Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
the morning visit he made me before I was up, and the injunctions of
watchfulness, etc. to Mrs. Jewkes; the next day’s gipsy affair, and my
reflections, in which I called him truly diabolical, and was otherwise
very severe, on the strong appearances the matter had then against him.
His return on Saturday, with the dread he put me in, on the offering to
search me for my papers which followed those he had got by Mrs.
Jewkes’s means. My being forced to give them up. His carriage to me
after he had read them, and questions to me. His great kindness to me
on seeing the dangers I had escaped and the troubles I had undergone.
And how I unseasonably, in the midst of his goodness, expressed my
desire of being sent to you, having the intelligence of a
sham-marriage, from the gipsy, in my thoughts. How this enraged him,
and made him turn me that very Sunday out of his house, and send me on
my way to you. The particulars of my journey, and my grief at parting
with him; and my free acknowledgment to you, that I found, unknown to
myself, I had begun to love him, and could not help it. His sending
after me, to beg my return; but yet generously leaving me at my
liberty, when he might have forced me to return whether I was willing
or not. My resolution to oblige him, and fatiguing journey back. My
concern for his illness on my return. His kind reception of me, and
shewing me his sister Davers’s angry letter, against his behaviour to
me, desiring him to set me free, and threatening to renounce him as a
brother, if he should degrade himself by marrying me. My serious
reflections on this letter, etc.’ (all which, I hope, with the others,
you will shortly see.) And this carried matters down to Tuesday night
last.
All that followed was so kind on his side, being our chariot
conference, as above, on Wednesday morning, and how good he has been
ever since, that I thought I would go no further; for I was a little
ashamed to be so very open on that tender and most grateful subject;
though his great goodness to me deserves all the acknowledgments I can
possibly make.
And when I had looked these out, I carried them down myself into the
parlour to him; and said, putting them into his hands, Your allowances,
good sir, as heretofore; and if I have been too open and free in my
reflections or declarations, let my fears on one side, and my sincerity
on the other, be my excuse. You are very obliging, my good girl, said
he. You have nothing to apprehend from my thoughts, any more than from
my actions.
So I went up, and wrote the letter to you, briefly acquainting you with
my present happiness, and my master’s goodness, and expressing the
gratitude of heart, which I owe to the kindest gentleman in the world,
and assuring you, that I should soon have the pleasure of sending back
to you, not only those papers, but all that succeeded them to this
time, as I know you delight to amuse yourself in your leisure hours
with my scribble: And I said, carrying it down to my master, before I
sealed it, Will you please, sir, to take the trouble of reading what I
write to my dear parents? Thank you, Pamela, said he, and set me on his
knee, while he read it; and seemed much pleased with it; and giving it
me again, You are very happy, said he, my beloved girl, in your style
and expressions: and the affectionate things you say of me are
inexpressibly obliging; and again, with this kiss, said he, do I
confirm for truth all that you have promised for my intentions in this
letter.—O what halcyon days are these! God continue them!—A change
would kill me quite.
He went out in his chariot in the afternoon; and in the evening
returned, and sent me word, he would be glad of my company for a little
walk in the garden; and down I went that very moment.
He came to meet me. So, says he, how does my dear girl do now?—Whom do
you think I have seen since I have been out?—I don’t know, sir, said I.
Why, said he, there is a turning in the road, about five miles off,
that goes round a meadow, that has a pleasant foot-way, by the side of
a little brook, and a double row of limes on each side, where now and
then the gentry in the neighbourhood walk, and angle, and divert
themselves.—I’ll shew it you next opportunity.—And I stept out of my
chariot, to walk across this meadow, and bid Robin meet me with it on
the further part of it: And whom should I ‘spy there, walking, with a
book in his hand, reading, but your humble servant Mr. Williams! Don’t
blush, Pamela, said he. As his back was towards me, I thought I would
speak to the man: and, before he saw me, I said, How do you, old
acquaintance? (for, said he, you know we were of one college for a
twelvemonth.) I thought the man would have jumped into the brook, he
gave such a start at hearing my voice, and seeing me.
Poor man! said I. Ay, said he, but not too much of your poor man, in
that soft accent, neither, Pamela.—Said I, I am sorry my voice is so
startling to you, Mr. Williams. What are you reading? Sir, said he, and
stammered with the surprise, it is the French Telemachus; for I am
about perfecting myself, if I can, in the French tongue.—Thought I, I
had rather so, than perfecting my Pamela in it.—You do well, replied
I.—Don’t you think that yonder cloud may give us a small shower? and it
did a little begin to wet.—He said, he believed not much.
If, said I, you are for the village, I’ll give you a cast; for I shall
call at Sir Simon’s in my return from the little round I am taking. He
asked me if it was not too great a favour?—No, said I, don’t talk of
that; let us walk to the further opening there, and we shall meet my
chariot.
