If God Almighty hears my yesterday's, and indeed my hourly, prayers,
the dear man will be good still; but my aching heart, every time I
think what company he is in (for I find the Countess is _certainly_
one of the party), bodes me little satisfaction.
He's come! He's come! now, just now, come! I will have my trial over
before this night be past, if possible. I'll go down and meet him with
love unfeigned, and a duty equal to my love, although he may forget
his to me. If I conquer myself on this occasion, I conquer nature,
as your ladyship says: and then, by God's grace, I can conquer every
thing. They have taken their house, I suppose: but what need they,
when they'll have one in Bedfordshire, and one in Lincolnshire? But
they know best. God bless him, and reform her! That's all the harm I
wish them, or will wish them!
My dear Mr. B. has received me with great affection and tenderness.
Sure he cannot be so bad!--Sure he cannot!
"I know, my dear," said he, "I left you in great anxiety; but 'tis an
anxiety you have brought upon yourself; and I have not been easy ever
since I parted from you."
"I am sorry for it, Sir."
"Why, my dear love, there is still a melancholy air in your
countenance: indeed, it seems mingled with a kind of joy; I hope at
my return to you. But 'tis easy to see which of the two is the most
natural."
"You should see nothing. Sir, that you would not wish to see, if I
could help it."
"I am sorry you cannot. But I am come home to hear all your
grievances, and to redress them, if in my power."
"When, Sir, am I to come upon my trial? I have much to say. I will
tell you everything I think. And, as it may be the last _grievances_,
as you are pleased to call them, I may ever trouble you with, you must
promise to answer me not one word till I have done. For, if it does
but hold, I have great courage, indeed I you don't know half the
sauciness that is in your girl yet; but when I come upon my trial,
you'll wonder at my boldness."
"What means my dearest?" taking me into his arms. "You alarm me
exceedingly, by this moving sedateness."
"Don't let it alarm you. Sir! I mean nothing but good!--But I have
been preparing myself to tell you all my mind. And as an instance of
what you may expect from me, sometimes, Sir, I will be your judge,
and put home questions to you; and sometimes you shall be mine, and at
last pronounce sentence upon me; or, if you won't, I will upon myself;
a severe one to me, it shall be, but an agreeable one, perhaps, to
you!--When comes on the trial. Sir?"
He looked steadily upon me, but was silent. And I said, "But don't
be afraid, Sir, that I will invade your province; for though I shall
count myself your judge, in some cases, you shall be judge paramount
still."
"Dear charmer of my heart," said he, and clasped me to his bosom,
"what a _new_ PAMELA have I in my arms! A mysterious charmer! Let us
instantly go to my closet, or yours, and come upon our mutual trial;
for you have fired my soul with impatience!"
"No, Sir, if you please, we will dine first. I have hardly eaten any
thing these four days; and your company may give me an appetite. I
shall be pleased to sit down at table with you. Sir," taking his hand,
and trying to smile upon him; "for the moments I have of your company,
may be, some time hence, very precious to my remembrance."
I was then forced to turn my head, to hide from him my eyes, brimful
as they were of tears.
He took me again into his arms:--"My dearest Pamela, if you love me,
distract not my soul thus, by your dark and mysterious speeches. You
are displeased with _me_, and I thought I had reason, of late, to take
something amiss in _your_ conduct; but, instead of your suffering by
my anger, you have words and an air that penetrate my very soul."
"O Sir, Sir, treat me not thus kindly! Put on an angrier brow, or how
shall I retain my purpose? How shall I!"
"Dear, dear creature! make not use of _all_ your power to melt me!
_Half_ of it is enough. For there is eloquence in your eyes I cannot
resist; but in your present solemn air, and affecting sentences, you
mould me to every purpose of your heart; so that I am a mere machine,
a passive instrument, to be played upon at your pleasure."
