a gentleman; and if you would suffer me, I would love you as well as
ever.—But for a woman of sense and understanding, and a fine-bred
woman, as I once thought my sister, you act quite a childish part.
Come, added he, and held the glass to her lips, let your brother, that
you once loved, prevail on you to drink this glass of wine.—She then
drank it. He kissed her, and said, Oh! how passion deforms the noblest
minds! You have lost a good deal of that loveliness that used to adorn
my sister. And let me persuade you to compose yourself, and be my
sister again!—For Lady Davers is, indeed, a fine woman; and has a
presence as majestic for a lady, as her dear brother has for a
gentleman.
He then sat down between us again, and said, when the second course
came in, Let Abraham come in and wait. I touched his toe again; but he
minded it not; and I saw he was right; for her ladyship began to
recollect herself, and did not behave half so ill before the servants,
as she had done; and helped herself with some little freedom; but she
could not forbear a strong sigh and a sob now and then. She called for
a glass of the same wine she had drank before. Said he, Shall I help
you again, Lady Davers?—and rose, at the same time, and went to the
sideboard, and filled her a glass. Indeed, said she, I love to be
soothed by my brother!—Your health, sir!
Said my master to me, with great sweetness, My dear, now I’m up, I’ll
fill for you!—I must serve both sisters alike! She looked at the
servant, as if he were a little check upon her, and said to my master,
How now, sir!—Not that you know of. He whispered her, Don’t shew any
contempt before my servants to one I have so deservedly made their
mistress. Consider, ’tis done.—Ay, said she, that’s the thing that
kills me.
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;
and Mrs. Jewkes shall wait upon you part of the way: And I hope you’ll
find me in a better disposition to receive you there, than I am at
parting with you here.
Had I not hoped, that this was partly put on to intimidate my lady, I
believe I could not have borne it: But it was grievous to me; for I saw
he was most sincerely in a passion.
I was afraid, said she, he would be angry at you, as well as me; for
well do I know his unreasonable violence, when he is moved. But one
word, sir, said she; Pardon Pamela, if you won’t me; for she has
committed no offence, but that of good-nature to me, and at my request.
I will be gone myself, directly as I was about to do, had you not
prevented me.
I prevented you, said he, through love; but you have strung me for it,
through hatred. But as for my Pamela, I know, besides the present
moment, I cannot be angry with her; and therefore I desire her never to
see me, on such occasions, till I can see her in the temper I ought to
be in, when so much sweetness approaches me. ’Tis therefore I say, my
dearest, leave me now.
But, sir, said I, must I leave you, and let you go to Bedfordshire
without me? Oh, dear sir, how can I?—Said my lady, You may go
to-morrow, both of you, as you had designed; and I will go away this
afternoon: And, since I cannot be forgiven, will try to forget I have a
brother.
May I, sir, said I, beg all your anger on myself, and to be reconciled
to your good sister? Presuming Pamela! replied he, and made me start;
Art thou then so hardy, so well able to sustain a displeasure, which of
all things, I expected from thy affection, and thy tenderness, thou
would’st have wished to avoid?—Now, said he, and took my hand, and, as
it were, tossed it from him, begone from my presence, and reflect upon
what you have said to me!
I was so frightened, (for then I saw he took amiss what I said,) that I
took hold of his knees, as he was turning from me; and I said, Forgive
me, good sir! you see I am not so hardy! I cannot bear your
displeasure! And was ready to sink.
His sister said, Only forgive Pamela; ’tis all I ask—You’ll break her
spirit quite!—You’ll carry your passion as much too far as I have
done!—I need not say, said he, how well I love her; but she must not
intrude upon me at such times as these!—I had intended, as soon as I
could have quelled, by my reason, the tumults you had caused by your
violence, to have come in, and taken such a leave of you both, as might
become a husband, and a brother: But she has, unbidden, broke in upon
me, and must take the consequence of a passion, which, when raised, is
as uncontrollable as your own.
Said she, Did I not love you so well, as sister never loved a brother,
I should not have given you all this trouble. And did I not, said he,
love you better than you are resolved to deserve, I should be
indifferent to all you say. But this last instance, after the duelling
story (which you would not have mentioned, had you not known it is
always matter of concern for me to think upon), of poor Sally Godfrey,
is a piece of spite and meanness, that I can renounce you my blood for.
Well, said she, I am convinced it was wrong. I am ashamed of it myself.
’Twas poor, ’twas mean, ’twas unworthy of your sister: And ’tis for
this reason I stoop to follow you, to beg your pardon, and even to
procure one for my advocate, who I thought had some interest in you, if
I might have believed your own professions to her; which now I shall
begin to think made purposely to insult me.
I care not what you think!—After the meanness you have been guilty of,
I can only look upon you with pity: For, indeed, you have fallen very
low with me.
’Tis plain I have, said she. But I’ll begone.—And so, brother, let me
call you for this once! God bless you! And Pamela, said her ladyship,
God bless you! and kissed me, and wept.
I durst say no more: And my lady turning from him, he said, Your sex is
the d—l! how strangely can you discompose, calm, and turn, as you
please, us poor weathercocks of men! Your last kind blessing to my
Pamela I cannot stand! Kiss but each other again. And then he took both
our hands, and joined them; and my lady saluting me again, with tears
on both sides, he put his kind arms about each of our waists, and
saluted us with great affection, saying, Now, God bless you both, the
two dearest creatures I have in the world!
Well, said she, you will quite forget my fault about Miss—He stopt her
before she could speak the name, and said, For ever forget it!—And,
Pamela, I’ll forgive you too, if you don’t again make my displeasure so
light a thing to you, as you did just now.
