Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
see the poor gentleman; for, indeed, I think him a good man, and he has
suffered for my sake.
So, I am sent for down to cards. I’ll go; but wish I may continue their
good opinions of me: for I shall be very awkward. My master, by his
serious question, and bidding me guard my heart against surprises,
though I should see, when I came down, a man he can allow me to love
dearly, though hardly better than himself, has quite alarmed me, and
made me sad!—I hope he loves me!—But whether he does or not, I am in
for it now, over head and ears, I doubt, and can’t help loving him;
’tis a folly to deny it. But to be sure I can’t love any man preferably
to him. I shall soon know what he means.
Now, my dear mother, must I write to you. Well might my good master say
so mysteriously as he did, about guarding my heart against surprises. I
never was so surprised in my life; and never could see a man I loved so
dearly!—O my dear mother, it was my dear, dear father, and not Mr.
Williams, that was below ready to receive and to bless your daughter!
and both my master and he enjoined me to write how the whole matter
was, and what my thoughts were on this joyful occasion.
I will take the matter from the beginning, that Providence directed his
feet to this house, to this time, as I have had it from Mrs. Jewkes,
from my master, my father, the ladies, and my own heart and conduct, as
far as I know of both; because they command it, and you will be pleased
with my relation and so, as you know how I came by the connexion, will
make one uniform relation of it.
It seems, then, my dear father and you were so uneasy to know the truth
of the story which Thomas had told you, that fearing I was betrayed,
and quite undone, he got leave of absence, and set out the day after
Thomas was there; and so, on Friday morning, he got to the neighbouring
town; and there he heard, that the gentry in the neighbourhood were at
my master’s, at a great entertainment. He put on a clean shirt and
neckcloth (which he brought in his pocket) at an alehouse there, and
got shaved; and so, after he had eaten some bread and cheese, and drank
a can of ale, he set out for my master’s house, with a heavy heart,
dreading for me, and in much fear of being brow-beaten. He had, it
seems, asked, at the alehouse, what family the ’squire had down here,
in hopes to hear something of me: And they said, A housekeeper, two
maids, and, at present, two coachmen, and two grooms, a footman, and a
helper. Was that all? he said. They told him, there was a young
creature there, belike who was, or was to be, his mistress, or somewhat
of that nature; but had been his mother’s waiting-maid. This, he said,
grieved his heart, and confirmed his fears.
So he went on, and about three o’clock in the afternoon came to the
gate; and, ringing there, Sir Simon’s coachman went to the iron gate;
and he asked for the housekeeper; though, from what I had written, in
his heart he could not abide her. She sent for him in, little thinking
who he was, and asked him, in the little hall, what his business with
her was?—Only, madam, said he, whether I cannot speak one word with the
’squire? No, friend, said she; he is engaged with several gentlemen and
ladies. Said he, I have business with his honour of greater consequence
to me than either life or death; and tears stood in his eyes.
At that she went into the great parlour, where my master was talking
very pleasantly with the ladies; and she said, Sir, here is a good
tight old man, that wants to see you on business of life and death, he
says, and is very earnest. Ay, said he, Who can that be?—Let him stay
in the little hall, and I’ll come to him presently. They all seemed to
stare; and Sir Simon said, No more nor less, I dare say, my good
friend, but a bastard-child. If it is, said Lady Jones, bring it in to
us. I will, said he.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me, my master was much surprised, when he saw who it
was; and she much more, when my dear father said,—Good God! give me
patience! but, as great as you are, sir, I must ask for my child! and
burst out into tears. (O what trouble have I given you both!) My master
said, taking him by the hand, Don’t be uneasy, Goodman Andrews; your
daughter is in the way to be happy.
This alarmed my dear father, and he said, What! then, is she dying? And
trembled, he could scarce stand. My master made him sit down, and sat
down by him, and said, No; God be praised! she is very well: And pray
be comforted; I cannot bear to see you thus apprehensive; but she has
written you a letter to assure you, that she has reason to be well
satisfied, and happy.
Ah, sir I said he, you told me once she was in London, waiting on a
bishop’s lady, when all the time she was a severe prisoner here.—Well,
that’s all over now, Goodman Andrews, said my master: but the times are
altered; for now the sweet girl has taken me prisoner; and in a few
days I shall put on the most agreeable fetters that ever man wore.
O, sir! said, he, you are too pleasant for my griefs. My heart’s almost
broke. But may I not see my poor child? You shall presently, said he;
for she is coming down to us; and since you won’t believe me, I hope
you will her.
I will ask you, good sir, said he, but one question till then, that I
may know how to look upon her when I see her. Is she honest? Is she
virtuous?—As the new-born babe, Mr. Andrews, said my good master; and
in twelve days time, I hope, will be my wife.
O flatter me not, good your honour, said he: It cannot be! it cannot
be!—I fear you have deluded her with strange hopes; and would make me
believe impossibilities!—Mrs. Jewkes, said he, do you tell my dear
Pamela’s good father, when I go out, all you know concerning me, and
your mistress that is to be. Meantime, make much of him, and set out
what you have; and make him drink a glass of what he likes best. If
this be wine, added he, fill me a bumper.
