Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
could make happy in your approbation. As for my own part, it would be,
as things stand, my apparent ruin; and, worse still, I should involve
you in misery too. But, yet, so great is my veneration for you, and so
entire my reliance on Providence, upon so just an occasion, that I
should think myself but too happy, if I might be accepted. I would, in
this case, forego all my expectations, and be your conductor to some
safe distance. But why do I say, in this case? That I will do, whether
you think fit to reward me so eminently or not: And I will, the moment
I hear of Mr. B——’s setting out, (and I think now I have settled a very
good method of intelligence of all his motions,) get a horse ready, and
myself to conduct you. I refer myself wholly to your goodness and
direction; and am, with the highest respect,
‘Your most faithful humble servant.’
‘Don’t think this a sudden resolution. I always admired your hear-say
character; and the moment I saw you, wished to serve so much
excellence.’
What shall I say, my dear father and mother, to this unexpected
declaration? I want, now, more than ever, your blessing and direction.
But, after all, I have no mind to marry; I had rather live with you.
But yet, I would marry a man who begs from door to door, and has no
home nor being, rather than endanger my honesty. Yet I cannot,
methinks, hear of being a wife.—After a thousand different thoughts, I
wrote as follows:
‘REVEREND SIR,
‘I am greatly confused at the contents of your last. You are much too
generous, and I can’t bear you should risk all your future prospects
for so unworthy a creature. I cannot think of your offer without equal
concern and gratitude: for nothing, but to avoid my utter ruin, can
make me think of a change of condition; and so, sir, you ought not to
accept of such an involuntary compliance, as mine would be, were I,
upon the last necessity, to yield to your very generous proposal. I
will rely wholly upon your goodness to me, in assisting my escape; but
shall not, on your account principally, think of the honour you propose
for me at present; and never, but at the pleasure of my parents; who,
poor as they are, in such a weighty point, are as much entitled to my
obedience and duty, as if they were ever so rich. I beg you, therefore,
sir, not to think of any thing from me, but everlasting gratitude,
which shall always bind me to be ‘Your most obliged servant.’
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, the 14th, 15th, and 16th, of my bondage.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a letter, and is much civiller to me, and Mr.
Williams too, than she used to be. I wonder I have not one in answer to
mine to my master. I suppose I put the matter too home to him: and he
is angry. I am not the more pleased with her civility; for she is
horrid cunning, and is not a whit less watchful. I laid a trap to get
at her instructions, which she carries in the bosom of her stays; but
it has not succeeded.
My last letter is come safe to Mr. Williams by the old conveyance, so
that he is not suspected. He has intimated, that though I have not come
so readily as he hoped into his scheme, yet his diligence shall not be
slackened, and he will leave it to Providence and himself to dispose of
him as he shall be found to deserve. He has signified to me, that he
shall soon send a special messenger with the packet to you, and I have
added to it what has occurred since.
Sunday.
I am just now quite astonished!—I hope all is right!—but I have a
strange turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Jewkes came to
me both together; he in ecstacies, she with a strange fluttering sort
of air. Well, said she, Mrs. Pamela, I give you joy! I give you
joy!—Let nobody speak but me! Then she sat down, as out of breath,
puffing and blowing. Why, every thing turns as I said it would! said
she: Why, there is to be a match between you and Mr. Williams! Well, I
always thought it. Never was so good a master!—Go to, go to, naughty,
mistrustful Mrs. Pamela; nay, Mrs. Williams, said the forward creature,
I may as good call you: you ought on your knees to beg his pardon a
thousand times for mistrusting him.
She was going on; but I said, Don’t torture me thus, I beseech you,
Mrs. Jewkes. Let me know all!—Ah! Mr. Williams, said I, take care, take
care!—Mistrustful again! said she: Why, Mr. Williams, shew her your
letter, and I will shew her mine: they were brought by the same hand.
I trembled at the thoughts of what this might mean; and said, You have
so surprised me, that I cannot stand, nor hear, nor read! Why did you
come up in such a manner to attack such weak spirits? said he, to Mrs.
Jewkes, Shall we leave our letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her
recover from her surprise? Ay, said she, with all my heart; here is
nothing but flaming honour and good will! And so saying, they left me
their letters and withdrew.
My heart was quite sick with the surprise, so that I could not
presently read them, notwithstanding my impatience; but, after a while,
recovering, I found the contents thus strange and unexpected:
‘MR. WILLIAMS,
‘The death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the opportunity I have long
wanted, to make you happy, and that in a double respect: For I shall
soon put you in possession of his living; and, if you have the art of
making yourself well received, of one of the loveliest wives in
England. She has not been used (as she has reason to think) according
to her merit; but when she finds herself under the protection of a man
of virtue and probity, and a happy competency to support life in the
manner to which she has been of late years accustomed, I am persuaded
she will forgive those seeming hardships which have paved the way to so
happy a lot, as I hope it will be to you both. I have only to account
for and excuse the odd conduct I have been guilty of, which I shall do
when I see you: but as I shall soon set out for London, I believe it
will not be yet this month. Mean time, if you can prevail with Pamela,
you need not suspend for that your mutual happiness; only let me have
notice of it first, and that she approves of it; which ought to be, in
so material a point, entirely at her option; as I assure you, on the
other hand, I would have it at yours, that nothing may be wanting to
complete your happiness. ‘I am your humble servant.’
