Letter X

Dear Mother,

You and my good Father may wonder that you have not had a Letter from me in so many Weeks; but a sad, sad Scene has been the Occasion of it. For, to be sure, now it is too plain, that all your Cautions were well-grounded. O my dear Mother! I am miserable, truly miserable!—But yet, don’t be frighted, I am honest!—God, of his Goodness, keep me so!

O this Angel of a Master! this fine Gentleman! this gracious Benefactor to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the Prayer of his good dying Mother; who was so careful of me, lest I should be drawn in by Lord Davers’s Nephew; that he would not let me go to Lady Davers’s: This very Gentleman (yes, I must call him Gentleman, tho’ he has fallen from the Merit of that Title) has degraded himself to offer Freedoms to his poor Servant! He has now shew’d himself in his true Colours, and to me, nothing appears so black and so frightful.

I have not been idle; but have writ from time to time how he, by sly mean Degrees, exposed his wicked Views: But somebody stole my Letter, and I know not what is become of it. It was a very long one. I fear he that was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at this; but be it as it will, all the Use he can make of it will be, that he may be asham’d of his Part; I not of mine. For he will see I was resolv’d to be honest, and glory’d in the Honesty of my poor Parents. I will tell you all, the next Opportunity; for I am watch’d, and such-like, very narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, This Girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employ’d. And yet I work all Hours with my Needle, upon his Linen, and the fine Linen of the Family; and am besides about flowering him a Waistcoat.—But, Oh! my Heart’s broke almost; for what am I likely to have for my Reward, but Shame and Disgrace, or else ill Words, and hard Treatment! I’ll tell you all soon, and hope I shall find my long Letter.

Your most afflicted Daughter.

Letter XI

Dear Mother,

Well, I can’t find my Letter, and so I’ll tell you all, as briefly as I can. All went well enough in the main for some time after my last Letter but one. At last, I saw some Reason to suspect; for he would look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shew’d not well; and at last he came to me, as I was in the Summer-house in the little Garden, at work with my Needle, and Mrs. Jervis was just gone from me; and I would have gone out; but he said, No, don’t go, Pamela; I have something to say to you; and you always fly me so, whenever I come near you, as if you was afraid of me.

I was all confounded; and said at last; It does not become your poor Servant to stay in your Presence, Sir, without your Business requir’d it; and I hope I shall always know my Place.

Well, says he, my Business does require it sometimes, and I have a mind you should stay to hear what I have to say to you.

I stood all confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the Hand; for now no Soul was near us.

My Sister Davers, said he, (and seem’d, I thought, to be as much at a Loss for Words as I) would have had you live with her; but she would not do for you what I am resolv’d to do, if you continue faithful and obliging. What say’st thou, my Girl, said he, with some Eagerness, hadst thou not rather stay with me than go to my Sister Davers? He look’d so, as fill’d me with Affrightment; I don’t know how; wildly I thought.

I said, when I could speak, Your Honour will forgive your poor Servant; but as you have no Lady for me to wait upon, and my good Lady has been now dead this Twelve-month, I had rather, if it would not displease you, wait upon Lady Davers, because——

I was proceeding; and he said a little hastily—Because you’re a little Fool, and know not what’s good for yourself. I tell you, I will make a Gentlewoman of you, if you be obliging, and don’t stand in your own Light; and so saying, he put his Arm about me, and kiss’d me!

Now you will say, all his Wickedness appear’d plainly. I struggled, and trembled, and was so benumb’d with Terror, that I sunk down, not in a Fit, and yet not myself; and I found myself in his Arms, quite void of Strength, and he kissed me two or three times, as if he would have eaten me.—At last I burst from him, and was getting out of the Summer-house; but he held me back, and shut the Door.

I would have given my Life for a Farthing. And he said, I’ll do you no Harm, Pamela; don’t be afraid of me. I said, I won’t stay! You won’t, Hussy, said he! Do you know who you speak to! I lost all Fear, and all Respect, and said, Yes, I do, Sir, too well!—Well may I forget that I am your Servant, when you forget what belongs to a Master.

I sobb’d and cry’d most sadly. What a foolish Hussy you are, said he, have I done you any Harm?—Yes, Sir, said I, the greatest Harm in the World: You have taught me to forget myself, and what belongs to me, and have lessen’d the Distance that Fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself, to be so free to a poor Servant. Yet, Sir, said I, I will be so bold to say, I am honest, tho’ poor; And if you was a Prince, I would not be otherwise.

He was angry, and said, Who would have you otherwise, you foolish Slut! Cease your blubbering! I own I have demean’d myself; but it was only to try you: If you can keep this Matter secret, you’ll give me the better Opinion of your Prudence; and here’s something, said he, putting some Gold in my Hand, to make you Amends for the Fright I put you to. Go, take a Walk in the Garden, and don’t go in till your blubbering is over: And I charge you say nothing of what has past, and all shall be well, and I’ll forgive you.

I won’t take the Money, indeed, Sir, said I; poor as I am! I won’t take it: for to say Truth, I thought it look’d like taking Earnest; and so I put it upon the Bench; and as he seem’d vex’d and confus’d at what he had done, I took the Opportunity to open the Door, and went out of the Summer-house.

He called to me, and said, Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don’t go in yet, as I told you.

O how poor and mean must these Actions be, and how little must they make the best of Gentlemen look, when they offer such things as are unworthy of themselves, and put it into the Power of their Inferiors to be greater than they!

