Volume II

Thursday Morning.

Somebody rapp’d at our Chamber-door this Morning soon after it was light: Mrs. Jewkes ask’d who it was; my Master said, Open the Door, Mrs. Jewkes!—O, said I, for God’s sake, Mrs. Jewkes, don’t. Indeed, said she, but I must; I clung about her. Then, said I, let me slip on my Cloaths first. But he rapp’d again, and she broke from me; and I was frighted out of my Wits, and folded myself in the Bed-cloaths. He enter’d, and said, What, Pamela, so fearful, after what pass’d yesterday between us! O Sir, Sir, said I, I fear my Prayers have wanted their wish’d Effect. Pray, good Sir, consider—He sat down on the Bed-side, and interrupted me, No need of your foolish Fears; I shall say but a Word or two, and go away.

After you went to Bed, said he, I had an Invitation to a Ball, which is to be this Night at Stamford, on Occasion of a Wedding; and I am going to call on Sir Simon and his Lady, and Daughters; for it is a Relation of theirs: So I shall not be at home till Saturday. I come therefore to caution you, Mrs. Jewkes, before Pamela, (that she may not wonder at being closer confin’d, than for these three or four Days past) that no body sees her, nor delivers any Letter to her in this Space; for a Person has been seen lurking about, and inquiring after her; and I have been well inform’d, that either Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Longman, has wrote a Letter, with a Design of having it convey’d to her: And, said he, you must know, Pamela, that I have order’d Mr. Longman to give up his Accounts, and have dismiss’d Jonathan, and Mrs. Jervis, since I have been here; for their Behaviour has been intolerable: and they have made such a Breach between my Sister Davers and me, that we shall never, perhaps, make up. Now, Pamela, I shall take it kindly in you, if you will confine yourself to your Chamber pretty much for the Time I am absent, and not give Mrs. Jewkes Cause of Trouble or Uneasiness; and the rather, as you know she acts by my Orders.

Alas! Sir, said I, I fear all these good Bodies have suffer’d for my sake!—Why, said he, I believe so too; and there never was a Girl of your Innocence, that set a large Family in such Uproar, surely.—But let that pass. You know both of you my Mind, and in part, the Reason of it. I shall only say, that I have had such a Letter from my Sister, that I could not have expected; and, Pamela, said he, neither you nor I have Reason to thank her, as you shall know, perhaps, at my Return.—I go in my Coach, Mrs. Jewkes, because I take Lady Darnford, and Mr. Peters’s Niece, and one of Lady Darnford’s Daughters; and Sir Simon and his other Daughter go in his Chariot; so let all the Gates be fasten’d, and don’t take any Airing in either of the two Chariots, nor let any body go to the Gate, without you, Mrs. Jewkes. I’ll be sure, said she, to obey your Honour.

I will give Mrs. Jewkes no Trouble, Sir, said I, and will keep pretty much in my Chamber, and not stir so much as into the Garden, without her; to shew you I will obey in every thing I can. But I begin to fear—Ay, said he, more Plots and Contrivances, don’t you?—But I’ll assure you, you never had less Reason; and I tell you the Truth; for I am really going to Stamford, this Time; and upon the Occasion I tell you. And so, Pamela, give me your Hand, and one Kiss, and I am gone.

I durst not refuse, and said, God bless you, Sir, where-ever you go!—But I am sorry for what you tell me about your Servants!

He and Mrs. Jewkes had a little Talk without the Door; and I heard her say, You may depend, Sir, upon my Care and Vigilance.

He went in his Coach, as he said he should, and very richly dress’d; which looks like what he said: But, really, I have had so many Tricks, and Plots, and Surprizes, that I know not what to think. But I mourn for poor Mrs. Jervis.—So here is Parson Williams; here is poor naughty John; here is good Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Jonathan, turn’d away for me!—Mr. Longman is rich indeed, and so need the less matter it; but I know it will grieve him: And for poor Mr. Jonathan, I am sure it will cut that good old Servant to the Heart. Alas for me! What Mischiefs am I the Occasion of?—Or, rather, my Master, whose Actions by me, have made so many of my good kind Friends forfeit his Favour, for my sake!