Was ever the like heard?—Lie still, my throbbing heart, divided as thou
art, between thy hopes and thy fears!—But this is the letter Mrs.
Jewkes left with me:
‘MRS. JEWKES,
‘You have been very careful and diligent in the task, which, for
reasons I shall hereafter explain, I had imposed upon you. Your trouble
is now almost at an end; for I have written my intentions to Mr.
Williams so particularly, that I need say the less here, because he
will not scruple, I believe, to let you know the contents of my letter.
I have only one thing to mention, that if you find what I have hinted
to him in the least measure disagreeable to either, you assure them
both, that they are at entire liberty to pursue their own inclinations.
I hope you continue your civilities to the mistrustful, uneasy Pamela,
who now will begin to think better of hers and ‘Your friend, etc.’
I had hardly time to transcribe these letters, though, writing so much,
I write pretty fast, before they both came up again in high spirits;
and Mr. Williams said, I am glad at my heart, madam, that I was
beforehand in my declarations to you: this generous letter has made me
the happiest man on earth; and, Mrs. Jewkes, you may be sure, that if I
can procure this fair one’s consent, I shall think myself—I interrupted
the good man, and said, Ah! Mr. Williams, take care, take care; don’t
let—There I stopt; and Mrs. Jewkes said, Still mistrustful!—I never saw
the like in my life!—But I see, said she, I was not wrong, while my old
orders lasted, to be wary of you both—I should have had a hard task to
prevent you, I find; for, as the saying is, Nought can restrain consent
of twain.
I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful indiscretion.—I took her
letter, and said, Here, Mrs. Jewkes, is yours; I thank you for it; but
I have been so long in a maze, that I can say nothing of this for the
present. Time will bring all to light.—Sir, said I, here is yours: May
every thing turn to your happiness! I give you joy of my master’s
goodness in the living.—It will be dying, said he, not a living,
without you.—Forbear, sir, said I; while I have a father and mother, I
am not my own mistress, poor as they are; and I’ll see myself quite at
liberty, before I shall think myself fit to make a choice.
Mrs. Jewkes held up her eyes and hands, and said, Such art, such
caution, such cunning, for thy years!—Well!—Why, said I, (that he might
be more on his guard, though I hope there cannot be deceit in this;
’twould be strange villany, and that is a hard word, if there should!)
I have been so used to be made a fool of by fortune, that I hardly can
tell how to govern myself; and am almost an infidel as to mankind. But
I hope I may be wrong; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes, you shall regulate my
opinions as you please, and I will consult you in every thing—(that I
think proper, said I to myself)—for, to be sure, though I may forgive
her, I can never love her.
She left Mr. Williams and me, a few minutes, together; and I said,
Consider, sir, consider what you have done. ’Tis impossible, said he,
there can be deceit. I hope so, said I; but what necessity was there
for you to talk of your former declaration? Let this be as it will,
that could do no good, especially before this woman. Forgive me, sir;
they talk of women’s promptness of speech; but, indeed, I see an honest
heart is not always to be trusted with itself in bad company.
He was going to reply, but though her task is said to be ALMOST (I took
notice of that word) at an end, she came up to us again, and said;
Well, I had a good mind to show you the way to church to-morrow. I was
glad of this, because, though in my present doubtful situation I should
not have chosen it, yet I would have encouraged her proposal, to be
able to judge by her being in earnest or otherwise, whether one might
depend upon the rest. But Mr. Williams again indiscreetly helped her to
an excuse, by saying, that it was now best to defer it one Sunday, and
till matters were riper for my appearance: and she readily took hold of
it, and confirmed his opinion.
After all, I hope the best: but if this should turn out to be a plot, I
fear nothing but a miracle can save me. But, sure the heart of man is
not capable of such black deceit. Besides, Mr. Williams has it under
his own hand, and he dare not but be in earnest: and then again, though
to be sure he has been very wrong to me, yet his education, and
parents’ example, have neither of them taught him such very black
contrivances. So I will hope for the best.
Mr. Williams, Mrs. Jewkes, and I, have been all three walking together
in the garden; and she pulled out her key, and we walked a little in
the pasture to look at the bull, an ugly, grim, surly creature, that
hurt the poor cook-maid; who is got pretty well again. Mr. Williams
pointed at the sunflower, but I was forced to be very reserved to him;
for the poor gentleman has no guard, no caution at all.
We have just supped together, all three: and I cannot yet think that
all must be right.—Only I am resolved not to marry, if I can help it;
and I will give no encouragement, I am resolved, at least, till I am
with you.
Mr. Williams said, before Mrs. Jewkes, he would send a messenger with a
letter to my father and mother.—I think the man has no discretion in
the world: but I desire you will send no answer, till I have the
pleasure and happiness which now I hope for soon, of seeing you. He
will, in sending my packet, send a most tedious parcel of stuff, of my