Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
knows, and will tell you, my concern for you. I vow to God, I have not
offered any indecency to you: and, since I found Mrs. Jewkes so
offensive to you, I have sent her to the maid’s bed, and the maid shall
be with you to-night. And but promise me, that you will compose
yourself, and I will leave you. But, said I, will not Nan also hold my
hand? And will not she let you come in again to me?—He said, By heaven!
I will not come in again to-night. Nan, undress yourself, go to bed,
and do all you can to comfort the dear creature: And now, Pamela, said
he, give me but your hand, and say you forgive me, and I will leave you
to your repose. I held out my trembling hand, which he vouchsafed to
kiss; and I said, God forgive you, sir, as you have been just in my
distress; and as you will be just to what you promise! And he withdrew,
with a countenance of remorse, as I hoped; and she shut the doors, and,
at my request, brought the keys to bed.
This, O my dear parents! was a most dreadful trial. I tremble still to
think of it; and dare not recall all the horrid circumstances of it. I
hope, as he assures me, he was not guilty of indecency; but have reason
to bless God, who, by disabling me in my faculties, empowered me to
preserve my innocence; and, when all my strength would have signified
nothing, magnified himself in my weakness.
I was so weak all day on Monday, that I could not get out of my bed. My
master shewed great tenderness for me; and I hope he is really sorry,
and that this will be his last attempt; but he does not say so neither.
He came in the morning, as soon as he heard the door open and I began
to be fearful. He stopped short of the bed, and said, Rather than give
you apprehensions, I will come no farther. I said, Your honour, sir,
and your mercy, is all I have to beg. He sat himself on the side of the
bed, and asked kindly, how I did?—begged me to be composed; said, I
still looked a little wildly. And I said, Pray, good sir, let me not
see this infamous Mrs. Jewkes; I doubt I cannot bear her sight. She
shan’t come near you all this day, if you’ll promise to compose
yourself. Then, sir, I will try. He pressed my hand very tenderly, and
went out. What a change does this shew!—O may it be lasting!—But, alas!
he seems only to have altered his method of proceeding; and retains, I
doubt, his wicked purpose.
On Tuesday, about ten o’clock, when my master heard I was up, he sent
for me down into the parlour. As soon as he saw me, he said, Come
nearer to me, Pamela. I did so, and he took my hand, and said, You
begin to look well again: I am glad of it. You little slut, how did you
frighten me on Sunday night.
Sir, said I, pray name not that night; and my eyes overflowed at the
remembrance, and I turned my head aside.
Said he, Place some little confidence in me: I know what those charming
eyes mean, and you shall not need to explain yourself: for I do assure
you, that as soon as I saw you change, and a cold sweat bedew your
pretty face, and you fainted away, I quitted the bed, and Mrs. Jewkes
did so too. And I put on my gown, and she fetched her smelling-bottle,
and we both did all we could to restore you; and my passion for you was
all swallowed up in the concern I had for your recovery; for I thought
I never saw a fit so strong and violent in my life: and feared we
should not bring you to life again; for what I saw you in once before
was nothing to it. This, said he, might be my folly, and my
unacquaintedness with what passion your sex can shew when they are in
earnest. But this I repeat to you, that your mind may be entirely
comforted—Whatever I offered to you, was before you fainted away, and
that, I am sure, was innocent.
Sir, said I, that was very bad: and it was too plain you had the worst
designs. When, said he, I tell you the truth in one instance, you may
believe me in the other. I know not, I declare, beyond this lovely
bosom, your sex: but that I did intend what you call the worst is most
certain: and though I would not too much alarm you now, I could curse
my weakness, and my folly, which makes me own, that I love you beyond
all your sex, and cannot live without you. But if I am master of
myself, and my own resolution, I will not attempt to force you to any
thing again.
Sir, said I, you may easily keep your resolution, if you’ll send me out
of your way, to my poor parents; that is all I beg.
’Tis a folly to talk of it, said he. You must not, shall not go! And if
I could be assured you would not attempt it, you should have better
usage, and your confinement should be made easier to you.
But to what end, sir, am I to stay? said I: You yourself seem not sure
you can keep your own present good resolutions; and do you think, if I
was to stay, when I could get away, and be safe, it would not look, as
if either I confided too much in my own strength, or would tempt my
ruin? And as if I was not in earnest to wish myself safe, and out of
danger?—And then, how long am I to stay? And to what purpose? And in
what light must I appear to the world? Would not that censure me,
although I might be innocent? And you will allow, sir, that, if there
be any thing valuable or exemplary in a good name, or fair reputation,
one must not despise the world’s censure, if one can avoid it.
Well, said he, I sent not for you on this account, just now; but for
two reasons. The first is, That you promise me, that for a fortnight to
come you will not offer to go away without my express consent; and this
I expect for your own sake, that I may give you a little more liberty.
And the second is, That you will see and forgive Mrs. Jewkes: she takes
on much, and thinks that, as all her fault was her obedience to me, it
would be very hard to sacrifice her, as she calls it, to your
resentment.
