I bless God for it, said I; but since you are so good as to encourage me, and will not despise my weakness, I will acknowledge, that I suffered more than I could have imagined, till I experienced it, in being banished your presence in so much anger; and the more still was I affected, when you answered the wicked Mrs. Jewkes so generously in my favour, at my leaving your house. For this, sir, awakened all my reverence for you; and you saw I could not forbear, not knowing what I did, to break boldly in upon you, and acknowledge your goodness on my knees. ‘Tis true, my dear Pamela, said he, we have sufficiently tortured one another; and the only comfort that can result from it, will be, reflecting upon the matter coolly and with pleasure, when all these storms are overblown, (as I hope they now are,) and we sit together secured in each other’s good opinion, recounting the uncommon gradations by which we have ascended to the summit of that felicity, which I hope we shall shortly arrive at.
Meantime, said the good gentleman, let me hear what my dear girl would have said in her justification, could I have trusted myself with her, as to her fears, and the reason of her wishing herself from me, at a time that I had begun to shew my fondness for her, in a manner that I thought would have been agreeable to her and virtue.
I pulled out of my pocket the gipsy letter; but I said, before I shewed it to him, I have this letter, sir, to shew you, as what, I believe, you will allow must have given me the greatest disturbance: but, first, as I know not who is the writer, and it seems to be in a disguised hand, I would beg it as a favour, that, if you guess who it is, which I cannot, it may not turn to their prejudice, because it was written, very probably, with no other view, than to serve me.
He took it, and read it. And it being signed Somebody, he said, Yes, this is indeed from Somebody; and, disguised as the hand is, I know the writer: Don’t you see, by the setness of some of these letters, and a little secretary cut here and there, especially in that c, and that r, that it is the hand of a person bred in the law-way? Why, Pamela, said he, ‘tis old Longman’s hand: an officious rascal as he is!—But I have done with him. O sir, said I, it would be too insolent in me to offer (so much am I myself overwhelmed with your goodness,) to defend any body that you are angry with: Yet, sir, so far as they have incurred your displeasure for my sake, and for no other want of duty or respect, I could wish—But I dare not say more.
But, said he, as to the letter and the information it contains: Let me know, Pamela, when you received this? On the Friday, sir, said I, that you were gone to the wedding at Stamford.—How could it be conveyed to you, said he, unknown to Mrs. Jewkes, when I gave her such a strict charge to attend you, and you had promised me, that you would not throw yourself in the way of such intelligence? For, said he, when I went to Stamford, I knew, from a private intimation given me, that there would be an attempt made to see you, or give you a letter, by somebody, if not to get you away; but was not certain from what quarter, whether from my sister Davers, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, or John Arnold, or your father; and as I was then but struggling with myself, whether to give way to my honourable inclinations, or to free you, and let you go to your father, that I might avoid the danger I found myself in of the former; (for I had absolutely resolved never to wound again even your ears with any proposals of a contrary nature;) that was the reason I desired you to permit Mrs. Jewkes to be so much on her guard till I came back, when I thought I should have decided this disputed point within myself, between my pride and my inclinations.
This, good sir, said I, accounts well to me for your conduct in that case, and for what you said to me and Mrs. Jewkes on that occasion: And I see more and more how much I may depend upon your honour and goodness to me.—But I will tell you all the truth. And then I recounted to him the whole affair of the gipsy, and how the letter was put among the loose grass, etc. And he said, The man who thinks a thousand dragons sufficient to watch a woman, when her inclination takes a contrary bent, will find all too little; and she will engage the stones in the street, or the grass in the field, to act for her, and help on her correspondence. If the mind, said he, be not engaged, I see there is hardly any confinement sufficient for the body; and you have told me a very pretty story; and, as you never gave me any reason to question your veracity, even in your severest trials, I make no doubt of the truth of what you have now mentioned: and I will, in my turn, give you such a proof of mine, that you shall find it carry a conviction with it.