I took a Turn or two in the Garden, but in Sight of the House for fear of the worst, and breathed upon my Hand to dry my Eyes, because I would not be too disobedient. My next shall tell you more.

Pray for me, my dear Father and Mother; and don’t be angry I have not yet run away from this House, so late my Comfort and Delight, but now my Anguish and Terror. I am forc’d to break off, hastily,

Your dutiful and honest Daughter

Letter XII

Dear Mother,

Well, I will now proceed with my sad Story. And so after I had dry’d my Eyes, I went in, and begun to ruminate with myself what I had best to do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the House, and go to the next Town, and wait an Opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a Loss to resolve whether to take away the Things he had given me or no, and how to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with the Cloaths on my Back; but then I had two Miles and a half, and a By-way, to go to the Town; and being pretty well dress’d, I might come to some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be, thought I, it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was forc’d to run away; and to carry a bad Name back with me to my dear poor Parents, would be a sad thing indeed!—O how I wish’d for my grey Russet again, and my poor honest Dress, with which you fitted me out, and hard enough too you had to do it, God knows, for going to this Place, when I was but twelve Years old, in my good Lady’s Days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis, and taking her Advice, and only feared his Command, to be secret; for, thought I, he may be ashamed of his Actions, and never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him, thro’ Misfortunes that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his Displeasure upon her for my sake.

In this Quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I pass’d the Time in my Chamber till Evening; when desiring to be excused going to Supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me; and said, Why must I sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell me what is the Matter.

I begg’d I might be permitted to lie with her on Nights; for I was afraid of Spirits, and they would not hurt such a good Person as she. That was a silly Excuse, she said; for why was you not afraid of Spirits before? Indeed I did not think of that. But you shall be my Bedfellow with all my Heart, said she, let your Reason be what it will; only come down to Supper. I begg’d to be excus’d; for, said I, I have been crying so, that it will be taken Notice of by my Fellow-servants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we are a-bed.

She was so good to indulge me, and went down to Supper; but made more haste to come up to-bed; and told the Servants, that I should lie with her, because she said she could not rest well, and she would get me to read her to sleep, because she knew I lov’d reading, as she said.

When we were alone, I told her every bit and crumb of the Matter; for I thought, tho’ he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it would be no worse; for to keep a Secret of such a Nature, I thought would be to deprive myself of the good Advice which I never wanted more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought, and would keep worse Secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I right, my dear Mother?

Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling Tears with my Tears; for I cry’d all the Time I told her the Story; and begg’d her to advise me what to do; and I shew’d her my dear Father’s two Letters, and she praised the Honesty and Inditing of them; and said pleasing things to me of you both. But she begg’d I would not think of leaving my Service; for, says she, in all Likelihood, you behav’d so virtuously, that he will be asham’d of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: Tho’, my dear Pamela, said she, I fear more for your Prettiness than for any thing else; because the best Man in the Land might love you; so she was pleased to say. She said she wished it was in her Power to live independent; that then she would take a little private House, and I should live with her like her Daughter.

And so, as you order’d me to take her Advice, I resolved to tarry to see how things went, without he was to turn me away; altho’, in your first Letter, you order’d me to come away the Moment I had any Reason to be apprehensive. So, dear Father and Mother, it is not Disobedience, I hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a Blessing, or the good Fruits of your Prayers for me, if I was disobedient.

All the next Day I was very sad, and began to write my long Letter. He saw me writing, and said (as I mention’d) to Mrs. Jervis, That Girl is always scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that purpose. And when I had finish’d my Letter, I put it under the Toilet, in my late Lady’s Dressing-room, where nobody comes but myself and Mrs. Jervis, besides my Master; but when I came up again to seal it up, to my great Concern it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and nobody knew of my Master’s having been near the Place in the time; so I have been sadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks he has it some how or other; and he appears cross and angry, and seems to shun me, as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than worse!

But he has order’d Mrs. Jervis to bid me not spend so much time in writing; which is a poor Matter for such a Gentleman as he to take notice of, as I am not idle otherways, if he did not resent what he thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good Look.

But I am a good deal easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis; tho’ after all, the Fears I live in on one side, and his Frowning and Displeasure at what I do on the other, makes me more miserable than enough.

O that I had never left my Rags nor my Poverty, to be thus expos’d to Temptations on one hand, or Disgusts on the other! How happy was I a-while ago! How miserable now!—Pity and pray for

Your afflicted Pamela.

Letter XIII

My dearest Child,

Our Hearts bleed for your Distress and the Temptations you are tried with. You have our hourly Prayers; and we would have you flee this evil Great House and Man, if you find he renews his Attempts. You ought to have done it at first, had you not had Mrs. Jervis to advise with. We can find no Fault in your Conduct hitherto: But it makes our Hearts ake for fear of the worst. O my Child! Temptations are sore things; but yet without them, we know not our selves, nor what we are able to do.

Your Temptations are very great; for you have Riches, Youth, and a fine Gentleman, as the World reckons him, to withstand; but how great will be your Honour to withstand them! And when we consider your past Conduct, and your virtuous Education, and that you have been bred to be more asham’d of Dishonesty than Poverty, we trust in God that he will enable you to overcome. Yet, as we can’t see but your Life must be a Burden to you, through the great Apprehensions always upon you; and that it may be presumptuous to trust too much to your own Strength; and that you are but very young; and the Devil may put it into his Head to use some Stratagem, of which great Men are full, to decoy you; I think you had best come home to share our Poverty with Safety, than to live with so much Discontent in a Plenty, that itself may be dangerous. God direct you for the best. While you have Mrs. Jervis for an Adviser, and Bedfellow, (and, O my dear Child, that was prudently done of you) we are easier than we should be; and so committing you to God’s blessed Protection, remain

Your truly loving.
but careful, Father and Mother.