"Dear, kind Sir, how you revive my heart, by your goodness! Perhaps
I have only been in a frightful dream, and am but just now
awakened.--But we will not anticipate our trial. Only, Sir, give
orders, that you are not to be spoken with by any body, when we have
dined; for I must have you all to myself, without interruption."
Just as I had said this, a gentleman calling, I retired to my chamber,
and wrote to this place.
Mr. B. dismissed his friend, without asking him to dine; so I had
him all to myself at dinner--But we said little, and sat not above a
quarter of an hour; looking at each other: he, with impatience, and
some seeming uneasiness; I with more steadiness, I believe, but now
and then a tear starting.
I eat but little, though I tried all I could, and especially as he
helped me, and courted me with tenderness and sweetness--O why were
ever such things as _masquerades_ permitted in a Christian nation!
I chose to go into _my_ closet rather than into _his_; and here I
sit, waiting the dear gentleman's coming up to me. If I keep but my
courage, I shall be pleased. I know the worst, and that will help
me; for he is too noble to use me roughly, when he sees I mean not to
provoke him by upbraidings, any more than I will act, in this case,
beneath the character I ought to assume as his wife.
Mr. B. came up, with great impatience in his looks. I met him at the
chamber door, with a very sedate countenance, and my heart was
high with my purpose, and supported me better than I could have
expected.--Yet, on recollection, now I impute to myself something
of that kind of magnanimity, that was wont to inspire the innocent
sufferers of old, for a still worthier cause than mine; though their
motives could hardly be more pure, in that one hope I had, to be an
humble means of saving the man I love and honour, from errors that
might be fatal to his soul.
I took his hand with boldness:--"Dear Sir," leading him to my closet,
"here is the bar at which I am to take my trial," pointing to the
backs of three chairs, which I had placed in a joined row, leaving
just room to go by on each side. "You must give me, Sir, all my own
way; this is the first, and perhaps the last time, that I shall desire
it.--Nay, dear Sir," turning my face from him, "look not upon me with
an eye of tenderness: if you do I may lose my purposes, important to
me as they are; and however fantastic my behaviour may seem to you,
I want not to move your passions (for the good impressions made upon
them may be too easily dissipated by the winds of _sense_,) but
_your reason_; and if that can be done, I am safe, and shall fear no
relapse."
"What means all this parade, my dear? Let me perish," that was his
word, "if I know how to account for _you_, or your _humour_."
"You _will_, presently. Sir. But give me all my ways--I pray you
do--This one time only!"
"Well, so, this is your bar, is it? There's an elbow-chair, I see;
take your place in it, Pamela, and here I'll stand to answer all your
questions."
"No, Sir, that must not be." So I boldly led him to the elbow-chair.
"You are the judge, Sir; it is I that am to be tried. Yet I will not
say I am a criminal. I know I am not. But that must be proved, Sir,
you know."
"Well, take your way; but I fear for your head, my dear, in all this."
"I fear only my heart, Sir, that's all! but there you must sit--So
here," (retiring to the three chairs, and leaning on the backs,) "here
I stand."
"And now, my dearest Mr. B., you must begin first; you must be my
accuser, as well as my judge."
"I have nothing to accuse you of, my dear, if I _must_ give in to your
moving whimsy. You are everything I wish you to be. But for the last
month you have seemed to be uneasy, and have not done me the justice
to acquaint me with your reasons for it."
"I was in hopes my reasons might have proved to be no reasons; and I
would not trouble you with my ungrounded apprehensions. But now, Sir,
we are come directly to the point; and methinks I stand here as Paul
did before Felix; and like that poor prisoner, if I, Sir, reason of
_righteousness, temperance_, and _judgment to come_, even to make you,
as the great Felix did, tremble, don't put me off to _another day_,
to a _more convenient season_, as that governor did Paul; for you must
bear patiently with all that I have to say."
"Strange, uncommon girl I how unaccountable is all this!--Pr'ythee,
my dear," and he pulled a chair by him, "come and sit down by me, and
without these romantic airs let me hear all you have to say; and teaze
me not with this parade."