I am very sad about these things: If he really loved me, methinks he should not be so angry that his Servants loved me too.—I know not what to think!

Friday Night.

I Have removed my Papers from under the Rose-bush; for I saw the Gardener begin to dig near that Spot; and I was afraid he would find them. Mrs. Jewkes and I were looking yesterday through the Iron Gate that fronted the Elms, and a Gypsey-like Body made up to us, and said; If, Madam, you will give me some broken victuals, I will tell you both your Fortunes. I said, Let us hear our Fortunes, Mrs. Jewkes; but she said, I don’t like these sort of People; but we will hear what she’ll say to us. I shan’t fetch you any Victuals; but I will give you some Pence, said she. But Nan coming out, she said, Fetch some Bread, and some of the cold Meat, and you shall have your Fortune told, Nan.

This, you’ll think, like some of my other Matters, a very trifling thing to write about. But mark the Discovery of a dreadful Plot, which I have made by it. O bless me! what can I think of this naughty, this very naughty Gentleman!—Now will I hate him most heartily. Thus it was:

Mrs. Jewkes had no Suspicion of the Woman, the Iron Gate being lock’d, and she of the Outside, and we on the Inside; and so put her Hand thro’. She said, muttering over a Parcel of cramp Words: Why, Madam, you will marry soon, I can tell you. At that she seem’d pleas’d, and said, I am glad to hear that, and shook her fat Sides with laughing. The Woman look’d most earnestly at me all the Time, and as if she had Meaning. Then it came into my Head, from my Master’s Caution, that possibly this Woman might be employ’d to try to get a Letter into my Hands; and I was resolved to watch all her Motions. So Mrs. Jewkes said, What sort of a Man shall I have, pray?—Why, said she, a Man younger than yourself; and a very good Husband he’ll prove.—I am glad of that, said she, and laugh’d again. Come, Madam, let us hear your Fortune.

The Woman came to me, and took my Hand, O! said she, I cannot tell your Fortune; your Hand is so white and fine, that I cannot see the Lines: But, said she, and stoop’d, and pulled up a little Tuft of Grass, I have a Way for that; and so rubb’d my Hand with the Mould-part of the Tuft: Now, said she, I can see the Lines.

Mrs. Jewkes was very watchful of all her Ways, and took the Tuft, and look’d upon it, lest any thing should be in that. And then the Woman said, Here is the Line of Jupiter crossing the Line of Life; and Mars—Odd, my pretty Mistress, said she, you had best take care of yourself: For you are hard beset, I’ll assure you. You will never be marry’d, I can see; and will die of your first Child. Out upon thee, Woman! said I, better thou hadst never come here.

Said Mrs. Jewkes, whispering, I don’t like this. It looks like a Cheat: Pray, Mrs. Pamela, go in this Moment. So I will, said I; for I have enough of Fortune-telling. And in I went.

The Woman wanted sadly to tell me more; which made Mrs. Jewkes threaten her, suspecting still the more: And away the Woman went, having told Nan her Fortune, that she would be drown’d.

This thing ran strongly in my Head; and we went an Hour after, to see if she was lurking about, and Mr. Colbrand for our Guard; and looking thro’ the Iron Gate, he spy’d a Man sauntring about the middle of the Walk; which filled Mrs. Jewkes with still more Suspicions. But she said, Mr. Colbrand, you and I will walk towards this Fellow, and see what he saunters there for: And, Nan, do you and Madam stay at the Gate.

So they open’d the Iron Gate, and walked down towards the Man; and, guessing the Woman, if employ’d, must mean something by the Tuft of Grass, I cast my Eye that way, whence she pull’d it, and saw more Grass seemingly pull’d up: then I doubted not something was there for me; so I walked to it, and standing over it, said to Nan, That’s a pretty Sort of a wild Flower that grows yonder, near that Elm, the fifth from us on the Left; pray pull it for me. Said she, It is a common Weed. Well, said I, but pull it for me; there are sometimes beautiful Colours in a Weed.