So, Pamela, continued my master, we fell into conversation as we
walked. He said he was very sorry he had incurred my displeasure; and
the more, as he had been told, by Lady Jones, who had it from Sir
Simon’s family, that I had a more honourable view than at first was
apprehended. I said, We fellows of fortune, Mr. Williams, take
sometimes a little more liberty with the world than we ought to do;
wantoning, very probably, as you contemplative folks would say, in the
sunbeams of a dangerous affluence; and cannot think of confining
ourselves to the common paths, though the safest and most eligible,
after all. And you may believe I could not very well like to be
supplanted in a view that lay next my heart; and that by an old
acquaintance, whose good, before this affair, I was studious to
promote.
I would only say, sir, said he, that my first motive was entirely such
as became my function: And, very politely, said my master, he added,
And I am very sure, that however inexcusable I might seem in the
progress of the matter, yourself, sir, would have been sorry to have it
said, you had cast your thoughts on a person, that nobody could have
wished for but yourself.
Well, Mr. Williams, said I, I see you are a man of gallantry, as well
as religion: But what I took most amiss was, that, if you thought me
doing a wrong thing, you did not expostulate with me upon it, as your
function might have allowed you to do; but immediately determined to
counterplot me, and attempt to secure to yourself a prize you would
have robbed me of, and that from my own house. But the matter is at an
end, and I retain not any malice upon it; though you did not know but I
might, at last, do honourably by her, as I actually intend.
I am sorry for myself, sir, said he, that I should so unhappily incur
your displeasure; but I rejoice for her sake in your honourable
intentions: give me leave only to say, that if you make Miss Andrews
your lady, she will do credit to your choice with every body that sees
her, or comes to know her; and, for person and mind both, you may
challenge the county.
In this manner, said my master, did the parson and I confabulate; and I
set him down at his lodgings in the village. But he kept your secret,
Pamela; and would not own, that you gave any encouragement to his
addresses.
Indeed, sir, said I, he could not say that I did; and I hope you
believe me. I do, I do, said he: but ’tis still my opinion, that if,
when I saw plots set up against my plots, I had not discovered the
parson as I did, the correspondence between you might have gone to a
length that would have put our present situation out of both our
powers.
Sir, said I, when you consider, that my utmost presumption could not
make me hope for the honour you now seem to design me; that I was so
hardly used, and had no prospect before me but dishonour, you will
allow that I should have seemed very little in earnest in my
professions of honesty, if I had not endeavoured to get away: but yet I
resolved not to think of marriage; for I never saw the man I could
love, till your goodness emboldened me to look up to you.
I should, my dear Pamela, said he, make a very ill compliment to my
vanity, if I did not believe you; though, at the same time, justice
calls upon me to say, that it is, some things considered, beyond my
merit.
There was a sweet, noble expression for your poor daughter, my dear
father and mother!—And from my master too!
I was glad to hear this account of the interview between Mr. Williams
and himself; but I dared not to say so. I hope in time he will be
reinstated in his good graces.
He was so good as to tell me, he had given orders for the chapel to be
cleared. O how I look forward with inward joy, yet with fear and
trembling!
Friday.
About twelve o’clock came Sir Simon, and his lady and two daughters;
and Lady Jones, and a sister-in-law of hers; and Mr. Peters, and his
spouse and niece. Mrs. Jewkes, who is more and more obliging, was much
concerned I was not dressed in some of my best clothes, and made me
many compliments.
They all went into the garden for a walk, before dinner; and, I
understood, were so impatient to see me, that my master took them into
the largest alcove, after they had walked two or three turns, and stept
himself to me. Come, my Pamela, said he, the ladies can’t be satisfied
without seeing you, and I desire you’ll come. I said, I was ashamed;
but I would obey him. Said he, The two young ladies are dressed out in
their best attire; but they make not such an appearance as my charming
girl in this ordinary garb.—Sir, said I, shan’t I follow you thither?
For I can’t bear you should do me so much honour. Well, said he, I’ll
go before you. And he bid Mrs. Jewkes bring a bottle of sack, and some
cake. So he went down to them.
This alcove fronts the longest gravel-walk in the garden, so that they
saw me all the way I came, for a good way: and my master told me
afterwards, with pleasure, all they said of me.
Will you forgive the little vain slut, your daughter, if I tell you
all, as he was pleased to tell me? He said, ‘spying me first, Look,
there, ladies, comes my pretty rustic!—They all, I saw, which dashed
me, stood at the windows, and in the door-way, looking full at me.
My master told me, that Lady Jones said, She is a charming creature, I
see that, at this distance. And Sir Simon, it seems, who has been a sad
rake in his younger days, swore he never saw so easy an air, so fine a
shape, and so graceful a presence.—The Lady Darnford said, I was a
sweet girl. And Mrs. Peters said very handsome things. Even the parson
said, I should be the pride of the county. O, dear sirs! all this was
owing to the light my good master’s favour placed me in, which made me
shine out in their eyes beyond my deserts. He said the young ladies
blushed, and envied me.
When I came near, he saw me in a little confusion, and was so kind as
to meet me: Give me your hand, said he, my poor girl; you walk too
fast, (for, indeed, I wanted to be out of their gazing). I did so, with
a courtesy, and he led me up the steps of the alcove, and, in a most