Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
He gave me a glass: My good lady’s health, sir, said I.—That won’t do,
said she, leaning towards me, softly: and was going to say wench, or
creature, or some such word. And my master, seeing Abraham look towards
her, her eyes being red and swelled, said, Indeed, sister, I would not
vex myself about it, if I was you. About what? said she. Why, replied
he, about your lord’s not coming down, as he had promised. He sat down,
and she tapped him on the shoulder: Ah! wicked one, said she, nor will
that do neither!—Why, to be sure, added he, it would vex a lady of your
sense and merit to be slighted, if it was so; but I am sure my lord
loves you, as well as you love him; and you know not what may have
happened.
She shook her head, and said, That’s like your art!—This makes one
amazed you should be so caught!—Who, my lord caught! said he: No, no!
he’ll have more wit than so! But I never heard you were jealous before.
Nor, said he, have you any reason to think so now!—Honest friend, you
need not wait, said she; my woman will help us to what we want. Yes,
let him, replied he. Abraham, fill me a glass. Come, said my master,
Lord Davers to you, madam: I hope he’ll take care he is not found
out!—You’re very provoking, brother, said she. I wish you were as good
as Lord Davers.—But don’t carry your jest too far. Well, said he, ’tis
a tender point, I own. I’ve done.
By these kind managements the dinner passed over better than I
expected. And when the servants were withdrawn, my master said, still
keeping his place between us, I have a question to ask you, Lady
Davers, and that is, If you’ll bear me company to Bedfordshire? I was
intending to set out thither to-morrow, but I’ll tarry your pleasure,
if you’ll go with me.
Is thy wife, as thou callest her, to go along with thee, friend? said
she. Yes, to be sure, answered he, my dear Quaker sister; and took her
hand, and smiled. And would’st have me parade it with her on the
road?—Hey?—And make one to grace her retinue?—Hey? Tell me how thoud’st
chalk it out, if I would do as thou would’st have me, honest friend?
He clasped his arms about her, and kissed her: You are a dear saucy
sister, said he; but I must love you!—Why, I’ll tell you how I’d have
it. Here shall you, and my Pamela—Leave out my, I desire you, if you’d
have me sit patiently. No, replied he, I can’t do that. Here shall you,
and my Pamela, go together in your chariot, if you please; and she will
then appear as one of your retinue; and your nephew and I will
sometimes ride, and sometimes go into my chariot, to your woman.
Should’st thou like this, creature? said she to me.—If your ladyship
think it not too great an honour for me, madam, said I. Yes, replied
she, but my ladyship does think it would be too great an honour.
Now I think of it, said he, this must not be neither; for, without
you’d give her the hand in your own chariot, my wife would be thought
your woman, and that must not be. Why, that would, may be, said she, be
the only inducement for me to bear her near me, in my chariot.—But, how
then?—Why then, when we came home, we’d get Lord Davers to come to us,
and stay a month or two.
And what if he was to come?—Why I would have you, as I know you have a
good fancy, give Pamela your judgment on some patterns I expect from
London, for clothes.—Provoking wretch! said she; now I wish I may keep
my hands to myself. I don’t say it to provoke you, said he, nor ought
it to do so. But when I tell you I am married, is it not a consequence
that we must have new clothes?
Hast thou any more of these obliging things to say to me, friend? said
she. I will make you a present, returned he, worth your acceptance, if
you will grace us with your company at church, when we make our
appearance.—Take that, said she, if I die for it, wretch that thou art!
and was going to hit him a great slap; but he held her hand. Her
kinsman said, Dear aunt, I wonder at you! Why, all these are things of
course.
I begged leave to withdraw; and, as I went out, my good master said,
There’s a person! There’s a shape! There’s a sweetness! O, Lady Davers!
were you a man, you would doat on her, as I do. Yes, said the naughty
lady, so I should, for my harlot, but not for my wife. I turned, on
this, and said, Indeed your ladyship is cruel; and well may gentlemen
take liberties, when ladies of honour say such things! And I wept, and
added, Your ladyship’s inference, if your good brother was not the most
generous of men, would make me very unhappy.
No fear, wench; no fear, said she; thou’lt hold him as long as any body
can, I see that!—Poor Sally Godfrey never had half the interest in him,
I’ll assure you.
Stay, my Pamela, said he, in a passion; stay, when I bid you. You have
now heard two vile charges upon me!—I love you with such a true
affection, that I ought to say something before this malicious accuser,
that you may not think your consummate virtue linked to so black a
villain.
Her nephew seemed uneasy, and blamed her much; and I came back, but
trembled as I stood; and he set me down, and said, taking my hand, I
have been accused, my dear, as a dueller, and now as a profligate, in
another sense; and there was a time I should not have received these
imputations with so much concern as I now do, when I would wish, by
degrees, by a conformity of my manners to your virtue, to shew every
one the force your example has upon me. But this briefly is the case of
the first.
I had a friend, who had been basely attempted to be assassinated by
bravoes, hired by a man of title in Italy, who, like many other persons
of title, had no honour; and, at Padua, I had the fortune to disarm one
of these bravoes in my friend’s defence, and made him confess his
employer; and him, I own, I challenged. At Sienna we met, and he died
in a month after, of a fever; but, I hope, not occasioned by the slight
wounds he had received from me; though I was obliged to leave Italy
upon it, sooner than I intended, because of his numerous relations, who
looked upon me as the cause of his death; though I pacified them by a
letter I wrote them from Inspruck, acquainting them with the baseness
of the deceased: and they followed me not to Munich, as they intended.