You must know, then, my Pamela, that I had actually formed such a project, so well informed was this old rascally Somebody! and the time was fixed for the very person described in this letter to be here; and I had thought he should have read some part of the ceremony (as little as was possible, to deceive you) in my chamber; and so I hoped to have you mine upon terms that then would have been much more agreeable to me than real matrimony. And I did not in haste intend you the mortification of being undeceived; so that we might have lived for years, perhaps, very lovingly together; and I had, at the same time, been at liberty to confirm or abrogate it as I pleased.
O sir, said I, I am out of breath with the thoughts of my danger! But what good angel prevented the execution of this deep-laid design?
Why, your good angel, Pamela, said he; for when I began to consider, that it would have made you miserable, and me not happy; that if you should have a dear little one, it would be out of my own power to legitimate it, if I should wish it to inherit my estate; and that, as I am almost the last of my family, and most of what I possess must descend to a strange line, and disagreeable and unworthy persons; notwithstanding that I might, in this case, have issue of my own body; when I further considered your untainted virtue, what dangers and trials you had undergone by my means, and what a world of troubles I had involved you in, only because you were beautiful and virtuous, which had excited all my passion for you; and reflected also upon your tried prudence and truth! I, though I doubted not effecting this my last plot, resolved to overcome myself; and, however I might suffer in struggling with my affection for you, to part with you, rather than to betray you under so black a veil. Besides, said he, I remember how much I had exclaimed against and censured an action of this kind, that had been attributed to one of the first men of the law, and of the kingdom, as he afterwards became; and that it was but treading in a path that another had marked out for me; and, as I was assured, with no great satisfaction to himself, when he came to reflect; my foolish pride was a little piqued with this, because I loved to be, if I went out of the way, my own original, as I may call it. On all these considerations it was, that I rejected this project, and sent word to the person, that I had better considered of the matter, and would not have him come, till he heard further from me: And, in this suspense I suppose, some of your confederates, Pamela, (for we have been a couple of plotters, though your virtue and merit have procured you faithful friends and partisans, which my money and promises could hardly do,) one way or other got knowledge of it, and gave you this notice; but, perhaps, it would have come too late, had not your white angel got the better of my black one, and inspired me with resolutions to abandon the project, just as it was to have been put into execution. But yet I own, that, from these appearances, you were but too well justified in your fears, on this odd way of coming at this intelligence; and I have only one thing to blame you for, that though I was resolved not to hear you in your own defence, yet, as you have so ready a talent at your pen, you might have cleared your part of this matter up to me by a line or two; and when I had known what seeming good grounds you had for pouring cold water on a young flame, that was just then rising to an honourable expansion, should not have imputed it, as I was apt to do, to unseasonable insult for my tenderness to you, on one hand; to perverse nicety, on the other; or to (what I was most alarmed by, and concerned for) prepossession for some other person: And this would have saved us both much fatigue, I of mind, you of body.
And, indeed, sir, said I, of mind too; and I could not better manifest this, than by the cheerfulness with which I obeyed your recalling me to your presence.
Ay, that, my dear Pamela, said he, and clasped me in his arms, was the kind, the inexpressibly kind action, that has rivetted my affections to you, and obliges me, in this free and unreserved manner, to pour my whole soul into your bosom.
I said, I had the less merit in this my return, because I was driven, by an irresistible impulse to it; and could not help it, if I would.
This, said he, (and honoured me by kissing my hand,) is engaging, indeed; if I may hope, that my Pamela’s gentle inclination for her persecutor was the strongest motive to her return; and I so much value a voluntary love in the person I would wish for my wife, that I would have even prudence and interest hardly named in comparison with it: And can you return me sincerely the honest compliment I now make you?—In the choice I have made, it is impossible I should have any view to my interest. Love, true love, is the only motive by which I am induced. And were I not what I am, could you give me the preference to any other you know in the world, notwithstanding what has passed between us? Why, said I, should your so much obliged Pamela refuse to answer this kind question? Cruel as I have thought you, and dangerous as your views to my honesty have been; you, sir, are the only person living that ever was more than indifferent to me: and before I knew this to be what I blush now to call it, I could not hate you, or wish you ill, though, from my soul, the attempts you made were shocking, and most distasteful to me.