Letter XIV

Dear Father and Mother,

Mrs. Jervis and I have liv’d very comfortably together for this Fortnight past; for my Master was all that time at his Lincolnshire Estate, and at his Sister’s the Lady Davers. But he came home Yesterday. He had some Talk with Mrs. Jervis soon after he came home; and mostly about me. He said to her, it seems, Well, Mrs. Jervis, I know Pamela has your good Word; but do you think her of any Use in the Family? She told me, she was surpris’d at the Question; but said, That I was one of the most virtuous and industrious young Creatures that ever she knew. Why that Word virtuous, said he, I pray you? Was there any Reason to suppose her otherwise? Or has any body taken it into their Heads to try her?—I wonder, Sir, says she, you ask me such a Question! Who dare offer any thing to her in such an orderly and well-govern’d House as yours, and under a Master of so good a Character for Virtue and Honour? Your Servant, Mrs. Jervis, says he, for your good Opinion; but pray, if any body did, do you think Pamela would let you know it? Why, Sir, said she; she is a poor innocent young Thing, and I believe has so much Confidence in me, that she would take my Advice as soon as she would her Mother’s. Innocent! again; and virtuous, I warrant! Well, Mrs. Jervis, you abound with your Epithets; but ’tis my Opinion, she is an artful young Baggage; and had I a young handsome Butler or Steward, she’d soon make her Market of one of them, if she thought it worth while to snap at him for a Husband. Alack-a-day, Sir, said she, ’tis early Days with Pamela, and she does not yet think of a Husband, I dare say: And your Steward and Butler are both Men in Years, and think nothing of the Matter. No, said he, if they were younger, they’d have more Wit than to think of such a Girl. I’ll tell you my Mind of her, Mrs. Jervis, I don’t think this same Favourite of yours so very artless a Girl, as you imagine. I am not to dispute with your Honour about her, said Mrs. Jervis; but I dare say, if the Men will let her alone, she’ll never trouble herself about them. Why, Mrs. Jervis, said he, are there any Men that will not let her alone that you know of? No, indeed, Sir, said she; she keeps herself so much to herself, and yet behaves so prudently, that they all esteem her, and shew her as great Respect as if she was a Gentlewoman born.

Ay, says he, that’s her Art, that I was speaking of: But let me tell you, the Girl has Vanity and Conceit, and Pride too, or I am mistaken; and I could give you perhaps an Instance of it. Sir, said she, you can see further than such a poor silly Woman as me; but I never saw any thing but Innocence in her.—And Virtue too, I’ll warrant ye, said he. But suppose I could give you an Instance, where she has talk’d a little too freely of the Kindnesses that have been shew’d her from a certain Quarter; and has had the Vanity to impute a few kind Words utter’d in mere Compassion to her Youth and Circumstances, into a Design upon her, and even dar’d to make free with Names that she ought never to mention but with Reverence and Gratitude; what would you say to that?—Say, Sir! said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela incapable of such Ingratitude.

Well, no more of this silly Girl, says he; you may only advise her, as you are her Friend, not to give herself too much Licence upon the Favours she meets with; and if she stays here, that she will not write the Affairs of my Family purely for an Exercise to her Pen and her Invention. I tell you, she is a subtle artful Gypsey, and time will shew it you.

Was ever the like heard, my dear Father and Mother? It is plain he did not expect to meet with such a Repulse, and mistrusts that I have told Mrs. Jervis, and has my long Letter too that I intended for you; and so is vex’d to the Heart. But, however, I can’t help it. So I had better be thought artful and subtle, than be so, in his Sense; and as light as he makes of the Words Virtue and Innocence in me, he would have made a less angry Construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, may be, my Crime would have been my Virtue with him; naughty Gentleman as he is!—I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, That I am, and shall always be,

Your honest Daughter.

Letter XV

Dear Mother,

I Broke off abruptly my last Letter; for I fear’d he was coming; and so it happen’d. I thrust the Letter into my Bosom, and took up my Work, which lay by me; but I had so little of the Artful, as he called it, that I look’d as confused, as if I had been doing some great Harm.

Sit still, Pamela, said he, and mind your Work, for all me.—You don’t tell me I am welcome home after my Journey to Lincolnshire. It would be hard, Sir, said I, if you was not always welcome to your Honour’s own House.

I would have gone; but he said, Don’t run away, I tell you. I have a Word or two to say to you. Good Sirs, how my Heart went pit-a-pat! When I was a little kind, said he, to you in the Summer-house, and you carry’d yourself so foolishly upon it, as if I had intended to do you great harm, did I not tell you, you should take no Notice of what pass’d, to any Creature? And yet you have made a common Talk of the Matter, not considering either my Reputation or your own.—I made a common Talk of it, Sir, said I! I have nobody to talk to, hardly!

He interrupted me, and said, Hardly! you little Equivocator! what do you mean by hardly? Let me ask you, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis for one? Pray your Honour, said I, all in Agitation, let me go down; for ’tis not for me to hold an Argument with your Honour. Equivocator, again! said he, and took my Hand, what do you talk of an Argument? Is it holding an Argument with me, to answer a plain Question? Answer me what I asked. O good, Sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me further, for fear I forget myself again, and be sawcy.

Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you told Mrs. Jervis? It will be sawcy in you, if you don’t answer me directly to what I ask. Sir, said I, and fain would have pulled my Hand away, may be I should be for answering you by another Question, and that would not become me. What is it, says he, you would say? Speak out!

Then, Sir, said I, why should your Honour be so angry I should tell Mrs. Jervis, or any body else, what passed, if you intended no harm?

Well said, pretty Innocent and Artless! as Mrs. Jervis calls you, said he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, insolent as you are! But still I will be answered directly to my Question? Why then, Sir, said I, I will not tell a Lye for the World: I did tell Mrs. Jervis; for my Heart was almost broke; but I open’d not my Mouth to any other. Very well, Boldface, said he, and Equivocator, again! You did not open your Mouth to any other; but did you not write to some other? Why now, and please your Honour, said I, (for I was quite courageous just then) you could not have asked me this Question, if you had not taken from me my Letter to my Father and Mother, in which, I own, I had broke my Mind freely to them, and asked their Advice, and poured forth my Griefs!

And so I am to be exposed, am I, said he, in my House, and out of my House, to the whole World, by such a Sawcebox as you? No, good Sir, said I, and I hope your Honour won’t be angry with me; it is not me that expose you if I say nothing but the Truth. So, taunting again! Assurance as you are, said he! I will not be thus talk’d to.

Pray, Sir, said I, who can a poor Girl take Advice of, if it must not be of her Father and Mother, and such a good Woman as Mrs. Jervis, who for her Sex-sake, should give it me when asked? Insolence! said he, and stamp’d with his Foot, Am I to be question’d thus by such a one as you? I fell down on my Knees, and said, For God’s sake, your Honour, pity a poor distressed Creature, that knows nothing of her Duty, but how to cherish her Virtue and good Name! I have nothing else to trust to; and tho’ poor and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value Honesty above my Life. Here’s ado with your Honesty, said he, foolish Girl! Is it not one Part of Honesty, to be dutiful and grateful to your Master, do you think? Indeed, Sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ingrateful to your Honour, or disobedient, or deserve the Names of Boldface and Insolent, which you call me, but when your Commands are contrary to that first Duty, which shall ever be the Principle of my Life!

He seem’d to be moved, and rose up, and walked into the great Chamber two or three Turns, leaving me on my Knees; and I threw my Apron over my Face, and laid my Head on a Chair, and cry’d as if my Heart would break, having no Power to stir.

At last he came in again, but, alas! with Mischief in his Heart! and raising me up, he said, Rise, Pamela, rise; you are your own Enemy. Your perverse Folly will be your Ruin! I tell you this, that I am very much displeased with the Freedoms you have taken with my Name to my House-keeper, as also to your Father and Mother; and you may as well have real Cause to take these Freedoms with me, as to make my Name suffer for imaginary ones: And saying so, he offer’d to take me on his Knee, with some Force. O how I was terrify’d! I said, like as I had read in a Book a Night or two before, Angels, and Saints, and all the Host of Heaven, defend me1! And may I never survive one Moment, that fatal one in which I shall forfeit my Innocence. Pretty Fool! said he, how will you forfeit your Innocence, if you are oblig’d to yield to a Force you cannot withstand? Be easy, said he; for let the worst happen that can, you’ll have the Merit, and I the Blame; and it will be a good Subject for Letters to your Father and Mother, and a Tale into the Bargain for Mrs. Jervis.

He by Force kissed my Neck and Lips; and said, Who ever blamed Lucretia2 but the Ravisher only? and I am content to take all the Blame upon me; as I have already borne too great a Share for what I have deserv’d. May I, said I, Lucretia like, justify myself with my Death, if I am used barbarously? O my good Girl! said he, tauntingly, you are well read, I see; and we shall make out between us, before we have done, a pretty Story in Romance, I warrant ye!

He then put his Hand in my Bosom, and the Indignation gave me double Strength, and I got loose from him, by a sudden Spring, and ran out of the Room; and the next Chamber being open, I made shift to get into it, and threw-to the Door, and the Key being on the Inside, it locked; but he follow’d me so close, he got hold of my Gown, and tore a Piece off, which hung without the Door.

I just remember I got into the Room; for I knew nothing further of the Matter till afterwards; for I fell into a Fit with my Fright and Terror, and there I lay, till he, as I suppose, looking through the Keyhole, spy’d me lying all along upon the Floor, stretch’d out at my Length; and then he call’d Mrs. Jervis to me, who, by his Assistance, bursting open the Door, he went away, seeing me coming to myself; and bid her say nothing of the Matter, if she was wise.

Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worse, and cry’d over me like as if she was my Mother; and I was two Hours before I came to myself; and just as I got a little up on my Feet, he coming in, I went away again with the Terror; and so he withdrew again: But he staid in the next Room to let nobody come near us, that his foul Proceedings might not be known.

Mrs. Jervis gave me her Smelling-bottle, and had cut my Laces, and sat me in a great Chair, and he call’d her to him: How is the Girl, said he? I never saw such a Fool in my Life. I did nothing at all to her. Mrs. Jervis could not speak for crying. So, he said, she has told you, it seems, that I was kind to her in the Summer-house, tho’ I’ll assure you, I was quite innocent then as well as now; and I desire you to keep this Matter to yourself, and let me not be nam’d in it.