As to the first, sir, said I, it is a hard injunction, for the reasons
I have mentioned. And as to the second, considering her vile, unwomanly
wickedness, and her endeavours to instigate you more to ruin me, when
your returning goodness seemed to have some compassion upon me, it is
still harder. But, to shew my obedience to your commands, (for you
know, my dear parents, I might as well make a merit of my compliance,
when my refusal would stand me in no stead,) I will consent to both;
and to every thing else, that you shall be pleased to enjoin, which I
can do, with innocence.
That’s my good girl! said he, and kissed me: This is quite prudent, and
shews me, that you don’t take insolent advantage of my favour for you;
and will, perhaps, stand you in more stead than you are aware of.
So he rung the bell, and said, Call down Mrs. Jewkes. She came down,
and he took my hand, and put it into hers; and said, Mrs. Jewkes, I am
obliged to you for all your diligence and fidelity to me; but Pamela, I
must own, is not; because the service I employed you in was not so very
obliging to her, as I could have wished she would have thought it: and
you were not to favour her, but obey me. But yet I’ll assure you, at
the very first word, she has once obliged me, by consenting to be
friends with you; and if she gives me no great cause, I shall not,
perhaps, put you on such disagreeable service again.—Now, therefore, be
you once more bed-fellows and board-fellows, as I may say, for some
days longer; and see that Pamela sends no letters nor messages out of
the house, nor keeps a correspondence unknown to me, especially with
that Williams; and, as for the rest, shew the dear girl all the respect
that is due to one I must love, if she will deserve it, as I hope she
will yet; and let her be under no unnecessary or harsh restraints. But
your watchful care is not, however, to cease: and remember that you are
not to disoblige me, to oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet
part with her.
Mrs. Jewkes looked very sullen, and as if she would be glad still to do
me a good turn, if it lay in her power.
I took courage then to drop a word or two for poor Mr. Williams; but he
was angry with me for it, and said he could not endure to hear his name
in my mouth; so I was forced to have done for that time.
All this time, my papers, that I buried under the rose-bush, lay there
still; and I begged for leave to send a letter to you. So I should, he
said, if he might read it first. But this did not answer my design; and
yet I would have sent you such a letter as he might see, if I had been
sure my danger was over. But that I cannot; for he now seems to take
another method, and what I am more afraid of, because, may be, he may
watch an opportunity, and join force with it, on occasion, when I am
least prepared: for now he seems to abound with kindness, and talks of
love without reserve, and makes nothing of allowing himself in the
liberty of kissing me, which he calls innocent; but which I do not
like, and especially in the manner he does it: but for a master to do
it at all to a servant, has meaning too much in it, not to alarm an
honest body.
Wednesday morning.
I find I am watched and suspected still very close; and I wish I was
with you; but that must not be, it seems, this fortnight. I don’t like
this fortnight; and it will be a tedious and a dangerous one to me, I
doubt.
My master just now sent for me down to take a walk with him in the
garden: but I like him not at all, nor his ways; for he would have, all
the way, his arm about my waist, and said abundance of fond things to
me, enough to make me proud, if his design had not been apparent. After
walking about, he led me into a little alcove, on the farther part of
the garden; and really made me afraid of myself, for he began to be
very teasing, and made me sit on his knee; and was so often kissing me,
that I said, Sir, I don’t like to be here at all, I assure you. Indeed
you make me afraid!—And what made me the more so, was what he once said
to Mrs. Jewkes, and did not think I heard him, and which, though always
uppermost with me, I did not mention before, because I did not know how
to bring it in, in my writing.
She, I suppose, had been encouraging him in his wickedness; for it was
before the last dreadful trial: and I only heard what he answered.
Said he, I will try once more; but I have begun wrong for I see terror
does but add to her frost; but she is a charming girl, and may be
thawed by kindness; and I should have melted her by love, instead of
freezing her by fear.
Is he not a wicked, sad man for this?—To be sure, I blush while I write
it. But I trust, that that God, who has delivered me from the paw of
the lion and the bear; that is, his and Mrs. Jewkes’s violences, will
soon deliver me from this Philistine, that I may not defy the commands
of the living God!
But, as I was saying, this expression coming into my thoughts, I was of
opinion, I could not be too much on my guard, at all times: more
especially when he took such liberties: for he professed honour all the
time with his mouth, while his actions did not correspond. I begged and
prayed he would let me go: and had I not appeared quite regardless of
all he said, and resolved not to stay, if I could help it, I know not
how far he would have proceeded; for I was forced to fall down upon my
knees.
At last he walked out with me, still bragging of his honour and his
love. Yes, yes, sir, said I, your honour is to destroy mine: and your
love is to ruin me; I see it too plainly. But, indeed, I will not talk
with you, sir, said I, any more. Do you know, said he, whom you talk
to, and where you are?
You may believe I had reason to think him not so decent as he should
be; for I said, As to where I am, sir, I know it too well; and that I
have no creature to befriend me: and, as to whom I talk to, sir, let me
ask you, What you would have me answer?
Why, tell me, said he, what answer you would make? It will only make