I am satisfied, my Pamela, said he; nor shall I want to see those papers that you have kindly written for to your father; though I still wish to see them too, for the sake of the sweet manner in which you relate what has passed, and to have before me the whole series of your sufferings, that I may learn what degree of kindness may be sufficient to recompense you for them.
In this manner, my dear father and mother, did your happy daughter find herself blessed by her generous master! An ample recompense for all her sufferings did I think this sweet conversation only. A hundred tender things he expressed besides, that though they never can escape my memory, yet would be too tedious to write down. Oh, how I blessed God, and, I hope, ever shall, for all his gracious favours to his unworthy handmaid! What a happy change is this! And who knows but my kind, my generous master, may put it in my power, when he shall see me not quite unworthy of it, to be a means, without injuring him, to dispense around me, to many persons, the happy influences of the condition to which I shall be, by his kind favour, exalted? Doubly blest shall I be, in particular, if I can return the hundredth part of the obligations I owe to such honest good parents, to whose pious instructions and examples, under God, I owe all my present happiness, and future prospects.—O the joy that fills my mind on these proud hopes! on these delightful prospects!—It is too mighty for me, and I must sit down to ponder all these things, and to admire and bless the goodness of that Providence, which has, through so many intricate mazes, made me tread the paths of innocence, and so amply rewarded me for what it has itself enabled me to do! All glory to God alone be ever given for it, by your poor enraptured daughter!–
I will now continue my most pleasing relation.
As the chariot was returning home from this sweet airing, he said, From all that has passed between us in this pleasing turn, my Pamela will see, and will believe, that the trials of her virtue are all over from me: But, perhaps, there will be some few yet to come of her patience and humility. For I have, at the earnest importunity of Lady Darnford, and her daughters, promised them a sight of my beloved girl: And so I intend to have their whole family, and Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters’s family, to dine with me once in a few days. And, since I believe you would hardly choose, at present, to grace the table on the occasion, till you can do it in your own right, I should be glad you would not refuse coming down to us if I should desire it; for I would preface our nuptials, said the dear gentleman! O what a sweet word was that!—with their good opinion of your merits: and to see you, and your sweet manner, will be enough for that purpose; and so, by degrees, prepare my neighbours for what is to follow: And they already have your character from me, and are disposed to admire you.
Sir, said I, after all that has passed, I should be unworthy, if I could not say, that I can have no will but yours: And however awkwardly I shall behave in such company, weighed down with a sense of your obligations on one side, and my own unworthiness, with their observations on the other, I will not scruple to obey you.
I am obliged to you, Pamela, said he, and pray be only dressed as you are; for since they know your condition, and I have told them the story of your present dress, and how you came by it, one of the young ladies begs it as a favour, that they may see you just as you are: and I am the rather pleased it should be so, because they will perceive you owe nothing to dress, but make a much better figure with your own native stock of loveliness, than the greatest ladies arrayed in the most splendid attire, and adorned with the most glittering jewels.
O sir, said I, your goodness beholds your poor servant in a light greatly beyond her merit! But it must not be expected, that others, ladies especially, will look upon me with your favourable eyes: but, nevertheless, I should be best pleased to wear always this humble garb, till you, for your own sake, shall order it otherwise: for, oh, sir, said I, I hope it will be always my pride to glory most in your goodness! and it will be a pleasure to me to shew every one, that, with respect to my happiness in this life, I am entirely the work of your bounty; and to let the world see from what a lowly original you have raised me to honours, that the greatest ladies would rejoice in.
Admirable Pamela! said he; excellent girl!—Surely thy sentiments are superior to those of all thy sex!—I might have addressed a hundred fine ladies; but never, surely, could have had reason to admire one as I do you.
As, my dear father and mother, I repeat these generous sayings, only because they are the effect of my master’s goodness, being far from presuming to think I deserve one of them; so I hope you will not attribute it to my vanity; for I do assure you, I think I ought rather to be more humble, as I am more obliged: for it must be always a sign of a poor condition, to receive obligations one cannot repay; as it is of a rich mind, when it can confer them without expecting or needing a return. It is, on one side, the state of the human creature, compared, on the other, to the Creator; and so, with due deference, may his beneficence be said to be Godlike, and that is the highest that can be said.