"No, Sir, let me stand, if you please, while I can stand; when weary I
will sit down at my bar.
"Now, Sir, since you are so good as to say, you have nothing but
change of temper to accuse me of, I am to answer to that, and assign a
cause; and I will do it without evasion or reserve; but I beseech you
say not one word but Yes or No, to my questions, till I have said
all I have to say, and then you shall find me all silence and
resignation."
"Well, my strange dear!--But sure your head is a little turned!--What
is your question?"
"Whether, Sir, the Nun--I speak boldly; the cause requires it--who
followed you at the Masquerade every where, is not the Countess of--?"
"What then, my dear:" (speaking with quickness,)--"I _thought_ the
occasion of your sullenness and reserve was this!--But, Pamela--"
"Nay, Sir," interrupted I, "only Yes, or No, if you please: I will be
all silence by-and-by."
"Yes, then."--"Well, Sir, then let me tell you, for I _ask_ you not
(it may be too bold in me to multiply questions,) that she _loves_
you; that you correspond by letters with her--Yes, Sir, _before_ that
letter from her ladyship came, which you received from my hand in
so short and angry a manner, for fear of my curiosity to see its
contents, which would have been inexcusable in me, I own, if I had.
You have talked over to her all your polygamy notions, and she seems
so well convinced of them, as to declare to her noble uncle (who
expostulated with her on the occasions she gave for talk,) that she
had rather be a certain gentleman's second wife, than the first to the
greatest man in England: and you are but just returned from a journey
to Tunbridge, in which that lady was a party; and the motive for it, I
am acquainted with, by this letter."
He was displeased, and frowned: I looked down, being resolved not to
be terrified, if I could help it.
"I have cautioned you, Pamela----"
"I know you have, Sir," interrupted I; "but be pleased to answer me.
Has not the Countess taken a house or lodgings at Tunbridge?"
"She has; and what then?"
"And is her ladyship there, or in town?"
"_There_--and what then?"
"Are you to go to Tunbridge, Sir, soon, or not?--Be pleased to answer
but that one question."
"I _will_ know," rising up in anger, "your informants, Pamela."
"Dear Sir, so you shall, in proper time: you shall know all, when I am
convinced, that your wrath will not be attended with bad consequences
to yourself and others. That is wholly the cause of my reserve in this
point; for I have not had a thought, since I have been yours, that I
wished to be concealed from you.--But your knowledge of the informants
makes nothing at all as to the truth of the information--Nor will I
press you too home. I doubt not, you are soon to return to Tunbridge?"
"I _am_, and what then?--Must the consequence be crime enough to
warrant your jealousy?"
"Dear Sir, don't be so angry," still looking down; for I durst not
trust myself to look up. "I don't do this, as your letter charged me,
in a spirit of matrimonial recrimination: if you don't _tell_ me, that
you see the Countess with pleasure, I _ask_ it not of you; nor have I
anything to say by way of upbraiding. 'Tis my misfortune, that she is
too lovely, and too attractive: and it is the less wonder, that a fine
young gentleman as you are, and a fine young lady as she is, should
engage one another's affections.
"I knew every thing, except what this letter which you shall read
presently, communicates, when you brought the two noble sisters to
visit me: hence proceeded my grief; and should I, Sir, have deserved
to be what I am, if I was _not_ grieved? Religion has helped me, and
God has answered my supplications, and enabled me to act this new
uncommon part before you at this imaginary bar. You shall see, Sir,
that as, on one hand, I want not, as I said before, to move your
passions in my favour; so, on the other, I shall not be terrified by
your displeasure, dreaded by me as it used to be, and as it will be
again, the moment that my raised spirits sink down to their usual
level, or are diverted from this my long meditated purpose, to tell
you all my mind.
"I repeat, then, Sir, that I knew all this, when the two noble sisters
came to visit your poor girl, and to see your Billy. Yet, _grave_ as
the Countess called me, (dear Sir! might I not well be grave, knowing
what I knew?) did I betray any impatience of speech or action, or any
discomposure?