While she went on, I stoop’d, and pull’d up a good Handful of the Grass, and in it a Bit of Paper, which I put instantly in my Bosom, and dropt the Grass; and my Heart went pit-a-pat at the odd Adventure. Said I, Let us go in, Mrs. Ann. No, said she, we must stay till Mrs. Jewkes comes.

I was all Impatience to read this Paper. And when Colbrand and she return’d, I went in. Said she, Certainly there is some Reason for my Master’s Caution; I can make nothing of this sauntring Fellow; but, to be sure, there was some Roguery in the Gypsey. Well, said I, if there was, she lost her Aim, you see! Ay, very true, said she; but that was owing to my Watchfulness; and you was very good to go away when I spoke to you.

I went up Stairs, and, hasting to my Closet, found the Billet to contain, in a Hand that seem’d disguised, and bad Spelling, the following Words:

Now, my dear Father and Mother, what shall we say of this truly diabolical Master! O how shall I find Words to paint my Griefs, and his Deceit! I have as good as confessed I love him; but indeed it was on supposing him good.—This, however, has given him too much Advantage. But now I will break this wicked forward Heart of mine, if it will not be taught to hate him! O what a black, dismal Heart must he have! So here is a Plot to ruin me, and by my own Consent too!—No wonder he did not improve his wicked Opportunities, (which I thought owing to Remorse for his Sin, and Compassion for me) when he had such a Project as this in Reserve!—Here should I have been deluded with the Hopes of a Happiness that my highest Ambition could not have aspired to!—But how dreadful must have been my Lot, when I had found myself an undone Creature, and a guilty Harlot, instead of a lawful Wife? Oh! this is indeed too much, too much for your poor Pamela to support! This is the worse, as I hop’d all the Worst was over; and that I had the Pleasure of beholding a reclaimed Gentleman, and not an abandon’d Libertine. What now must your poor Daughter do! Now all her Hopes are dash’d! And if this fails him, then comes, to be sure, my forcible Disgrace! for this shews he will never leave till he has ruin’d me!—O the wretched, wretched Pamela!

Saturday Noon, One o’Clock.

My Master is come home, and, to be sure, has been where he said. So once he has told Truth; and this Matter seems to be gone off without a Plot: No doubt he depends upon his sham, wicked Marriage! He has brought a Gentleman with him to Dinner; and so I have not seen him yet.

I Am very sorrowful; and still have greater Reason; for just now, as I was in my Closet, opening the Parcel I had hid under the Rose-bush, to see if it was damag’d by lying so long, Mrs. Jewkes came upon me by Surprize, and laid her Hands upon it; for she had been looking thro’ the Key-hole, it seems.

I know not what I shall do! For now he will see all my private Thoughts of him, and all my Secrets, as I may say. What a careless Creature I am!—To be sure I deserve to be punish’d.

You know I had the good Luck, by Mr. Williams’s means, to send you all my Papers down to Sunday Night, the 17th Day of my Imprisonment. But now these Papers contain all my Matters, from that Time, to Wednesday the 27th Day of my Distress. And which, as you may now, perhaps, never see, I will briefly mention the Contents to you.

These, down to the Execution of my unfortunate Plot, to escape, are, to the best of my Remembrance, the Contents of the Papers, which this merciless Woman seiz’d: For, how badly I came off, and what follow’d, I still have safe, as I hope, sew’d in my Under-coat, about my Hips. In vain were all my Prayers and Tears to her, to get her not to shew them to my Master. For she said, It had now come out, why I affected to be so much alone; and why I was always writing. And she thought herself happy, she said, she had found these; for often and often had she searched every Place she could think of, for Writings, to no Purpose before. And she hoped, she said, there was nothing in them but what any body might see; for, said she, you know, you are all Innocence!—Insolent Creature, said I; I am sure you are all Guilt!—And so you must do your worst; for now I can’t help myself; and I see there is no Mercy to be expected from you.

Just now, my Master being coming up, she went to him upon the Stairs, and gave him my Papers. There, Sir, said she; you always said Mrs. Pamela was a great Writer; but I never could get at any thing of hers before. He took them, and went down to the Parlour again. And what with the Gypsey Affair, and what with this, I could not think of going down to Dinner; and she told him that too; and so I suppose I shall have him up Stairs, as soon as his Company is gone.