The chariot brought us home at near the hour of two; and, blessed be God, my master is pure well, and cheerful; and that makes me hope he does not repent him of his late generous treatment of me. He handed me out of the chariot, and to the parlour, with the same goodness, that he shewed when he put me into it, before several of the servants. Mrs. Jewkes came to inquire how he did. Quite well, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; quite well: I thank God, and this good girl, for it!—I am glad of it, said she; but I hope you are not the worse for my care, and my doctoring of you!—No, but the better, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; you have much obliged me by both.
Then he said, Mrs. Jewkes, you and I have used this good girl very hardly.—I was afraid, sir, said she, I should be the subject of her complaints.—I assure you, said he, she has not opened her lips about you. We have had a quite different subject to talk of; and I hope she will forgive us both: You especially she must; because you have done nothing but by my orders. But I only mean, that the necessary consequence of those orders has been very grievous to my Pamela: And now comes our part to make her amends, if we can.
Sir, said she, I always said to madam (as she called me), that you was very good, and very forgiving. No, said he, I have been stark naught; and it is she, I hope, will be very forgiving. But all this preamble is to tell you, Mrs. Jewkes, that now I desire you’ll study to oblige her, as much as (to obey me) you was forced to disoblige her before. And you’ll remember, that in every thing she is to be her own mistress.
Yes, said she, and mine too, I suppose, sir? Ay, said the generous gentleman, I believe it will be so in a little time.—Then, said she, I know how it will go with me! And so put her handkerchief to her eyes.—Pamela, said my master, comfort poor Mrs. Jewkes.
This was very generous, already to seem to put her in my power: and I took her by the hand, and said, I shall never take upon me, Mrs. Jewkes, to make a bad use of any opportunities that may be put into my hands by my generous master; nor shall I ever wish to do you any disservice, if I might: for I shall consider, that what you have done, was in obedience to a will which it will become me also to submit to and so, if the effects of our obedience may be different, yet as they proceed from one cause, that must be always reverenced by me.
See there, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, we are both in generous hands; and indeed, if Pamela did not pardon you, I should think she but half forgave me, because you acted by my instructions.—Well, said she, God bless you both together, since it must be so; and I will double my diligence to oblige my lady, as I find she will soon be.
O my dear father and mother! now pray for me on another score; for fear I should grow too proud, and be giddy and foolish with all these promising things, so soothing to the vanity of my years and sex. But even to this hour can I pray, that God would remove from me all these delightful prospects, if they were likely so to corrupt my mind, as to make me proud and vain, and not acknowledge, with thankful humility, the blessed Providence which has so visibly conducted me through the dangerous paths I have trod, to this happy moment.
My master was pleased to say, that he thought I might as well dine with him, since he was alone: But I begged he would excuse me, for fear, as I said, such excess of goodness and condescension, all at once, should turn my head;—and that he would, by slower degrees, bring on my happiness, lest I should not know how to bear it.
Persons that doubt themselves, said he, seldom do amiss: And if there was any fear of what you say, you could not have it in your thoughts: for none but the presumptuous, the conceited, and the thoughtless, err capitally. But, nevertheless, said he, I have such an opinion of your prudence, that I shall generally think what you do right, because it is you that do it.
Sir, said I, your kind expressions shall not be thrown away upon me, if I can help it; for they will task me with the care of endeavouring to deserve your good opinion, and your approbation, as the best rule of my conduct.
Being then about to go up stairs, Permit me, sir, said I, (looking about me with some confusion, to see that nobody was there,) thus on my knees to thank you, as I often wanted to do in the chariot, for all your goodness to me, which shall never, I hope, be cast away upon me. And so I had the boldness to kiss his hand.
I wonder, since, how I came to be so forward. But what could I do?—My poor grateful heart was like a too full river, which overflows its banks: and it carried away my fear and my shamefacedness, as that does all before it on the surface of its waters!