"No, Sir," putting my hand on my breast, "_here_ all my discomposure
lay, vehemently struggling, now and then, and wanting that vent of my
eyes, which it seems (overcome by my joy, to hear myself favourably
spoken of by you and the lady,) it _too soon_ made itself. But I could
not help it--You might have seen. Sir, I could not!
"But I want neither to recriminate nor expostulate; nor yet, Sir, to
form excuses for my general conduct; for that you accuse not in the
main--but be pleased, Sir, to read this letter. It was brought by the
penny-post, as you'll see by the mark. Who the writer is, I know not.
And did _you_, Sir, that knowledge, and your resentment upon it, will
not alter the fact, or give it a more favourable appearance."
I stepped to him, and giving him the letter, came back to my bar, and
sat down on one of the chairs while he read it, drying my eyes; for
they would overflow as I talked, do what I could.
He was much moved at the contents of this letter; called it malice,
and hoped he might find out the author of it, saying, he would
advertise 500 guineas reward for the discoverer.
He put the letter in his pocket, "Well, Pamela, you believe all you
have said, no doubt: and this matter has a black appearance, indeed,
if you do. But who was your _first_ informant?--Was that by letter or
personally? That Turner, I doubt not, is at the bottom of all this.
The vain coxcomb has had the insolence to imagine the Countess would
favour an address of his; and is enraged to meet with a repulse; and
has taken liberties upon it, that have given birth to all the scandals
scattered about on this occasion. Nor do I doubt but he has been the
Serpent at the ear of my Eve."
I stood up at the bar, and said, "Don't be too hasty, Sir, in your
judgment--You _may_ be mistaken."
"But _am_ I mistaken, Pamela?--You never told me an untruth in cases
the most important to you to conceal. _Am_ I mistaken?"
"Dear Sir, if I should tell you it is _not_ Mr. Turner, you'll guess
at somebody else: and what avails all this to the matter in hand? You
are your own master, and must stand or fall by your own conscience.
God grant that _that_ may acquit you!--But my intention is not either
to accuse or upbraid you."
"But, my dear, to the fact then:--This is a malicious and a villainous
piece of intelligence, given you, perhaps, for the sake of designs and
views, that may not yet be proper to be avowed."
"By God's grace, Sir, I defy all designs and views of any one, upon my
honour!"
"But, my dear, the charge is basely false: we have not agreed upon any
such way of life."
"Well, Sir, all this only proves, that the intelligence may be a
little premature. But now let me, Sir, sit down one minute, to recover
my failing spirits, and then I'll tell you all I purpose to do, and
all I have to say, and that with as much brevity as I can, for fear
neither my head nor my heart should perform the part I have been so
long in endeavouring to prevail upon them to perform."
I sat down then, he taking out the letter, and reading it again with
much vexation and anger in his countenance; and after a few tears
and sobs, that would needs be so officious as to offer their service,
unbidden, and undesired, to introduce what I had to say; I rose up, my
feet trembling, as well as my knees; which, however, leaning against
the seats of the chairs, that made my bar, as my hand held by the
back, tolerably supported me, I cleared my voice, wiped my eyes, and
said:
"You have all the excuse, dear Mr. B., that a gentleman can have in
the object of your present passion."
"Present passion, Pamela!"
"Dear Sir, hear me without interruption.
"The Countess is a charming lady. She excels your poor girl in all
those outward graces of form, which your kind fancy (more valued by me
than the opinion of all the world besides) had made you attribute
to me. And she has all those additional advantages, as nobleness of
birth, of alliance, and deportment, which I want. (Happy for you, Sir,
that you had known her ladyship some months ago, before you disgraced
yourself by the honours you have done me!) This therefore frees you
from the aggravated crime of those, who prefer, to their own ladies,
less amiable and less deserving persons; and I have not the sting
which those must have, who are contemned and ill-treated for the sake
of their inferiors. Yet cannot the Countess love you better than your
girl loves you, not even for your person, which must, I doubt, be
_her_ principal attachment! when I can truly say, all noble
and attracting to the outward eye as it is, that is the least
consideration by far with me: no, Sir, your generous and beneficent
mind, is the principal object of my affection; and my pride in hoping
to be an humble means, in the hands of Providence, to bless you
_hereafter_ as well as _here_, gave me more pleasure than all the
blessings I reaped from your name or your fortune. Judge then, my
dearest Mr. B., my grief and disappointment.