Saturday, Six o’Clock,

My Master came up, and, in a pleasanter manner than I expected, said, So, Pamela, we have seized, it seems, your treasonable Papers? Treasonable? said I, very sullenly. Ay, said he, I suppose so; for you are a great Plotter; but I have not read them yet.

Then, Sir, said I, very gravely, it will be truly honourable in you not to read them; but give them to me again. Whom, says he, are they written to?—To my Father, Sir, said I; but I suppose you see to whom.—Indeed, return’d he, I have not read three Lines as yet. Then pray, Sir, said I, don’t read them; but give them to me again. No, that I won’t, said he, till I have read them. Sir, said I, you serv’d me not well in the Letters I used to write formerly; I think it was not worthy your Character to contrive to get them into your Hands, by that false John Arnold; for should such a Gentleman as you, mind what your poor Servant writes?—Yes, said he, by all means, mind what such a Servant as my Pamela writes.

Your Pamela! thought I. Then the sham Marriage came into my Head; and indeed it has not been out of it, since the Gypsey’s Affair.—But, said he, have you any thing in these Papers you would not have me see? To be sure, Sir, said I, there is; for what one writes to one’s Father and Mother is not for ever) body. Nor, said he, am I every body.

Those Letters, added he, that I did see by John’s Means, were not to your Disadvantage, I’ll assure you; for they gave me a very high Opinion of your Wit and Innocence: And if I had not loved you, do you think I would have troubled myself about your Letters?

Alas! Sir, said I, great Pride to me that! For they gave you such an Opinion of my Innocence, that you was resolved to ruin me. And what Advantage have they brought me?—Who have been made a Prisoner, and used as I have been, between you and your House-Keeper?

Why, Pamela, said he, a little serious, why this Behaviour, for my Goodness to you in the Garden?—This is not of a Piece with your Conduct and Softness there, that quite charm’d me in your Favour: And you must not give me Cause to think, that you will be the more insolent, as you find me kinder. Ah! Sir, said I, you know best your own Heart and Designs! But I fear I was too open-hearted then; and that you still keep your Resolution to undo me, and have only changed the Form of your Proceedings.

When I tell you once again, said he, a little sternly, that you cannot oblige me more, than by placing some Confidence in me, I will let you know, that these foolish and perverse Doubts are the worst things you can be guilty of. But, said he, I shall possibly account for the Cause of them, in these Papers of yours; for I doubt not you have been sincere to your Father and Mother, tho’ you begin to make me suspect you: For I tell you, perverse Girl, that it is impossible you should be thus cold and insensible, after what last passed in the Garden, if you were not prepossessed in some other Person’s Favour. And let me add, that if I find it so, it shall be attended with such Effects, as will make every Vein in your Heart bleed.

He was going away in Wrath; and I said, One Word, good Sir, one Word, before you read them, since you will read them: Pray make Allowances for all the harsh Reflections that you will find in them, on your own Conduct to me: And remember only, that they were not written for your Sight; and were penn’d by a poor Creature hardly used, and who was in constant Apprehension of receiving from you the worst Treatment that you could inflict upon her.

If that be all, said he, and there be nothing of another Nature, that I cannot forgive, you have no Cause for Uneasiness; for I had as many Instances of your sawcy Reflections upon me in your former Letters, as there were Lines; and yet, you see, I have never upbraided you on that Score; tho’, perhaps, I wished you had been more sparing of your Epithets, and your Freedoms of that Sort.

Well, Sir, said I, since you will, you must read them; and I think I have no Reason to be afraid of being found insincere, or having, in any respect, told you a Falsehood; because, tho’ I don’t remember all I wrote, yet I know I wrote my Heart; and that is not deceitful. And remember, Sir, another thing, that I always declared I thought myself right to endeavour to make my Escape from this forced and illegal Restraint; and so you must not be angry that I would have done so, if I could.

I’ll judge you, never fear, said he, as favourably as you deserve; for you have too powerful a Pleader for you within me. And so went down Stairs.