He clasped me in his arms with transport, and condescendingly kneeled by me, and kissing me, said, O my dear obliging good girl, on my knees, as you on yours, I vow to you everlasting truth and fidelity! and may God but bless us both with half the pleasures that seem to be before us, and we shall have no reason to envy the felicity of the greatest princes!—O sir, said I, how shall I support so much goodness! I am poor, indeed, in every thing, compared to you! and how far, very far, do you, in every generous way, leave me behind you!
He raised me, and, as I bent towards the door, led me to the stairs foot, and, saluting me there again, left me to go up to my closet, where I threw myself on my knees in raptures of joy, and blessed that gracious God, who had thus changed my distress to happiness, and so abundantly rewarded me for all the sufferings I had passed through.—And oh, how light, how very light, do all those sufferings now appear, which then my repining mind made so grievous to me!—Hence, in every state of life, and in all the changes and chances of it, for the future, will I trust in Providence, who knows what is best for us, and frequently turns the very evils we most dread, to be the causes of our happiness, and of our deliverance from greater.—My experiences, young as I am, as to this great point of reliance on God, are strong, though my judgment in general may be weak and uninformed: but you’ll excuse these reflections, because they are your beloved daughter’s; and, so far as they are not amiss, derive themselves from the benefit of yours and my late good lady’s examples and instructions.
I have written a vast deal in a little time; and shall only say, to conclude this delightful Wednesday, That in the afternoon my good master was so well, that he rode out on horseback, and came home about nine at night; and then stepped up to me, and, seeing me with pen and ink before me in my closet, said, I come only to tell you I am very well, my Pamela: and since I have a letter or two to write, I will leave you to proceed in yours, as I suppose that was your employment, (for I had put by my papers at his coming up,) and so he saluted me, bid me good night, and went down; and I finished up to this place before I went to bed. Mrs. Jewkes told me, if it was more agreeable to me, she would be in another room; but I said, No thank you, Mrs. Jewkes; pray let me have your company. And she made me a fine courtesy, and thanked me.—How times are altered!
Thursday.
This morning my master came up to me, and talked with me on various subjects, for a good while together, in the most kind manner. Among other things, he asked me, if I chose to order any new clothes against my marriage. (O how my heart flutters when he mentions this subject so freely!) I said, I left every thing to his good pleasure, only repeated my request, for the reasons aforegiven, that I might not be too fine.
He said, I think, my dear, it shall be very private: I hope you are not afraid of a sham-marriage; and pray get the service by heart, that you may see nothing is omitted. I glowed between shame and delight. O how I felt my cheeks burn!
I said, I feared nothing, I apprehended nothing, but my own unworthiness. Said he, I think it shall be done within these fourteen days, from this day, at this house. O how I trembled! but not with grief, you may believe—What says my girl? Have you to object against any day of the next fourteen: because my affairs require me to go to my other house, and I think not to stir from this till I am happy with you?
I have no will but yours, said I (all glowing like the fire, as I could feel:) But, sir, did you say in the house? Ay, said he; for I care not how privately it be done; and it must be very public if we go to church. It is a holy rite, sir, said I; and would be better, methinks, in a holy place.
I see (said he, most kindly) my lovely maid’s confusion; and your trembling tenderness shews I ought to oblige you all I may. Therefore I will order my own little chapel, which has not been used for two generations, for any thing but a lumber-room, because our family seldom resided here long together, to be cleared and cleaned, and got ready for the ceremony, if you dislike your own chamber or mine.
Sir, said I, that will be better than the chamber, and I hope it will never be lumbered again, but kept to the use for which, as I presume, it has been consecrated. O yes, said he, it has been consecrated, and that several ages ago, in my great great grandfather’s time, who built that and the good old house together.
But now, my good girl, if I do not too much add to your sweet confusion, shall it be in the first seven days, or the second of this fortnight? I looked down, quite out of countenance. Tell me, said he.
In the second, if you please, sir, said I.—As you please, said he most kindly; but I should thank you, Pamela, if you would choose the first. I’d rather, sir, if you please, said I, have the second. Well, said he, be it so; but don’t defer it till the last day of the fourteen.