"But I will not expostulate: I _will not_, because it _must_ be to no
purpose; for could my fondness, and my watchful duty to you, have kept
you steady, I should not now appear before you in this solemn manner:
and I know the charms of my rival are too powerful for me to contend
with. Nothing but divine grace can touch your heart: and that I expect
not, from the nature of the case, should be instantaneous.
"I will therefore. Sir, dear as you are to me--(Don't look with such
tender surprise upon me!) give up your person to the happier, to my
_worthier_ rival. For since such is your will, and seem to be your
engagements, what avails it to me to oppose them?
"I have only to beg, that you will be so good as to permit me to
go down to Kent, to my dear parents, who, with many more, are daily
rejoicing in your favour and bounty. I will there" (holding up my
folded hands) "pray for you every hour of my life; and for every one
who shall be dear to you, not excepting the charming Countess.
"I will never take your name into my lips, nor suffer any other in
my hearing, but with reverence and gratitude, for the good I and mine
_have_ reaped at your hands: nor wish to be freed from my obligations
to you, except you shall choose to be divorced from me; and if so
I will give your wishes all the forwardness I honourably can, with
regard to my own character and yours, and that of your beloved baby.
"But you must give me something worth living for along with you; your
Billy and mine!--Unless it is your desire to kill me quite! and then
'tis done, and nothing will stand in your happy Countess's way, if
you tear from my arms my _second_ earthly good, after I am deprived of
you, my first.
"I will there, Sir, dedicate all my time to my first duties; happier
far, than once I could have hoped to be! And if, by any accident, and
misunderstanding between you, you should part by consent, and you
will have it so, my heart shall be ever yours, and my hopes shall be
resumed of being an instrument still for your future good, and I will
receive your returning ever-valued heart, as if nothing had happened,
the moment I can be sure it will be wholly mine.
"For, think not, dear Sir, whatever be your notions of polygamy,
that I will, were my life to depend upon it, consent to live with a
gentleman, dear as, God is my witness," (lifting up my tearful eyes)
"you are to me, who lives in what I cannot but think open sin with
another! You _know_, Sir, and I appeal to you for the purity, and I
will aver piety of my motives, when I say this, that I _would not_;
and as you do know this, I cannot doubt but nay proposal will be
agreeable to you both. And I beg of you, dear Sir, to take me at my
word; and don't let me be tortured, as I have been so many weeks, with
such anguish of mind, that nothing but religious considerations can
make supportable to me."
"And are you in earnest, Pamela?" coming to me, and folding me in his
arms over the chair's back, the seat of which supported my trembling
knees, "Can you so easily part with me?"
"I can, Sir, and I will!--rather than divide my interest in you,
knowingly, with any lady upon earth. But say not, can I part with you.
Sir; it is you that part with me: and tell me, Sir, tell me but what
you had intended should become of me?"
"You talk to me, my dearest life, as if all you had heard against
me was true; and you would have me answer you, (would you?) as if it
was."
"I want nothing to convince me, Sir, that the Countess loves you:
you know the rest of my information: judge for me, what I can, what I
ought to believe!--You know the rumours of the world concerning you:
Even I, who stay so much at home, and have not taken the least pains
to find out my wretchedness, nor to confirm it, since I knew it, have
come to the hearing of it; and if you know the licence taken with both
your characters, and yet correspond so openly, must it not look to me
that you value not your honour in the world's eye, nor my lady hers? I
told you, Sir, the answer she made to her uncle."
