Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
the coach stopt, and my master alighted, and led me to the brook-side,
and it is a very pretty summer walk. He asked my father, If he chose to
walk out, or go on in the coach to the farther end? He, poor man, chose
to go on in the coach, for fear, he said, any gentry should be walking
there; and he told me, he was most of the way upon his knees in the
coach, thanking God for his gracious mercies and goodness; and begging
a blessing upon my good master and me.
I was quite astonished, when we came into the shady walk, to see Mr.
Williams there. See there, said my master, there’s poor Williams,
taking his solitary walk again, with his book. And, it seems, it was so
contrived; for Mr. Peters had been, as I since find, desired to tell
him to be in that walk at such an hour in the morning.
So, old acquaintance, said my master, again have I met you in this
place? What book are you now reading? He said, it was Boileau’s Lutrin.
Said my master, You see I have brought with me my little fugitive, that
would have been: While you are perfecting yourself in French, I am
trying to learn English; and hope soon to be master of it.
Mine, sir, said he, is a very beautiful piece of French: but your
English has no equal.
You are very polite, Mr. Williams, said my master: And he that does not
think as you do, deserves no share in her. Why, Pamela, added he, very
generously, why so strange, where you have once been so familiar? I do
assure you both, that I mean not, by this interview, to insult Mr.
Williams, or confound you. Then I said, Mr. Williams, I am very glad to
see you well; and though the generous favour of my good master has
happily changed the scene, since you and I last saw one another, I am
nevertheless very glad of an opportunity to acknowledge, with
gratitude, your good intentions, not so much to serve me, as me, but as
a person—that then had great reason to believe herself in distress. And
I hope, sir, added I, to my master, your goodness will permit me to say
this.
You, Pamela, said he, may make what acknowledgments you please to Mr.
Williams’s good intentions; and I would have you speak as you think;
but I do not apprehend myself to be quite so much obliged to those
intentions.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, I beg leave to say, I knew well, that, by
education, you was no libertine; nor had I reason to think you so by
inclination; and, when you came to reflect, I hoped you would not be
displeased with me. And this was no small motive to me, at first, to do
as I did.
Ay, but Mr. Williams, said my master, could you think I should have had
reason to thank you, if, loving one person above all her sex, you had
robbed me of her, and married her yourself?—And then, said he, you are
to consider, that she was an old acquaintance of mine, and a quite new
one to you; that I had sent her down to my own house, for better
securing her; and that you, who had access to my house, could not
effect your purpose, without being guilty, in some sort, of a breach of
the laws of hospitality and friendship. As to my designs upon her, I
own they had not the best appearance; but still I was not answerable to
Mr. Williams for those; much less could you be excused to invade a
property so very dear to me, and to endeavour to gain an interest in
her affections, when you could not be certain that matters would not
turn out as they have actually done.
I own, said he, that some parts of my conduct seem exceptionable, as
you state it. But, sir, I am but a young man. I meant no harm. I had no
interest, I am sure, to incur your displeasure; and when you think of
every thing, and the inimitable graces of person, and perfections of
mind, that adorn this excellent lady, (so he called me,) you will,
perhaps, find your generosity allow something as an extenuation of a
fault, which your anger would not permit as an excuse.
I have done, said my master; nor did I meet you here to be angry with
you. Pamela knew not that she should see you: and now you are both
present, I would ask you, Mr. Williams, If, now you know my honourable
designs towards this good girl, you can really be almost, I will not
say quite, as well pleased with the friendship of my wife, as you could
be with the favour of Mrs. Andrews?
Sir, said he, I will answer you truly. I think I could have preferred,
with her, any condition that could have befallen me, had I considered
only myself. But, sir, I was very far from having any encouragement to
expect her favour; and I had much more reason to believe, that, if she
could have hoped for your goodness, her heart would have been too much
pre-engaged to think of any body else. And give me leave further to
say, sir, that, though I tell you sincerely my thoughts, were I only to
consider myself; yet, when I consider her good, and her merit, I should
be highly ungenerous, were it put to my choice, if I could not wish her
in a condition so much superior to what I could raise her to, and so
very answerable to her merit.
Pamela, said my master, you are obliged to Mr. Williams, and ought to
thank him: He has distinguished well. But, as for me, who had like to
have lost you by his means, I am glad the matter was not left to his
choice. Mr. Williams, added he, I give you Pamela’s hand, because I
know it will be pleasing to her, in token of her friendship and esteem
for you; and I give you mine, that I will not be your enemy: but yet I
must say, that I think I owe this proper manner of your thinking more
to your disappointment, than to the generosity you talk of.
Mr. Williams kissed my hand, as my master gave it him; and my master
said, Sir, you will go home and dine with me, and I’ll shew you my
little chapel; and do you, Pamela, look upon yourself at liberty to
number Mr. Williams in the list of your friends.