About nine o’Clock he sent for me down in the Parlour. I went a little fearfully; and he held the Papers in his Hand, and said, Now, Pamela, you come upon your Trial. Said I, I hope I have a just Judge to hear my Cause. Ay, said he, and you may hope for a merciful one too, or else I know not what will become of you.

I expect, continu’d he, that you will answer me directly, and plainly, to every Question I shall ask you.—In the first Place, Here are several Love-letters between you and Williams. Love-letters! Sir, said I.—Well, call them what you will, said he, I don’t intirely like them, I’ll assure you, with all the Allowances you desired me to make for you. Do you find, Sir, said I, that I encouraged his Proposal, or do you not? Why, said he, you discourage his Address in Appearance; but no otherwise than all your cunning Sex do to ours, to make us more eager in pursuing you.

Well, Sir, said I, that is your Comment; but it does not appear so in the Text. Smartly said! says he; where a D—1, gottest thou, at these Years, all this Knowledge; and then thou hast a Memory, as I see by your Papers, that nothing escapes it. Alas! Sir, said I, what poor Abilities I have, serve only to make me more miserable!—I have no Pleasure in my Memory, which impresses things upon me, that I could be glad never were, or everlastingly to forget.

Well, said he, so much for that; but where are the Accounts, (since you have kept so exact a Journal of all that has befallen you) previous to these here in my Hand? My Father has them, Sir, said I.—By whose Means, said he?—By Mr. Williams’s, said I. Well answered, said he. But cannot you contrive to get me a Sight of them? That would be pretty, said I. I wish I could have contrived to have kept those you have from your Sight. Said he, I must see them, Pamela, or I shall never be easy: For I must know how this Correspondence, between you and Williams, begun: And if I can see them, it shall be better for you, if they answer what these give me Hope they will.

I can tell you, Sir, very faithfully, said I, what the Beginning was; for I was bold enough to be the Beginner. That won’t do, said he; for tho’ this may appear a Punctilio to you; to me it is of high Importance. Sir, said I, if you please to let me go to my Father, I will send them to you by any Messenger you shall send for them. Will you so? said he. But I dare say, if you will write for them, they will send them to you, without the Trouble of such a Journey to yourself. And I beg you will.

I think, Sir, said I, as you have seen all my former Letters, thro’ John’s Baseness, and now these, thro’ your faithful Housekeeper’s officious Watchfulness, you might see all the rest. But I hope you will not desire it, till I can see how much my pleasing you in this Particular, will be of Use to myself.

You must trust to my Honour for that. But tell me, Pamela, said the sly Gentleman, since I have seen these, Would you have voluntarily shewn me those, had they been in your Possession?

I was not aware of his Inference, and said, Yes, truly, Sir, I think I should, if you commanded it. Well, then, Pamela, said he, as I am sure you have found means to continue your Journal, I desire, while the former Part can come, that you will shew me the succeeding?—O, Sir, Sir, said I, have you caught me so!—But indeed you must excuse me there.

Why, said he, tell me truly, Have you not continued your Account till now? Don’t ask me, Sir, said I. But I insist upon your Answer, reply’d he. Why then, Sir, said I, I will not tell an Untruth; I have.—That’s my good Girl! said he. I love Sincerity at my Heart.—In another, Sir, said I, I presume, you mean!—Well, said he, I’ll allow you to be a little witty upon me; because it is in you, and you cannot help it. But you will greatly oblige me, to shew me, voluntarily, what you have written. I long to see the Particulars of your Plot, and your Disappointment, where your Papers leave off. For you have so beautiful a manner, that it is partly that, and partly my Love for you, that has made me desirous of reading all you write; tho’ a great deal of it is against myself; for which you must expect to suffer a little. And as I have furnished you with the Subject, I have a Title to see the Fruits of your Pen.—Besides, said he, there is such a pretty Air of Romance, as you relate them, in your Plots, and my Plots, that I shall be better directed in what manner to wind up the Catastrophe of the pretty Novel.

If I was your Equal, Sir, said I, I should say this is a very provoking way of jeering at the Misfortunes you have brought upon me.

