonging to the House) for the QUAKER forbid any of my Maids going: Madam ask’d for my QUAKER by Name; and the Girl ask’d her to walk in.

Upon this, my QUAKER seeing there was no hanging-back, goes to her immediately, but put on all the Gravity upon her Countenance, that she was Mistress of; and that was not a little indeed.

When she ( the QUAKER) came into the Room, (for they had show’d my Daughter into a little Parlour) she kept her grave Countenance, but said not a Word; nor did my Daughter speak a good-while; but after some time, my Girl began, and said , I suppose you know me, Madam.

Yes, says the QUAKER, I know thee ; and so the Dialogue went on.

Girl . Then you know my Business too.

Quaker . No verily, I do not know any Business thou can’st have here with me.

Girl . Indeed my Business is not chiefly with you.

Qu . Why then do’st thou come after me thus far?

Girl . You know who I seek. [And with that she cry’d] .

Qu . But why should’st thou follow me for her, since thou know’st, that I assur’d thee more than once, that I knew not where she was?

Girl . But I hop’d you cou’d.

Qu . Then thou must hope that I did not speak Truth; which wou’d be very wicked.

Girl . I doubt not but she is in this House.

Qu . If those be thy Thoughts, thou may’st enquire in the House; so thou hast no more Business with me; Farewell. [Offers to go] .

Girl . I wou’d not be uncivil; I beg you to let me see her.

Qu . I am here to visit some of my Friends, and I think thou art not very civil in following me hither.

Girl . I came in hopes of a Discovery in my great Affair, which you know of.

Qu. Thou cam’st wildly indeed; I counsel thee to go back-again, and be easie; I shall keep my Word with thee , that I wou’d not meddle in it, or give thee any Account, if I knew it, unless I had her Orders.

Girl . If you knew my Distress, you cou’d not be so cruel.

Qu. Thou hast told me all thy Story, and I think it might be more Cruelty to tell thee , than not to tell thee ; for I understand she is resolv’d not to see thee , and declares she is not thy Mother: Will’st thou be own’d, where thou hast no Relation.

Girl . O! if I cou’d but speak to her, I wou’d prove my Relation to her, so that she could not deny it any-longer.

Qu . Well, but thou can’st not come to speak with her, it seems.

Girl . I hope you will tell me if she is here; I had a good Account that you were come out to see her, and that she sent for you.

Qu . I much wonder how thou could’st have such an Account; if I had come out to see her, thou hast happen’d to miss the House; for I assure thee, she is not to be found in this House.

Here the Girl importun’d her again, with the utmost Earnestness, and cry’d bitterly; insomuch, that my poor QUAKER was soften’d with it, and began to perswade me to consider of it, and if it might consist with my Affairs, to see her, and hear what she had to say; but this was afterwards: I return to the Discourse .

The QUAKER was perplex’d with her a long time; she talk’d of sending back the Coach, and lying in the Town all-Night: This my Friend knew wou’d be very uneasie [375] uneasie : troublesome. to me, but she durst not speak a Word against it; but on a sudden Thought, she offer’d a bold Stroke, which tho’ dangerous if it had happen’d wrong, had its desir’d Effect.

She told her , That as for dismissing her Coach, that was as she pleas’d; she believ’d, she wou’d not easily get a Lodging in the Town; but that as she was in a strange Place, she wou’d so much befriend her, that she wou’d speak to the People of the House, that if they had room, she might have a Lodging there for one Night, rather than be forc’d back to London , before she was free to go.

This was a cunning, tho’ a dangerous Step, and it succeeded accordingly, for it amus’d the Creature entirely, and she presently concluded, that really I cou’d not be there then; otherwise she wou’d never have ask’d her to lie in the House: So she grew cold again presently, as to her lodging there; and said, No , since it was so, She wou’d go back that Afternoon, but she would come again in two or three Days, and search that, and all the Towns round, in an effectual Manner, if she stay’d a Week or two to do it; for, in short , if I was in England or Holland , she wou’d find me.

In Truth, says the QUAKER, thou wilt make me very hurtful to thee , then: Why so, says she ? Because wherever I go, thou wilt put thyself to great Expence, and the Country to a great-deal of unnecessary Trouble: Not unnecessary, says she : Yes truly, says the QUAKER, it must be unnecessary, because ’twill be to no Purpose; I think I must abide in my own House, to save thee that Charge and Trouble.

She said little to that, except that, she said , she wou’d give her as little Trouble as possible; but she was afraid she shou’d sometimes be uneasie to her, which she hop’d she wou’d excuse: My QUAKER told her , She wou’d much rather excuse her, if she wou’d forbear; for that, if she wou’d believe her, she wou’d assure her, she shou’d never get any Intelligence of me, by her.

That set her into Tears again; but after a-while recovering herself, she told her , Perhaps she might be mistaken; and she (the QUAKER) shou’d watch herself, very narrowly; or she might one time or other get some Intelligence from her, whether she wou’d or no; and she was satisfy’d she had gain’d some of her by this Journey; for that if I was not in the House, I was not far off; and if I did not remove very quickly, she wou’d find me out: Very well, says my QUAKER: then if the Lady is not willing to see thee, thou giv’st me notice to tell her, that she may get out of thy Way.

She flew out in a Rage at that, and told my Friend , that if she did, a Curse wou’d follow her, and her Children after her; and denounc’d [376] denounc’d : threatened. such horrid things upon her, as frighted the poor tender-hearted QUAKER strangely, and put her more out of Temper, than ever I saw her before; so that she resolv’d to go home the next Morning; and I, that was ten times more uneasie than she, resolv’d to follow her, and go to London too; which however, upon second Thoughts, I did not; but took effectual Measures not to be seen or own’d, if she came any-more; but I heard no more of her for some time.

I stay’d there about a Fortnight, and in all that time I heard no more of her, or of my QUAKER about her; but after about two Days more, I had a Letter from my QUAKER, intimating, that she had something of moment to say, that she cou’d not communicate by a Letter, but wish’d I wou’d give myself the Trouble to come up; directing me to come with the Coach into Goodman’s-Fields , and then walk to her Back-Door on-foot, which being left open on purpose, the watchful Lady, if she had any Spies, could not well see me.