Said my lady, She did not make your displeasure a light thing to her;
but the heavier it was, the higher compliment she made me, that she
would bear it all, rather than not see you and me reconciled. No matter
for that, said he: It was either an absence of thought, or a slight by
implication, at least, that my niceness could not bear from her
tenderness: For looked it not presuming, that she could stand my
displeasure, or was sure of making her terms when she pleased? Which,
fond as I am of her, I assure her, will not be always, in wilful
faults, in her power.
Nay, said my lady, I can tell you, Pamela, you have a gentleman here in
my brother; and you may expect such treatment from him, as that
character, and his known good sense and breeding, will always oblige
him to shew: But if you offend, the Lord have mercy upon you!—You see
how it is by poor me!—And yet I never knew him to forgive so soon.
I am sure, said I, I will take care as much as I can; for I have been
frightened out of my wits, and had offended, before I knew where I was.
So happily did this storm blow over; and my lady was quite subdued and
pacified.
When we came out of the garden, his chariot was ready; and he said,
Well, sister, I had most assuredly gone away towards my other house, if
things had not taken this happy turn; and, if you please, instead of
it, you and I will take an airing: And pray, my dear, said he to me,
bid Mrs. Jewkes order supper by eight o’clock, and we shall then join
you.
Sir, added he, to her nephew, will you take your horse and escort us? I
will, said he: and am glad, at my soul, to see you all so good friends.
So my dear lord and master handed my lady into his chariot, and her
kinsman and his servants rode after them and I went up to my closet to
ruminate on these things. And, foolish thing that I am, this poor Miss
Sally Godfrey runs into my head!—How soon the name and quality of a
wife gives one privileges, in one’s own account!—Yet, methinks, I want
to know more about her; for, is it not strange, that I, who lived years
in the family, should have heard nothing of this? But I was so
constantly with my lady, that I might the less hear of it; for she, I
dare say, never knew it, or she would have told me.
But I dare not ask him about the poor lady.—Yet I wonder what became of
her! Whether she be living? And whether any thing came of it?—May be I
shall hear full soon enough!—But I hope not to any bad purpose.
As to the other unhappy case, I know it was talked of, that in his
travels, before I was taken into the family long, he had one or two
broils; and, from a youth, he was always remarkable for courage, and is
reckoned a great master of his sword. God grant he may never be put to
use it! and that he may be always preserved in honour and safety!
About seven o’clock my master sent word, that he would have me not
expect him to supper; for that he, and my lady his sister, and nephew,
were prevailed upon to stay with Lady Jones; and that Lady Darnford,
and Mr. Peters’s family, had promised to meet them there. I was glad
they did not send for me; and the rather, as I hoped those good
families being my friends, would confirm my lady a little in my favour;
and so I followed my writing closely.
About eleven o’clock they returned. I had but just come down, having
tired myself with my pen, and was sitting talking with Mrs. Jewkes and
Mrs. Worden, whom I would, though unwillingly on their sides, make sit
down, which they did over against me. Mrs. Worden asked my pardon, in a
good deal of confusion, for the part she had acted against me; saying,
That things had been very differently represented to her; and that she
little thought I was married, and that she was behaving so rudely to
the lady of the house.
I said, I took nothing amiss; and very freely forgave her; and hoped my
new condition would not make me forget how to behave properly to every
one; but that I must endeavour to act not unworthy of it, for the
honour of the gentleman who had so generously raised me to it.
Mrs. Jewkes said, that my situation gave me great opportunities of
shewing the excellence of my nature, that I could forgive offences
against me so readily, as she, for her own part, must always, she said,
acknowledge, with confusion of face.
People, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don’t know how they shall act, when their
wills are in the power of their superiors; and I always thought one
should distinguish between acts of malice, and of implicit obedience;
though, at the same time, a person should know how to judge between
lawful and unlawful. And even the great, though at present angry they
are not obeyed, will afterwards have no ill opinion of a person for
withstanding them in their unlawful commands.
Mrs. Jewkes seemed a little concerned at this; and I said, I spoke
chiefly from my own experience: For that I might say, as they both knew
my story, that I had not wanted both for menaces and temptations; and
had I complied with the one, or been intimidated by the other, I should
not have been what I was.
Ah, madam! replied Mrs. Jewkes, I never knew any body like you; and I
think your temper sweeter, since the happy day, than before; and that,
if possible, you take less upon you.
Why, a good reason, said I, may be assigned for that: I thought myself
in danger: I looked upon every one as my enemy; and it was impossible
that I should not be fretful, uneasy, jealous. But when my dearest
friend had taken from me the ground of my uneasiness, and made me quite
happy, I should have been very blamable, if I had not shewn a satisfied
and easy mind, and a temper that should engage every one’s respect and
love at the same time, if possible: And so much the more, as it was but
justifying, in some sort, the honour I had received: For the fewer
enemies I made myself, the more I engaged every one to think, that my
good benefactor had been less to blame in descending as he has done.
This way of talking pleased them both very much; and they made me many
compliments upon it, and wished me always to be happy, as, they said, I
so well deserved.
We were thus engaged, when my master, and his sister and her nephew,
came in: and they made me quite alive, in the happy humour in which
they all returned. The two women would have withdrawn: but my master
said, Don’t go, Mrs. Worden: Mrs. Jewkes, pray stay; I shall speak to
you presently. So he came to me, and, saluting me, said, Well, my dear
love, I hope I have not trespassed upon your patience, by an absence
longer than we designed. But it has not been to your disadvantage; for
though we had not your company, we have talked of nobody else but you.
My lady came up to me, and said, Ay, child, you have been all our
subject. I don’t know how it is: but you have made two or three good
families, in this neighbourhood, as much your admirers, as your friend
here.