She did so; and he took my father by the hand, and said, Believe me,
good man, and be easy; for I can’t bear to see you tortured in this
cruel suspense: Your dear daughter is the beloved of my soul. I am glad
you are come: for you’ll see us all in the same story. And here’s your
dame’s health; and God bless you both, for being the happy means of
procuring for me so great a blessing! And so he drank a bumper to this
most obliging health.
What do I hear? It cannot surely be! said my father. And your honour is
too good, I hope, to mock a poor old man—This ugly story, sir, of the
bishop, runs in my head—But you say I shall see my dear child—And I
shall see her honest.—If not, poor as I am, I would not own her.
My master bid Mrs. Jewkes not to let me know yet, that my father was
come; and went to the company, and said, I have been agreeably
surprised: Here is honest old Goodman Andrews come full of grief to see
his daughter; for he fears she is seduced; and tells me, good honest
man, that, poor as he is, he will not own her, if she be not virtuous.
O, said they all, with one voice almost, Dear sir! shall we not see the
good old man you have so praised for his plain good sense, and honest
heart? If, said he, I thought Pamela would not be too much affected
with the surprise, I would make you all witness to their first
interview; for never did daughter love a father, or a father a
daughter, as they two do one another. Miss Darnford, and all the
ladies, and the gentlemen too, begged it might be so. But was not this
very cruel, my dear mother? For well might they think I should not
support myself in such an agreeable surprise.
He said, kindly, I have but one fear, that the dear girl may be too
much affected. O, said Lady Darnford, we’ll all help to keep up her
spirits. Says he, I’ll go up, and prepare her; but won’t tell her of
it. So he came up to me, as I have said, and amused me about Mr.
Williams, to half prepare me for some surprise; though that could not
have been any thing to this: and he left me, as I said, in that
suspense, at his mystical words, saying, He would send to me, when they
were going to cards.
My master went from me to my father, and asked if he had eaten any
thing. No, said Mrs. Jewkes; the good man’s heart is so full, he cannot
eat, nor do any thing, till he has seen his dear daughter. That shall
soon be, said my master. I will have you come in with me; for she is
going to sit down with my guests, to a game at quadrille; and I will
send for her down. O, sir, said my father, don’t, don’t let me; I am
not fit to appear before your guests; let me see my daughter by myself,
I beseech you. Said he, They all know your honest character, Goodman
Andrews, and long to see you, for Pamela’s sake.
So he took my father by the hand, and led him in, against his will, to
the company. They were all very good. My master kindly said, Ladies and
gentlemen, I present to you one of the honestest men in England, my
good Pamela’s father. Mr. Peters went to him, and took him by the hand,
and said, We are all glad to see you, sir; you are the happiest man in
the world in a daughter; whom we never saw before to-day, but cannot
enough admire.
Said my master, This gentleman, Goodman Andrews, is the minister of the
parish; but is not young enough for Mr. Williams. This airy expression,
my poor father said, made him fear, for a moment, that all was a
jest.—Sir Simon also took him by the hand, and said, Ay, you have a
sweet daughter, Honesty; we are all in love with her. And the ladies
came, and said very fine things: Lady Darnford particularly, That he
might think himself the happiest man in England, in such a daughter.
If, and please you, madam, said he, she be but virtuous, ’tis all in
all: For all the rest is accident. But I doubt his honour has been too
much upon the jest with me. No, said Mrs. Peters, we are all witnesses,
that he intends very honourably by her.—It is some comfort, said he,
and wiped his eyes, that such good ladies say so—But I wish I could see
her.
They would have had him sit down by them; but he would only sit behind
the door, in the corner of the room, so that one could not soon see him
as one came in; because the door opened against him, and hid him
almost. The ladies all sat down; and my master said, Desire Mrs. Jewkes
to step up, and tell Mrs. Andrews the ladies wait for her. So down I
came.
Miss Darnford rose, and met me at the door, and said, Well, Miss
Andrews, we longed for your company. I did not see my dear father; and
it seems his heart was too full to speak; and he got up, and sat down
three or four times successively, unable to come to me, or to say any
thing. The ladies looked that way: but I would not, supposing it was
Mr. Williams. And they made me sit down between Lady Darnford and Lady
Jones; and asked me, what we should play at? I said, At what your
ladyships please. I wondered to see them smile, and look upon me, and
to that corner of the room; but I was afraid of looking that way, for
fear of seeing Mr. Williams; though my face was that way too, and the
table before me.
Said my master, Did you send your letter away to the post-house, my
good girl, for your father? To be sure, sir, said I, I did not forget
that: I took the liberty to desire Mr. Thomas to carry it. What, said
he, I wonder, will the good old couple say to it? O sir, said I, your
goodness will be a cordial to their dear honest hearts! At that, my
dear father, not able to contain himself, nor yet to stir from the
place, gushed out into a flood of tears, which he, good soul! had been
struggling with, it seems; and cried out, O my dear child!
I knew the voice, and, lifting up my eyes, and seeing my father, gave a
spring, overturned the table, without regard to the company, and threw
myself at his feet: O my father! my father! said I, can it be?—Is it