Pray sir, said I, since you embolden me to talk on this important subject, may I not send my dear father and mother word of my happiness?—You may, said he; but charge them to keep it secret, till you or I direct the contrary. And I told you, I would see no more of your papers; but I meant, I would not without your consent: but if you will shew them to me (and now I have no other motive for my curiosity, but the pleasure I take in reading what you write,) I shall acknowledge it as a favour.
If, sir, said I, you will be pleased to let me write over again one sheet, I will; though I had relied upon your word, and not written them for your perusal. What is that? said he: though I cannot consent to it beforehand: for I more desire to see them, because they are your true sentiments at the time, and because they were not written for my perusal. Sir, said I, what I am loath you should see, are very severe reflections on the letter I received by the gipsy, when I apprehended your design of the sham-marriage; though there are other things I would not have you see; but that is the worst. It can’t be worse, said he, my dear sauce-box, than I have seen already; and I will allow your treating me in ever so black a manner, on that occasion, because it must have a very black appearance to you.—Well, sir, said I, I think I will obey you before night. But don’t alter a word, said he. I won’t, sir, replied I, since you order it.
While we were talking, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and said Thomas was returned. O, said my master, let him bring up the papers: for he hoped, and so did I, that you had sent them by him. But it was a great balk, when he came up and said, Sir, Mr. Andrews did not care to deliver them; and would have it, that his daughter was forced to write that letter to him: and, indeed, sir, said he, the old gentleman took on sadly, and would have it that his daughter was undone, or else, he said, she would not have turned back, when on her way, (as I told him she did, said Thomas,) instead of coming to them. I began to be afraid now that all would be bad for me again.
Well, Tom, said he, don’t mince the matter; tell me, before Mrs. Andrews, what they said. Why, sir, both he and Goody Andrews, after they had conferred together upon your letter, madam, came out, weeping bitterly, that grieved my very heart; and they said, Now all was over with their poor daughter; and either she had written that letter by compulsion, or had yielded to your honour; so they said; and was, or would be ruined!
My master seemed vexed, as I feared. And I said, Pray, sir, be so good as to excuse the fears of my honest parents. They cannot know your goodness to me.
And so (said he, without answering me,) they refused to deliver the papers? Yes, and please your honour, said Thomas, though I told them, that you, madam, of your own accord, on a letter I had brought you, very cheerfully wrote what I carried: But the old gentleman said, Why, wife, there are in these papers twenty things nobody should see but ourselves, and especially not the ‘squire. O the poor girl has had so many stratagems to struggle with! and now, at last, she has met with one that has been too hard for her. And can it be possible for us to account for her setting out to come to us, and in such post haste, and, when she had got above half-way, to send us this letter, and to go back again of her own accord, as you say; when we know that all her delight would have been to come to us and to escape from the perils she had been so long contending with? And then, and please your honour, he said, he could not bear this; for his daughter was ruined, to be sure, before now. And so, said Thomas, the good old couple sat themselves down, and, hand-in-hand, leaning upon each other’s shoulder, did nothing but lament.—I was piteously grieved, said he; but all I could say could not comfort them; nor would they give me the papers; though I told them I should deliver them only to Mrs. Andrews herself. And so, and please your honour, I was forced to come away without them.
My good master saw me all bathed in tears at this description of your distress and fears for me; and he said, I would not have you take on so. I am not angry with your father in the main; he is a good man; and I would have you write out of hand, and it shall be sent by the post to Mr. Atkins, who lives within two miles of your father, and I’ll enclose it in a cover of mine, in which I’ll desire Mr. Atkins, the moment it comes to his hand, to convey it safely to your father or mother; and say nothing of their sending their papers, that it may not make them uneasy; for I want not now to see them on any other score than that of mere curiosity; and that will do at any time. And so saying, he saluted me before Thomas, and with his own handkerchief wiped my eyes; and said to Thomas, The good old folks are not to be blamed in the main. They don’t know my honourable intentions by their dear daughter; who, Tom, will, in a little time, be your mistress; though I shall keep the matter private some days, and would not have it spoken of by my servants out of my house.