O Sir, said she, for your Honour’s sake, and for Christ’s sake—But he would not hear her, and said—For your own sake, I tell you, Mrs. Jervis, say not a Word more. I have done her no harm. And I won’t have her stay in my House; prating, perverse Fool, as she is! But since she is so apt to fall into Fits, or at least pretend to do so, prepare her to see me To-morrow after Dinner, in my Mother’s Closet, and do you be with her, and you shall hear what passes between us.

And so he went out in a Pet, and order’d his Chariot and Four to be got ready, and went away a Visiting somewhere.

Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happen’d, and said I was resolv’d not to stay in the House; and she saying, He seem’d to threaten as much; I said, Thank God; then I shall be easy: So she told me all he had said to her, as I have said above.

Mrs. Jervis is very loth I should go; and yet, poor Woman! she begins to be afraid for herself; but would not have me ruin’d for the World. She says, To be sure he means no good; but may be, now he sees me so resolute, he will give over all Attempts: And that I shall know what to do better after To-morrow, when I am to appear before a very bad Judge, I doubt!

O how I dread this To-morrow’s Appearance! But be assured, my dear Parents, of the Honesty of your poor Child! As I am sure I am of your Prayers for

Your dutiful Daughter.

Letter XVI

My dear Parents,

I Know you longed to hear from me soon. I send as soon as I could.

Well, you may believe how uneasily I passed the Time till his appointed Hour came. Every Minute, as it grew nearer, my Terrors increased; and sometimes I had great Courage, and sometimes none at all; and I thought I should faint when it came to the Time my Master had dined. I could neither eat nor drink, for my part; and do what I could, my Eyes were swell’d with crying.

At last he went up to the Closet, which was my good Lady’s Dressing-room; a Room I once lov’d, but then as much hated.

Don’t your Heart ake for me?—I am sure mine flutter’d about like a Bird in a Cage new caught. O Pamela, said I to my self, why art thou so foolish and fearful! Thou hast done no harm! what, if thou fearest an unjust Judge3, when thou art innocent, wouldst thou do before a just one, if thou wert guilty? Have Courage, Pamela, thou knowest the worst! And how easy a Choice Poverty and Honesty is, rather than Plenty and Wickedness?

So I chear’d myself; but yet my poor Heart sunk, and my Spirits were quite broken. Every thing that stirred, I thought was to call me to my Account. I dreaded it, and yet I wished it to come.

Well, at last he rung the Bell; O thought I, that it was my Passing-bell! Mrs. Jervis went up, with a full Heart enough, poor good Woman! He said, Where’s Pamela? let her come up, and do you come with her. She came to me; I was ready to come with my Feet, but my Heart was with my dear Father and Mother, wishing to share your Poverty and Happiness. But I went.

O how can wicked Men look so steddy and untouch’d, with such black Hearts, while poor Innocents look like Malefactors before them!

He looked so stern, that my Heart failed me, and I wish’d myself any-where but there, tho’ I had before been summoning up all my Courage. Good God of Heaven, said I to myself, give me Courage to stand before this naughty Master! O soften him! or harden me!

Come in, Fool, said he, angrily, as soon as he saw me (and snatch’d my Hand with a Pull); you may well be asham’d to see me, after your Noise and Nonsense, and exposing me as you have done. I ashamed to see you! thought I: Very pretty indeed!—But I said nothing.

Mrs. Jervis, said he, here you are both together. Do you sit down; but let her stand if she will: Ay, thought I, if I can; for my Knees beat one against another. Did you not think, when you saw the Girl in the way you found her in, that I had given her the greatest Occasion that could possibly be given any Woman? And that I had actually ruin’d her, as she calls it? Tell me, could you think any thing less? Indeed, says she, I fear’d so at first. Has she told you what I did to her, and all I did to her, to occasion all this Folly, by which my Reputation might have suffer’d in your Opinion, and in that of all the Family?—Tell me, what has she told you?

She was a little too much frighted, as she owned afterwards, at his Sternness, and said, Indeed she told me you only pulled her on your Knee, and kissed her.

Then I plucked up my Spirit a little. Only! Mrs. Jervis, said I, and was not that enough to shew me what I had to fear! When a Master of his Honour’s Degree demeans himself to be so free as that to such a poor Servant as me, what is the next to be expected?—But your Honour went further, so you did; and threaten’d what you would do, and talk’d of Lucretia, and her hard Fate.—Your Honour knows you went too far for a Master to a Servant, or even to his Equal; and I cannot bear it! So I fell a crying most sadly.

Mrs. Jervis began to excuse me, and to beg he would pity a poor Maiden, that had such a Value for her Reputation. He said, I speak it to her Face, I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that would not grow upon my Favours, or the Notice I took of her; but I abhor the Thought of forcing her to any thing. I know myself better, said he, and what belongs to me: And to be sure I have enough demean’d myself to take so much Notice of such a one as she; but I was bewitch’d, I think, by her, to be freer than became me; tho’ I had no Intention to carry the Jest farther.

What poor Stuff was all this, my dear Mother, from a Man of his Sense! But see how a bad Cause and bad Actions confound the greatest Wits!—It gave me a little more Courage then; for Innocence, I find, in a weak Mind, has many Advantages over Guilt, with all its Riches and Wisdom!

So I said, Your Honour may call this Jest or Sport, or what you please; but indeed, Sir, it is not a Jest that becomes the Distance between a Master and a Servant! Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, said he? Do you hear the Pertness of the Creature? I had a good deal of this Sort before in the Summer-house, and Yesterday too, which made me rougher to her than perhaps I had otherwise been.