"You told me, my dear, as you were told. Be tender of a lady's
reputation--for your own sake. No one is exempted from calumny; and
even words said, and the occasion of saying them not known, may bear
a very different construction from 'what they would have done, had the
occasion been told."
"This may be all true. Sir: I wish the lady would be as tender of her
reputation as I would be, let her injure me in your affections as she
will. But can you say, Sir, that there is nothing between you, that
should _not_ be, according to _my_ notions of virtue and honour, and
according to your _own_, which I took pride in, before that fatal
masquerade?
"You answer me not," continued I; "and may I not fairly presume you
cannot as I wish to be answered? But come, dearest Sir," (and I put
my arms around his neck) "let me not urge you too boldly. I will never
forget your benefits, and your past kindnesses to me. I have been a
happy creature: no one, till within these few weeks, was ever so happy
as I. I will love you still with a passion as ardent as ever I loved
you. Absence cannot lessen such a love as mine: I am sure it cannot.
"I see your difficulties. You have gone too far to recede. If you can
make it easy to your conscience, I will wait with patience my happier
destiny; and I will wish to live (if I can be convinced you wish me
not to die) in order to pray for you, and to be a directress to the
first education of my dearest baby.
"You sigh, dear Sir; repose your beloved face next to my fond heart.
'Tis all your own: and ever shall be, let it, or let it not, be worthy
of the honour in your estimation.
"But yet, my dear Mr. B., if one could as easily, in the prime of
sensual youth, look twenty years backward, what an empty vanity, what
a mere nothing, will be all those grosser satisfactions, that now give
wings of desire to our debased appetites!
"Motives of religion will have their due force upon _your_ mind one
day, I hope; as, blessed be God, they have enabled _me_ to talk to you
on such a touching point (after infinite struggles, I own,) with so
much temper and resignation; and then, my dearest Mr. B., when we come
to that last bed, from which the piety of our friends shall lift us,
but from which we shall never be able to raise ourselves; for, dear
Sir, your Countess, and you, and your poor Pamela, must all come to
this!--we shall find what it is will give us true joy, and enable us
to support the pangs of the dying hour. Think you, my dearest Sir,"
(and I pressed my lips to his forehead, as his head was reclined on
my throbbing bosom,) "that _then_, in that important moment, what
now gives us the greatest pleasure, will have any part in our
consideration, but as it may give us woe or comfort in the reflection?
"But I will not, O best beloved of my soul, afflict you farther. Why
should I thus sadden all your gaudy prospects? I have said enough to
such a heart as yours, if Divine grace touches it. And if not, all I
can say will be of no avail!--I will leave you therefore to that, and
to your own reflections. And after giving you ten thousand thanks for
your indulgent patience with me, I will only beg, that I may set out
in a week for Kent, with my dear Billy; that you will receive one
letter at least, from me, of gratitude and blessings; it shall not be
of upbraidings and exclamations.
"But my child you must not deny me; for I shall haunt, like his
shadow, every place wherein you shall put my Billy, if you should be
so unkind to deny him to me!--And if you will permit me to have the
dear Miss Goodwin with me, as you had almost led me to hope, I will
read over all the books of education, and digest them, as well as I am
able, in order to send you my scheme, and to show you how fit, I hope
your _indulgence_, at least, will make you think me, of having two
such precious trusts reposed in me!"
I was silent, waiting in tears his answer. But his generous heart was
touched, and seemed to labour within him for expression.
He came round to me at last, and took me in his arms; "Exalted
creature!" said he: "noble-minded Pamela! Let no bar be put between
us henceforth! No wonder, when one looks back to your first promising
dawn of excellence, that your fuller day should thus irresistibly
dazzle such weak eyes as mine. Whatever it costs me, and I have been
inconsiderately led on by blind passion for an object too charming,
but which I never thought equal to my Pamela, I will (for it is yet,
I bless God, in my power), restore to your virtue a husband all your
own."