How generous, how noble, was this! Mr. Williams (and so had I) had
tears of pleasure in his eyes. I was silent: But Mr. Williams said,
Sir, I shall be taught, by your generosity, to think myself inexcusably
wrong, in every step I took, that could give you offence; and my future
life shall shew my respectful gratitude.
We walked on till we came to the coach, where was my dear father.
Pamela, said my master, tell Mr. Williams who that good man is. O, Mr.
Williams! said I, it is my dear father! and my master was pleased to
say, One of the honestest men in England: Pamela owes every thing that
she is to be, as well as her being, to him; for, I think, she would not
have brought me to this, nor made so great resistance, but for the good
lessons, and religious education, she had imbibed from him.
Mr. Williams said, taking father’s hand, You see, good Mr. Andrews,
with inexpressible pleasure, no doubt, the fruits of your pious care;
and now are in a way, with your beloved daughter, to reap the happy
effects of it.—I am overcome, said my dear father, with his honour’s
goodness: But I can only say, I bless God, and bless him.
Mr. Williams and I being nearer the coach than my master, and he
offering to draw back, to give way to him, he kindly said, Pray, Mr.
Williams, oblige Pamela with your hand; and step in yourself. He bowed,
and took my hand; and my master made him step in, and sit next me, all
that ever he could do; and sat himself over against him, next my
father, who sat against me.
And he said, Mr. Andrews, I told you yesterday that the divine you saw
was not Mr. Williams; I now tell you, this gentleman is: and though I
have been telling him, I think not myself obliged to his intentions;
yet I will own that Pamela and you are; and though I won’t promise to
love him, I would have you.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, you have a way of overcoming, that hardly all
my reading affords an instance of; and it is the more noble, as it is
on this side, as I presume, the happy ceremony, which, great as your
fortune is, will lay you under an obligation to so much virtue and
beauty, when the lady becomes yours; for you will then have a treasure
that princes might envy you.
Said my generous master, (God bless him!) Mr. Williams, it is
impossible that you and I should long live at variance, when our
sentiments agree so well together, on subjects the most material.
I was quite confounded; and my master, seeing it, took my hand, and
said, Look up, my good girl; and collect yourself.—Don’t injure Mr.
Williams and me so much, as to think we are capping compliments, as we
used to do verses at school. I dare answer for us both, that we say not
a syllable we don’t think.
O sir, said I, how unequal am I to all this goodness! Every moment that
passes adds to the weight of the obligations you oppress me with.
Think not too much of that, said he most generously. Mr. Williams’s
compliments to you have great advantage of mine: For, though equally
sincere, I have a great deal to say, and to do, to compensate the
sufferings I have made you undergo; and, at last, must sit down
dissatisfied, because those will never be balanced by all I can do for
you.
He saw my dear father quite unable to support these affecting instances
of his goodness;—and he let go my hand, and took his; and said, seeing
his tears, I wonder not, my dear Pamela’s father, that your honest
heart springs thus to your eyes, to see all her trials at an end. I
will not pretend to say, that I had formerly either power or will to
act thus: But since I began to resolve on the change you see, I have
reaped so much pleasure in it, that my own interest will keep me
steady: For, till within these few days, I knew not what it was to be
happy.
Poor Mr. Williams, with tears of joy in his eyes, said, How happily,
sir, have you been touched by the divine grace, before you have been
hurried into the commission of sins, that the deepest penitence could
hardly have atoned for!—God has enabled you to stop short of the evil;
and you have nothing to do, but to rejoice in the good, which now will
be doubly so, because you can receive it without the least inward
reproach.
You do well, said he, to remind me, that I owe all this to the grace of
God. I bless Him for it; and I thank this good man for his excellent
lessons to his daughter; I thank her for following them: and I hope,
from her good example, and your friendship, Mr. Williams, in time, to
be half as good as my tutoress: and that, said he, I believe you’ll
own, will make me, without disparagement to any man, the best
fox-hunter in England.—Mr. Williams was going to speak: and he said,
You put on so grave a look, Mr. Williams, that, I believe, what I have
said, with you practical good folks, is liable to exception: but I see
we are become quite grave; and we must not be too serious neither.
What a happy creature, my dear mother, is your Pamela!—O may my
thankful heart, and the good use I may be enabled to make of the
blessings before me, be a means to continue this delightful prospect to
a long date, for the sake of the dear good gentleman, who thus becomes
the happy instrument, in the hand of Providence, to bless all he smiles
upon! To be sure, I shall never enough acknowledge the value he is
pleased to express for my unworthiness, in that he has prevented my
wishes, and, unasked, sought the occasion of being reconciled to a good
man, who, for my sake, had incurred his displeasure; and whose name he
could not, a few days before, permit to pass through my lips! But see
the wonderful ways of Providence! The very things that I most dreaded
his seeing or knowing, the contents of my papers, have, as I hope,
satisfied all his scruples, and been a means to promote my happiness.
Henceforth let not us poor short-sighted mortals pretend to rely on our
own wisdom; or vainly think, that we are absolutely to direct for
ourselves. I have abundant reason, I am sure, to say, that, when I was