Says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela, don’t be pert to his Honour! You should know your Distance; you see his Honour was only in jest!—O dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, don’t you blame me too! It is very difficult to keep one’s Distance to the greatest of Men, when they won’t keep it themselves to their meanest Servants!

See again, said he; could you believe this of the young Baggage, if you had not heard it. O good your Honour, said the well-meaning Gentlewoman, pity and forgive the poor Girl; she is but a Girl; and her Virtue is very dear to her; and I will pawn my Life for her, she will never be pert to your Honour, if you’ll be so good as to molest her no more, nor frighten her again. Said she, You see how, by her Fit, she was in Terror; she could not help it; and tho’ your Honour intended her no harm; yet the Apprehension was almost Death to her: And I had much ado to bring her to herself again. O the little Hypocrite, said he! she has all the Arts of her Sex; they are born with her; and I told you a-while ago, you did not know her. But, said he, this was not the Reason principally of my calling you before me both together: I find I am likely to suffer in my Reputation by the Perverseness and Folly of this Girl. She has told you all, and perhaps more than all; nay, I make no doubt of it; and she has written Letters; for I find she is a mighty Letter-writer! to her Father and Mother, and others, as far as I know; in which she makes herself an Angel of Light, and me, her kind Master and Benefactor, a Devil incarnate!—(O how People will sometimes, thought I, call themselves by the right Names!—) And all this I won’t bear; and so I am resolv’d she shall return to the Distresses and Poverty she was taken from; and let her take care how she uses my Name with Freedom, when she is gone from me.

I was brighten’d up at once upon these welcome Words: And I threw myself upon my Knees at his Feet, with a most sincere, glad Heart; and I said, God Almighty bless your Honour for your Resolution: Now I shall be happy; and permit me, on my bended Knees, to thank your Honour for all the Benefits and Favours you have heaped upon me: For the Opportunities I have had of Improvement and Learning; through my good Lady’s Means, and yours. I will now forget all your Honour has done to me: And I promise you, that I will never take your Name in my Lips, but with Reverence and Gratitude: And so God Almighty bless your Honour, for ever and ever, Amen!—And so I got up, and went away with another-guise sort of Heart than I came into his Presence with. And so I fell to writing this Letter. And thank God all is over.

And now my dearest Father and Mother, expect to see soon your poor Daughter, with an humble and dutiful Mind, return’d to you: And don’t fear but I know how to be happy with you as ever: For I will lie in the Loft, as I used to do; and pray let the little Bed be got ready; and I have a little Money, which will buy me a Suit of Cloaths, fitter for my Condition than what I have; and I will get Mrs. Mum-ford to help me to some Needle-work; and fear not that I shall be a Burden to you, if my Health continues; and I know God will bless me, if not for my own sake, for both your sakes, who have, in all your Trials and Misfortunes, preserved so much Integrity, as makes every body speak well of you both. But I hope he will let good Mrs. Jervis give me a Character, for fear it should be thought I was turn’d away for Dishonesty.

And so God bless you both, and may you be blest for me, and I blest for you: And I will always bless my Master and Mrs. Jervis. And so good Night; for it is late, and I shall be soon called to-bed.

I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me, because she has not called me to Supper with her; tho’ I could eat nothing if she had. But I make no doubt I shall sleep purely to Night, and dream that I am with you, in my dear, dear, happy Loft once more.

So, good Night again, my dear Father and Mother, says

Your honest poor Daughter.

Letter XVII

My dearest Daughter,

Welcome, ten times welcome, shall you be to us; for you come to us innocent, and happy, and honest; and you are the Staff of our Old-age, and our Comfort too4. And tho’ we cannot do for you as we would, yet we doubt not we shall live comfortably together, and what with my diligent Labour, and your poor Mother’s Spinning, and your Needle-work, I make no doubt we shall live better and better. Only your poor Mother’s Eyes begin to fail her; tho’ I bless God, I am as strong, and able, and willing to labour as ever; and Oh my dear Child, your Virtue has made me, I think, stronger and better than I was before. What blessed Things are Trials and Temptations to us, when they be overcome!

But I am thinking about those same four Guineas: I think you should give them back again to your Master; and yet I have broke them. Alas! I have only three left; but I will borrow it if I can, Part upon my Wages, and Part of Mrs. Mumford, and send it to you, that you may return it, against John comes next, if he comes again, before you.

I want to know how you come. I fansy honest John will be glad to bear you Company Part of the Way, if your Master is not so cross as to forbid him. And if I know time enough, your Mother will go one five Miles, and I will go ten on the Way, or till I meet you, as far as one Holiday will go: For that I can get Leave for; and we shall receive you with more Pleasure than we had at your Birth, when all the worst was over; or than we ever had in our Lives.

And so God bless you, till the happy Time comes; say both your Mother and I; which is all at present, from

Your truly loving Parents.

Letter XVIII

Dear Father and Mother

I Thank you a thousand times for your Goodness to me, express’d in your last Letter. I now long to get my Business done, and come to my New-Old Lot, again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my Master has turn’d me off; and as I shall come to you an honest Daughter, what Pleasure it is to what I should have, if I could not have seen you but as a guilty one! Well, my writing Time will soon be over, and so I will make Use of it now, and tell you all that has happen’d since my last Letter.