O, said he, the Liberties you have taken with my Character, in your Letters, set us upon a Par, at least, in that respect. Sir, reply’d I, I could not have taken these Liberties, if you had not given me the Cause: And the Cause, Sir, you know, is before the Effect.

True, Pamela, said he; you chop Logick very prettily. What the Duce do we Men go to School for? If our Wits were equal to Womens, we might spare much Time and Pains in our Education. For Nature learns your Sex, what, in a long Course of Labour and Study, ours can hardly attain to.—But indeed, every Lady is not a Pamela.

You delight to banter your poor Servant, said I.

Nay, continued he, I believe I must assume to myself half the Merit of your Wit, too; for the innocent Exercises you have had for it from me, have certainly sharpen’d your Invention.

Sir, said I, could I have been without those innocent Exercises, as you are pleased to call them, I should have been glad to have been as dull as a Beetle. But then, Pamela, said he, I should not have lov’d you so well. But then, Sir, reply’d I, I should have been safe, easy, and happy.—Ay, may-be so, and may-be not; and the Wife too of some clouterly Plough-boy.

But then, Sir, I should have been content and innocent; and that’s better than being a Princess, and not so. And may-be not, said he; for if you had had that pretty Face, some of us keen Fox-hunters should have found you out; and, spite of your romantick Notions, (which then too, perhaps, would not have had such strong Place in your Mind) would have been more happy with the Ploughman’s Wife, than I have been with my Mother’s Pamela. I hope, Sir, said I, God would have given me more Grace.

Well, but, resum’d he, as to these Writings of yours, that follow your fine Plot, I must see them. Indeed, Sir, you must not, if I can help it. Nothing, said he, pleases me better, than that, in all your Arts, Shifts and Stratagems, you have had a great Regard to Truth; and have, in all your little Pieces of Deceit, told very few wilful Fibs. Now I expect you’ll continue this laudable Rule in your Conversation with me.—Let me know then, where you have found Supplies of Pen, Ink, and Paper; when Mrs. Jewkes was so vigilant, and gave you but two Sheets at a Time?—Tell me Truth.

Why, Sir, little did I think I should have such Occasion for them; but, when I went away from your House, I begg’d some of each of good Mr. Longman, who gave me Plenty. Yes, yes, said he, It must be good Mr. Longman! All your Confederates are good, every one of them: But such of my Servants as have done their Duty, and obey’d my Orders, are painted out, by you, as black as Devils; nay, so am I too, for that matter.

Sir, said I, I hope you won’t be angry; but, saving yourself, do you think they are painted worse than they deserve? or worse than the Parts they acted require?

You say, saving myself, Pamela; but is not that Saving a mere Compliment to me, because I am present, and you are in my Hands? Tell me truly.—Good Sir, excuse me; but I fansy I may ask you, Why you should think so, if there was not a little bit of Conscience that told you, there was but too much Reason for it?

He kissed me, and said, I must either do thus, or be angry with you; for you are very sawcy, Pamela.—But, with your bewitching Chit-chat, and pretty Impertinence, I will not lose my Question. Where did you hide your Paper, Pens and Ink?

Some, Sir, in one Place, some in another; that I might have some left, if others should be found.—That’s a good Girl! said he. I love you for your sweet Veracity. Now tell me where it is you hide your Written-papers, your sawcy Journal?—I must beg your Excuse for that, Sir, said I. But indeed, answer’d he, you will not have it; for I will know, and I will see them!—This is very hard, Sir, said I; but I must say, you shall not, if I can help it.

We were standing most of this Time; but he then sat down, and took me by both my Hands, and said, Well said, my pretty Pamela, if you can help it: But I will not let you help it. Tell me, Are they in your Pocket? No, Sir, said I, my Heart up at my Mouth. Said he, I know you won’t tell a downright Fib for the World; but for Equivocation! no Jesuit ever went beyond you. Answer me then, Are they in neither For ask me ever so much, I will not tell you.

O, said he, I have a way for that. I can do as they do abroad, when the Criminals won’t confess; torture them till they do.—But pray, Sir, said I, Is this fair, just or honest? I am no Criminal; and I won’t confess.