This is one of the good-natured hints that might shock your sweetness,
on reflecting that you are yoked with a murderer. The other—Nay,
brother, said she, say no more. ’Tis your own fault if you go further.
She shall know it all, said he; and I defy the utmost stretch of your
malice.
When I was at college, I was well received by a widow lady, who had
several daughters, and but small fortunes to give them; and the old
lady set one of them (a deserving good girl she was,) to draw me into
marriage with her, for the sake of the fortune I was heir to; and
contrived many opportunities to bring us and leave us together. I was
not then of age; and the young lady, not half so artful as her mother,
yielded to my addresses before the mother’s plot could be ripened, and
so utterly disappointed it. This, my Pamela, is the Sally Godfrey, this
malicious woman, with the worst intentions, has informed you of. And
whatever other liberties I may have taken, (for perhaps some more I
have, which, had she known, you had heard of, as well as this,) I
desire Heaven will only forgive me, till I revive its vengeance by the
like offences, in injury to my Pamela.
And now, my dear, you may withdraw; for this worthy sister of mine has
said all the bad she knows of me; and what, at a proper opportunity,
when I could have convinced you, that they were not my boast, but my
concern, I should have acquainted you with myself; for I am not fond of
being thought better than I am: though I hope, from the hour I devoted
myself to so much virtue, to that of my death, my conduct shall be
irreproachable.
She was greatly moved at this, and the noble manner in which the dear
gentleman owned and repented of his faults; and gushed out into tears,
and said, No, don’t yet go, Pamela, I beseech you. My passion has
carried me too far, a great deal; and, coming to me, she shook my hand,
and said, You must stay to hear me beg his pardon; and so took his
hand.—But, to my concern, (for I was grieved for her ladyship’s grief,)
he burst from her; and went out of the parlour into the garden in a
violent rage, that made me tremble. Her ladyship sat down, and leaned
her head against my bosom, and made my neck wet with her tears, holding
me by the hands; and I wept for company.—Her kinsman walked up and down
the parlour in a sad fret; and going out afterwards, he came in, and
said, Mr. B—— has ordered his chariot to be got ready, and won’t be
spoken to by any body. Where is he? said she.—Walking in the garden
till it is ready, replied he.
Well, said she, I have indeed gone too far. I was bewitched! And now,
said she, malicious as he calls me, will he not forgive me for a
twelvemonth: for I tell you, Pamela, if ever you offend, he will not
easily forgive. I was all delighted, though sad, to see her ladyship so
good to me. Will you venture, said she, to accompany me to him?—Dare
you follow a lion in his retreats?—I’ll attend your ladyship, said I,
wherever you command. Well, wench, said she; Pamela, I mean; thou art
very good in the main!—I should have loved thee as well as my mother
did—if—but ’tis all over now! Indeed you should not have married my
brother! But come, I must love him! Let’s find him out! And yet will he
use me worse than a dog!—I should not, added she, have so much
exasperated him: for, whenever I have, I have always had the worst of
it. He knows I love him!
In this manner her ladyship talked to me, leaning on my arm, and
walking into the garden. I saw he was still in a tumult, as it were;
and he took another walk to avoid us. She called after him, and said,
Brother, brother, let me speak to you!—One word with you! And as we
made haste towards him, and came near to him; I desire, said he, that
you’ll not oppress me more with your follies, and your violence. I have
borne too much with you, and I will vow for a twelvemonth, from this
day—Hush, said she, don’t vow, I beg you for too well will you keep it,
I know by experience, if you do. You see, said she, I stoop to ask
Pamela to be my advocate. Sure that will pacify you!
Indeed, said he, I desire to see neither of you, on such an occasion;
and let me only be left to myself, for I will not be intruded upon
thus; and was going away.—But, said she, One word first, I desire.—If
you’ll forgive me, I’ll forgive you.—What, said the dear man,
haughtily, will you forgive me?—Why, said she, for she saw him too
angry to mention his marriage, as a subject that required her pardon—I
will forgive you all your bad usage of me this day.
I will be serious with you, sister, said he: I wish you most sincerely
well; but let us, from this time, study so much one another’s quiet, as
never to come near one another more. Never? said she.—And can you
desire this? barbarous brother! can you?—I can, I do, said he; and I
have nothing to do, but to hide from you, not a brother, but a
murderer, and a profligate, unworthy of your relation; and let me be
consigned to penitence for my past evils: A penitence, however, that
shall not be broken in upon by so violent an accuser.
Pamela, said he, and made me tremble, How dare you approach me, without
leave, when you see me thus disturbed?—Never, for the future, come near
me, when I am in these tumults, unless I send for you.
Dear sir! said I—Leave me, interrupted he. I will set out for
Bedfordshire this moment! What! sir, said I, without me?—What have I
done? You have too meanly, said he, for my wife, stooped to this
furious sister of mine; and, till I can recollect, I am not pleased
with you: But Colbrand shall attend you, and two other of my servants;