I wonder’d Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and fear’d she was angry; and when I had finish’d my Letter, I long’d for her coming to Bed. At last she came up, but seem’d shy and reserv’d; and I said, O my dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I hope. She said she was sorry Things went so far; and that she had a great deal of Talk with my Master after I was gone. She said, he seem’d mov’d at what I said, and at my falling on my Knees to him, and my Prayer for him, at my going away. He said, I was a strange Girl; he knew not what to make of me: And is she gone? said he: I intended to say something else to her, but she behav’d so oddly, that I had not Power to stop her. She ask’d if she should call me again. He said, Yes; and then, No, let her go; it is best for her and me too, that she shall go now I have given her Warning. But where she had it, I can’t tell; but I never met with the Fellow of her in my Life, at any Age. She said, he had order’d her not to tell me all: but she believ’d he never would offer any thing to me again, and I might stay, she fansy’d, if I would beg it as a Favour; tho’ she was not sure neither.

I stay! dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, why ’tis the best News that could have come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go back again to my Poverty and Distress, as he said I should; for, tho’ I am sure of the Poverty, I shall not have Half the Distress I have had for some Months past, I’ll assure you.

Mrs. Jervis, dear good Soul, wept over me, and said, Well, well, Pamela, I did not think I had shew’d so little Love to you, as that you should express so much Joy to leave me. I am sure I never had a Child half so dear to me as you!

I cry’d to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been; and said, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to my own Father and Mother, and you are the chief Concern I have to leave this Place; but I am sure it is certain Ruin if I stay. After such Offers, and such Threatenings, and his comparing himself to a wicked Ravisher, in the very Time of his last Offer; and making a Jest of me, that we should make a pretty Story in Romances; can I stay, and be safe? Has he not demean’d himself twice? and it behoves me to beware of the third Time, for fear he should lay his Snares surer; for may-hap he did not expect a poor Servant would resist her Master so much. And must it not be look’d upon as a sort of Warrant for such Actions, if I stay after this? for I think, when one of our Sex finds she is attempted, it is an Encouragement to a Person to proceed, if one puts one’s self in the Way of it, when one can help it; and it shews one can forgive what in short ought not to be forgiven. Which is no small Countenance to foul Actions, I’ll assure you.

She hugg’d me to her, and said, I’ll assure you! Pretty-face, where gottest thou all thy Knowledge, and thy good Notions, at these Years? Thou art a Miracle for thy Age, and I shall always love thee! But, do you resolve to leave us, Pamela?

Yes, my dear Mrs. Jervis, said I; for as Matters stand, how can I do otherwise?—But I’ll do all the Duties of my Place first, if I may. And I hope you’ll give me a Character as to my Honesty, as it may not look as if I was turn’d away for any Harm. Ay, that I will, said she; I will give thee such a Character as never Girl at thy Years deserv’d. And I am sure, said I, I will always love and honour you, as my third best Friend, where-ever I go, or whatever becomes of me.

And so we went to Bed, and I never wak’d ’till ’twas Time to rise; which I did, as blyth as a Bird, and went about my Business with great Pleasure.

But I believe my Master is fearfully angry with me; for he past by me two or three times, and would not speak to me; and towards Evening he met me in the Passage, going into the Garden, and said such a Word to me as I never heard in my Life from him, to Man, Woman or Child; for he first said, This Creature’s always in my way, I think! I said, standing up as close as I could, and the Entry was wide enough for a Coach too, I hope I shan’t be long in your Honour’s Way. D—n you! said he, (that was the hard Word) for a little Witch; I have no Patience with you.

I profess I trembled to hear him say so; but I saw he was vex’d, and as I am going away, I minded it the less. But I see, my dear Parents, that when a Person will do wicked Things, it is no Wonder he will speak wicked Words. And so I rest

Your dutiful Daughter.

Letter XIX

Dear Father and Mother,

Our John having no Opportunity to go your Way, I write again, and send both Letters at once. I can’t say yet when I can get away, nor how I shall come; because Mrs. Jervis shew’d my Master the Waistcoat I am flowering for him, and he said, It looks well enough, I think the Creature had best stay till she has finish’d it.

There is some private Talk carry’d on betwixt him and Mrs. Jervis, that she don’t tell me of; but yet she is very kind to me, and I don’t mistrust her at all. I should be very base if I did. But to be sure she must oblige him, and keep all his lawful Commands; and other, I dare say, she won’t keep; she is too good, and loves me too well; but she must stay when I am gone, and so must get no Ill-will.

She has been at me again to ask to stay, and humble myself, as she says. But what have I done, Mrs. Jervis, said I? If I have been a Sawce-box, and a Bold-face, and Pert, and a Creature, as he calls me, have I not had Reason? Do you think I should ever have forgot myself, if he had not forgot to act as my Master? Tell me, from your own Heart, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, if you think I could stay and be safe? What would you think, or how would you act in my Case?

My dear Pamela, said she, and kiss’d me, I don’t know how I should act, or what I should think. I hope I should act as you do. But I know nobody else that would. My Master is a fine Gentleman; he has a great deal of Wit and Sense, and is admir’d, as I know, by half a dozen Ladies, who would think themselves happy in his Addresses. He has a noble Estate; and yet I believe he loves my good Maiden, tho’ his Servant, better than all the Ladies in the Land; and he has try’d to overcome it, because he knows you are so much his Inferior; and ’tis my Opinion he finds he can’t; and that vexes his proud Heart, and makes him resolve you shan’t stay, and so he speaks so cross to you, when he sees you by Accident.

