Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
thought above your years; and for all these considerations, and for
what I have heard this day, after you ran away, (and I am glad you went
as you did,) I cannot persuade you to stay; and I shall be glad, (which
is what I never thought I could have said,) that you were well at your
father’s; for if Lady Davers will entertain you, she may as well have
you from thence as here. There’s my good Mrs. Jervis! said I; God will
bless you for your good counsel to a poor maiden, that is hard beset.
But pray what did he say, when I was gone? Why, says she, he was very
angry with you. But he would hear it! said I: I think it was a little
bold; but then he provoked me to it. And had not my honesty been in the
case, I would not by any means have been so saucy. Besides, Mrs.
Jervis, consider it was the truth; if he does not love to hear of the
summer-house, and the dressing-room, why should he not be ashamed to
continue in the same mind? But, said she, when you had muttered this to
yourself, you might have told him any thing else. Well, said I, I
cannot tell a wilful lie, and so there’s an end of it. But I find you
now give him up, and think there’s danger in staying.—Lord bless me! I
wish I was well out of the house; so it was at the bottom of a wet
ditch, on the wildest common in England.
Why, said she, it signifies nothing to tell you all he said but it was
enough to make me fear you would not be so safe as I could wish; and,
upon my word, Pamela, I don’t wonder he loves you; for, without
flattery, you are a charming girl! and I never saw you look more lovely
in your life than in that same new dress of yours. And then it was such
a surprise upon us all!—I believe truly, you owe some of your danger to
the lovely appearance you made. Then, said I, I wish the clothes in the
fire: I expected no effect from them; but, if any, a quite contrary
one.
Hush! said I, Mrs. Jervis, did you not hear something stir in the
closet? No, silly girl, said she, your fears are always awake.—But
indeed, said I, I think I heard something rustle.—May be, says she, the
cat may be got there: but I hear nothing.
I was hush; but she said, Pr’ythee, my good girl, make haste to bed.
See if the door be fast. So I did, and was thinking to look into the
closet; but, hearing no more noise, thought it needless, and so went
again and sat myself down on the bed-side, and went on undressing
myself. And Mrs. Jervis being by this time undressed, stepped into bed,
and bid me hasten, for she was sleepy.
I don’t know what was the matter, but my heart sadly misgave me:
Indeed, Mr. Jonathan’s note was enough to make it do so, with what Mrs.
Jervis had said. I pulled off my stays, and my stockings, and all my
clothes to an under-petticoat; and then hearing a rustling again in the
closet, I said, Heaven protect us! but before I say my prayers, I must
look into this closet. And so was going to it slip-shod, when, O
dreadful! out rushed my master in a rich silk and silver morning gown.
I screamed, and ran to the bed, and Mrs. Jervis screamed too; and he
said, I’ll do you no harm, if you forbear this noise; but otherwise
take what follows.
Instantly he came to the bed (for I had crept into it, to Mrs. Jervis,
with my coat on, and my shoes); and taking me in his arms, said, Mrs.
Jervis, rise, and just step up stairs to keep the maids from coming
down at this noise: I’ll do no harm to this rebel.
O, for Heaven’s sake! for pity’s sake! Mrs. Jervis, said I, if I am not
betrayed, don’t leave me; and, I beseech you, raise all the house. No,
said Mrs. Jervis, I will not stir, my dear lamb; I will not leave you.
I wonder at you, sir, said she; and kindly threw herself upon my coat,
clasping me round the waist: You shall not hurt this innocent, said
she: for I will lose my life in her defence. Are there not, said she,
enough wicked ones in the world, for your base purpose, but you must
attempt such a lamb as this?
He was desperate angry, and threatened to throw her out of the window;
and to turn her out of the house the next morning. You need not, sir,
said she; for I will not stay in it. God defend my poor Pamela till
to-morrow, and we will both go together.—Says he, let me but
expostulate a word or two with you, Pamela. Pray, Pamela, said Mrs.
Jervis, don’t hear a word, except he leaves the bed, and goes to the
other end of the room. Ay, out of the room, said I; expostulate
to-morrow, if you must expostulate!
I found his hand in my bosom; and when my fright let me know it, I was
ready to die; and I sighed and screamed, and fainted away. And still he
had his arms about my neck; and Mrs. Jervis was about my feet, and upon
my coat. And all in a cold dewy sweat was I. Pamela! Pamela! said Mrs.
Jervis, as she tells me since, O—h, and gave another shriek, my poor
Pamela is dead for certain! And so, to be sure, I was for a time; for I
knew nothing more of the matter, one fit following another, till about
three hours after, as it proved to be, I found myself in bed, and Mrs.
Jervis sitting upon one side, with her wrapper about her, and Rachel on
the other; and no master, for the wicked wretch was gone. But I was so
overjoyed, that I hardly could believe myself; and I said, which were
my first words, Mrs. Jervis, Mrs. Rachel, can I be sure it is you? Tell
me! can I?—Where have I been? Hush, my dear, said Mrs. Jervis; you have
been in fit after fit. I never saw any body so frightful in my life!