"O Sir, Sir," (and I should have sunk with joy, had not his kind arms
supported me,) "what have you said?--Can I be so happy as to behold
you innocent as to deed! God, of his infinite goodness, continue you
both so!--And, Oh! that the dear lady would make me as truly love her,
for the graces of her mind, as I admire her for the advantages of her
person!"
"You are virtue itself, my dearest life; and from this moment I will
reverence you as my tutelary angel. I shall behold you with awe, and
implicitly give up myself to all your dictates: for what you _say_,
and what you _do_, must be ever right. But I will not, my dearest
life, too lavishly promise, lest you should think it the sudden
effects of passions thus movingly touched, and which may subside
again, when the soul, as you observed in your own case, sinks to its
former level: but this I promise (and I hope you believe me, and will
pardon the pain I have given you, which made me fear more than once,
that your head was affected, so _uncommon_, yet so like _yourself_,
has been the manner of your acting,) that I will break off a
correspondence that has given you so much uneasiness: and my Pamela
may believe, that if I can be as good as my word in this point, she
will never more be in danger of any rival whatever.
"But say, my dear love," added he, "say you forgive me; and resume but
your former cheerfulness, and affectionate regards to me, else I shall
suspect the sincerity of your forgiveness: and you shall indeed go to
Kent, but not without me, nor your boy neither; and if you insist upon
it, the poor child you have wished so often and so generously to have,
shall be given up absolutely to your disposal."
Do you think. Madam, I could speak any one distinct sentence? No
indeed I could not. I was just choked with my joy; I never was so
before. And my eyes were in a manner fixed, as he told me afterwards;
and that he was a little startled, seeing nothing but the whites; for
the sight was out of its orbits, in a manner lifted up to heaven--in
ecstasy for a turn so sudden, and so unexpected!
We were forced to separate soon after; for there was no bearing each
other, so excessive was my Joy, and his goodness. He left me, and went
down to his own closet.
Judge my employment you will, I am sure, my dear lady. I had new
ecstasy to be blest with, in a thankfulness so exalted, that it left
me all light and pleasant, as if I had shook off body, and trod in
air; so much heaviness had I lost, and so much joy had I received.
From two such extremes, how was it possible I could presently hit the
medium? For when I had given up my beloved husband, as lost to me, and
had dreaded the consequences to his future state: to find him not only
untainted as to deed, but, in all probability, mine upon better and
surer terms than ever--O, Madam! must not this give a joy beyond all
joy, and surpassing all expression!
About eight o'clock Mr. B. sent me up these lines from his closet,
which will explain what I meant, as to the papers I must beg your
ladyship to return me.
"My dear Pamela,
"I have so much real concern at the anguish I have given you, and am
so much affected with the recollection of the uncommon scenes which
passed between us, just now, that I write, because I know not how
to look so excellent a creature in the face--You must therefore sup
without me, and take your Mrs. Jervis to bed with you; who, I doubt
not, knows all this affair; and you may tell her the happy event.
"You must not interfere with me just now, while writing upon a subject
which takes up all my attention; and which, requiring great delicacy,
I may, possibly, be all night before I can please myself in it.
"I am determined to make good my promise to you. But if you have
written to your mother, Miss Darnford, or to Lady Davers, anything of
this affair, you must shew me the copies, and let me into every tittle
how you came by your information. I solemnly promise you, on my honour
(that has not yet been violated to you, and I hope never will), that
not a soul shall know or suffer by the communication, not even Turner;
for I am confident he has had some hand in it. This request you must
comply with, if you can confide in me; for I shall make some use of it
(as prudent a one as I am able), for the sake of every one concerned,
in the conclusion of the correspondence between the lady and myself.
Whatever you may have said in the bitterness of your heart, in the
letters I require to see, or whatever any of those, to whom they
are directed, shall say, on the bad prospect, shall be forgiven, and
looked upon as deserved, by your _ever-obliged and faithful_, &c."