Well, but, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you, if he can stoop to like such a poor Girl as I, as may be he may, for I have read of Things almost as strange, from great Men to poor Damsels; What can it be for?—He may condescend, may-hap, to think I may be good enough for his Harlot; and those Things don’t disgrace Men, that ruin poor Women, as the World goes. And so, if I was wicked enough, he would keep me till I was undone, and ‘till his Mind changed; for even wicked Men, I have read, soon grow weary of Wickedness of one Sort, and love Variety. Well then, poor Pamela must be turn’d off, and look’d upon as a vile abandon’d Creature, and every body would despise her; ay, and justly too, Mrs. Jervis; for she that can’t keep her Virtue, ought to live in Disgrace.

But, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me tell you, that I hope, if I was sure he would always be kind to me, and never turn me off at all, that God will give me his Grace, so as to hate and withstand his Temptations, were he not only my Master, but my King, for the Sin’s sake; and this my poor dear Parents have always taught me; and I should be a sad wicked Creature indeed, if, for the sake of Riches or Favour, I should forfeit my good Name: yea, and worse than any other young body of my Sex; because I can so contentedly return to my Poverty again, and think it less Disgrace to be oblig’d to wear Rags, and live upon Rye-bread and Water, as I use to do, than to be a Harlot to the greatest Man in the World.

Good Mrs. Jervis lifted up her Hands, and had her Eyes full of Tears: God bless you, my dear Love, said she; you are my Admiration and Delight!—How shall I do to part with you?

Well, good Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you now:—You and he have had some Talk, and you mayn’t be suffer’d to tell me all. But, do you think, if I was to ask to stay, that he is sorry for what he has done! ay, and asham’d of it too! for I am sure he ought, considering his high Degree, and my low Degree, and how I have nothing in the World to trust to but my Honesty! Do you think in your own Conscience now, pray answer me truly; that he would never offer any thing to me again; and that I could be safe?

Alas! my dear Child, said she, don’t put thy home Questions to me, with that pretty becoming Earnestness in thy Look. I know this, that he is vex’d at what he has done; he was vex’d the first Time, more vex’d the second Time.

Yes, said I, and so he will be vex’d I suppose the third, and the fourth Time too, ‘till he has quite ruin’d your poor Maiden, and who will have Cause to be vex’d then?

Nay, Pamela, said she, don’t imagine that I would be accessary to your Ruin for the World. I only can say, that he has yet done you no Hurt; and ’tis no Wonder that he should love you, you are so pretty; tho’ so much beneath him: But I dare swear for him, he never will offer you any Force.

You say, said I, that he was sorry for his first Offer in the Summer-house; well, and how long did his Sorrow last?—Only ’till he found me by myself; and then he was worse than before: and so became sorry again. And if he has design’d to love me, and you say can’t help it, why he can’t help it neither, if he should have an Opportunity, a third time to distress me. And I have read, that many a Man has been asham’d at a Repulse, that never would, had they succeeded. Besides, Mrs. Jervis, if he really intends to offer no Force, What does that mean?—While you say he can’t help liking me, for Love it cannot be!—Does not it imply, that he hopes to ruin me by my own Consent? I think, said I, (and I hope God would give me Grace to do so) that I should not give way to his Temptations on any Account; but it would be very presumptuous in me to rely upon my own Strength, against a Gentleman of his Qualifications and Estate, and who is my Master; and thinks himself intitled to call me Bold-face, and what not; only for standing on my necessary Defence? And that where the Good of my Soul and Body, and my Duty to God, and my Parents, are all concerned. How then, Mrs. Jervis, said I, can I ask or wish to stay?

Well, well, says she; as he seems very desirous you should not stay, I hope it is from a good Motive; for fear he should be tempted to disgrace himself as well as you. No, no, Mrs. Jervis, said I; I have thought of that too, for I would be glad to think of him with that Duty that becomes me; but then he would have let me gone to Lady Davers, and not have hinder’d my Preferment. And he would not have said, I should return to my Poverty and Distress, when I had been, by his Mother’s Goodness, lifted out of it; but that he intended to fright me, and punish me, as he thought, for not complying with his Wickedness: And this shews me enough what I have to expect from his future Goodness, except I will deserve it at his own dear, dear Price!

She was silent, and I said, Well there’s no more to be said; I must go, that’s certain; All my Concern will be how to part with you: And indeed, next to you, with every body; for all my Fellow-servants have lov’d me, and you and they will cost me a Sigh and a Tear too now-and-then, I am sure; and so I fell a-crying. I could not help it. For it is a pleasant Thing to one to be in a House among a great many Fellow-servants, and be belov’d by them all.

Nay, I should have told you before now, how kind and civil Mr Longman our Steward is: Vastly courteous indeed on all Occasions, and he said, once to Mrs. Jervis, he wish’d he was a young Man for my sake, I should be his Wife, and he would settle all he had upon me on Marriage; and, you must know, he is reckon’d worth a Power of Money.

I take no Pride in this; but bless God, and your good Example, my dear Parents, that I have been enabled to have every body’s good Word. Not but that our Cook one Day, who is a little snappish and cross sometimes, said once to me, Why this Pamela of ours goes as fine as a Lady. See what it is to have a fine Face!—I wonder what the Girl will come to at last!

She was hot with her Work; and I sneak’d away; for I seldom went down in the Kitchen; and I heard the Butler say, Why, Jane, nobody has your good Word! What has Mrs. Pamela done to you? I am sure she offends no body. And what, said the peevish Wench, have I said to her, Foolatum; but that she was pretty? They quarrel’d afterwards, I heard; but I was sorry for it, and troubled myself no more about it. Forgive this silly Prattle, from

Your dutiful Daughter.