By this I judged Rachel knew nothing of the matter; and it seems my
wicked master had, upon Mrs. Jervis’s second noise on my fainting away,
slipt out, and, as if he had come from his own chamber, disturbed by
the screaming, went up to the maids’ room, (who, hearing the noise, lay
trembling, and afraid to stir,) and bid them go down, and see what was
the matter with Mrs. Jervis and me. And he charged Mrs. Jervis, and
promised to forgive her for what she had said and done, if she would
conceal the matter. So the maids came down, and all went up again, when
I came to myself a little, except Rachel, who staid to sit up with me,
and bear Mrs. Jervis company. I believe they all guess the matter to be
bad enough; though they dare not say any thing.
When I think of my danger, and the freedoms he actually took, though I
believe Mrs. Jervis saved me from worse, and she said she did, (though
what can I think, who was in a fit, and knew nothing of the matter?) I
am almost distracted.
At first I was afraid of Mrs. Jervis; but I am fully satisfied she is
very good, and I should have been lost but for her; and she takes on
grievously about it. What would have become of me, had she gone out of
the room, to still the maids, as he bid her! He’d certainly have shut
her out, and then, mercy on me! what would have become of your poor
Pamela?
I must leave off a little; for my eyes and my head are sadly bad.—This
was a dreadful trial! This was the worst of all! Oh, that I was out of
the power of this dreadfully wicked man! Pray for
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXVI
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I did not rise till ten o’clock, and I had all the concerns and wishes
of the family, and multitudes of inquiries about me. My wicked master
went out early to hunt; but left word he would be in to breakfast. And
so he was.
He came up to our chamber about eleven, and had nothing to do to be
sorry; for he was our master, and so put on sharp anger at first.
I had great emotions at his entering the room, and threw my apron over
my head, and fell a crying, as if my heart would break.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, since I know you, and you me so well, I don’t
know how we shall live together for the future. Sir, said she, I will
take the liberty to say, what I think is best for both. I have so much
grief, that you should attempt to do any injury to this poor girl, and
especially in my chamber, that I should think myself accessary to the
mischief, if I was not to take notice of it. Though my ruin, therefore,
may depend upon it, I desire not to stay; but pray let poor Pamela and
me go together. With all my heart, said he; and the sooner the better.
She fell a crying. I find, says he, this girl has made a party of the
whole house in her favour against me. Her innocence deserves it of us
all, said she very kindly: and I never could have thought that the son
of my dear good lady departed, could have so forfeited his honour, as
to endeavour to destroy a virtue he ought to protect. No more of this,
Mrs. Jervis! said he; I will not hear it. As for Pamela, she has a
lucky knack of falling into fits, when she pleases. But the cursed
yellings of you both made me not myself. I intended no harm to her, as
I told you both, if you’d have left your squallings: And I did no harm
neither, but to myself; for I raised a hornet’s nest about my ears,
that, as far as I know, may have stung to death my reputation. Sir,
said Mrs. Jervis, then I beg Mr. Longman may take my accounts, and I
will go away as soon as I can. As for Pamela, she is at her liberty, I
hope, to go away next Thursday, as she intends?
I sat still; for I could not speak nor look up, and his presence
discomposed me extremely; but I was sorry to hear myself the unhappy
occasion of Mrs. Jervis’s losing her place, and hope that may be still
made up.
Well, said he, let Mr. Longman make up your accounts, as soon as you
will; and Mrs. Jewkes (who is his housekeeper in Lincolnshire) shall
come hither in your place, and won’t be less obliging, I dare say, than
you have been. Said she, I have never disobliged you till now; and let
me tell you, sir, if you knew what belonged to your own reputation or
honour—No more, no more, said he, of these antiquated topics. I have
been no bad friend to you; and I shall always esteem you, though you
have not been so faithful to my secrets as I could have wished, and
have laid me open to this girl, which has made her more afraid of me
than she had occasion. Well, sir, said she, after what passed
yesterday, and last night, I think I went rather too far in favour of
your injunctions than otherwise; and I should have deserved every
body’s censure, as the basest of creatures, had I been capable of
contributing to your lawless attempts. Still, Mrs. Jervis, still
reflecting upon me, and all for imaginary faults! for what harm have I
done the girl?—I won’t bear it, I’ll assure you. But yet, in respect to
my mother, I am willing to part friendly with you though you ought both
of you to reflect on the freedom of your conversation, in relation to
me; which I should have resented more than I do, but that I am
conscious I had no business to demean myself so as to be in your
closet, where I might have expected to hear a multitude of impertinence
between you.
Well, sir, said she, you have no objection, I hope, to Pamela’s going
away on Thursday next? You are mighty solicitous, said he, about
Pamela: But no, not I; let her go as soon as she will: She is a naughty
girl, and has brought all this upon herself; and upon me more trouble
than she can have had from me: But I have overcome it all, and will
never concern myself about her.
I have a proposal made me, added he, since I have been out this
morning, that I shall go near to embrace; and so wish only, that a
discreet use may be made of what is past; and there’s an end of every
thing with me, as to Pamela, I’ll assure you. I clasped my hands
together through my apron, overjoyed at this, though I was soon to go
away: For, naughty as he has been to me, I wish his prosperity with all
my heart, for my good old lady’s sake. Well, Pamela, said he, you need
not now be afraid to speak to me; tell me what you lifted up your hands
at? I said not a word. Says he, If you like what I have said, give me
your hand upon it. I held my hand up through my apron; for I could not