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.
Thomas said, God bless your honour! You know best. And I said, O, sir,
you are all goodness!—How kind is this, to forgive the disappointment,
instead of being angry, as I feared you would! Thomas then withdrew.
And my master said, I need not remind you of writing out of hand, to
make the good folks easy: and I will leave you to yourself for that
purpose; only send me down such of your papers, as you are willing I
should see, with which I shall entertain myself for an hour or two.
But, one thing, added he, I forgot to tell you: The neighbouring gentry
I mentioned will be here to-morrow to dine with me, and I have ordered
Mrs. Jewkes to prepare for them. And must I, sir, said I, be shewn to
them? O yes, said he; that’s the chief reason of their coming. And
you’ll see nobody equal to yourself: don’t be concerned.
I opened my papers, as soon as my master had left me; and laid out
those beginning on the Thursday morning he set out for Stamford, ‘with
the morning visit he made me before I was up, and the injunctions of
watchfulness, etc. to Mrs. Jewkes; the next day’s gipsy affair, and my
reflections, in which I called him truly diabolical, and was otherwise
very severe, on the strong appearances the matter had then against him.
His return on Saturday, with the dread he put me in, on the offering to
search me for my papers which followed those he had got by Mrs.
Jewkes’s means. My being forced to give them up. His carriage to me
after he had read them, and questions to me. His great kindness to me
on seeing the dangers I had escaped and the troubles I had undergone.
And how I unseasonably, in the midst of his goodness, expressed my
desire of being sent to you, having the intelligence of a
sham-marriage, from the gipsy, in my thoughts. How this enraged him,
and made him turn me that very Sunday out of his house, and send me on
my way to you. The particulars of my journey, and my grief at parting
with him; and my free acknowledgment to you, that I found, unknown to
myself, I had begun to love him, and could not help it. His sending
after me, to beg my return; but yet generously leaving me at my
liberty, when he might have forced me to return whether I was willing
or not. My resolution to oblige him, and fatiguing journey back. My
concern for his illness on my return. His kind reception of me, and
shewing me his sister Davers’s angry letter, against his behaviour to
me, desiring him to set me free, and threatening to renounce him as a
brother, if he should degrade himself by marrying me. My serious
reflections on this letter, etc.’ (all which, I hope, with the others,
you will shortly see.) And this carried matters down to Tuesday night
last.