O, my Girl! said he, many an innocent Person has been put to the Torture, I’ll assure you. But let me know where they are, and you shall escape the Question, as they call it abroad.

Sir, said I, the Torture is not used in England; and I hope you won’t bring it up. Admirably said! said the naughty Gentleman.—But I can tell you of as good a Punishment. If a Criminal won’t plead with us here in England, we press him to Death, or till he does plead. And so now, Pamela, that is a Punishment shall certainly be yours, if you won’t tell without.

Tears stood in my Eyes, and I said, This, Sir, is very cruel and barbarous.—No matter, said he, it is but like your Lucifer, you know, in my Shape! And after I have done so many heinous things by you, as you think, you have no great Reason to judge so hardly of this; or, at least, it is but of a Piece with the rest.

But, Sir, said I, (dreadfully afraid he had some Notion they were about me) if you will be obey’d in this unreasonable Matter; tho’ it is sad Tyranny to be sure!—let me go up to them, and read them over again; and you shall see so far as to the End of the sad Story that follows those you have.

I’ll see them all, said he, down to this Time, if you have written so far!—Or at least, till within this Week.—Then let me go up to them, said I, and see what I have written, and to what Day to shew them to you; for you won’t desire to see every thing. But I will, reply’d he.—But say, Pamela, tell me Truth; Are they above? I was more affrighted. He saw my Confusion. Tell me Truth, said he. Why, Sir, answer’d I, I have sometimes hid them under the dry Mould in the Garden; sometimes in one Place, sometimes in another; and those you have in your Hand, were several Days under a Rose-bush, in the Garden. Artful Slut! said he; What’s this to my Question? Are they not about you?—If, said I, I must pluck them out of my Hiding-place, behind the Wainscot, won’t you see me? Still more and more artful! said he.—Is this an Answer to my Question?—I have searched every Place above, and in your Closet, for them, and cannot find them; so I will know where they are. Now, said he, it is my Opinion they are about you; and I never undrest a Girl in my Life; but I will now begin to strip my pretty Pamela; and hope I shall not go far, before I find them.

I fell a crying, and said, I will not be used in this manner. Pray, Sir, said I, (for he began to unpin my Handkerchief) consider! Pray, Sir, do!—And pray, said he, do you consider. For I will see these Papers. But may-be, said he, they are ty’d about your Knees with your Garters, and stooped. Was ever any thing so vile, and so wicked!—I fell on my Knees, and said, What can I do? what can I do? If you’ll let me go up, I’ll fetch them you. Will you, said he, on your Honour, let me see them uncurtail’d, and not offer to make them away; no, not a single Paper?—I will, Sir.—On your Honour? Yes, Sir. And so he let me go up-stairs, crying sadly for Vexation to be so used. Sure nobody was ever so serv’d as I am!

I went to my Closet, and there I sat me down, and could not bear the Thoughts of giving up my Papers. Besides, I must all undress me in a manner to untack them. So I writ thus:

I guessed it would not be long before I heard from him. And he accordingly sent up Mrs. Jewkes for what I had promised. So I gave her this Note to carry to him. And he sent word, that I must keep my Promise, and he would give me till Morning; but that I must bring them to him without his asking again.

So I took off my Under-coat, and, with great Trouble of Mind, unsew’d them from it. And there is a vast Quantity of it. I will just slightly touch upon the Subject; because I may not, perhaps, get them again for you to see.

This brought Matters down from Thursday the 20th Day of my Imprisonment, to Wednesday the 41st.

And there I was resolv’d to end, let what would come; for there is only Thursday, Friday and Saturday, to give an Account of; and Thursday he set out to a Ball at Stamford; and Friday was the Gypsey Story, and this is Saturday, his Return from Stamford. And, truly, I shall have but little Heart to write, if he is to see all.

So these two Parcels of Papers I have got ready for him against to-morrow Morning. To be sure I have always used him very freely in my Writings, and shew’d him no Mercy; but yet he must thank himself for it; for I have only writ Truth; and I wish he had deserv’d a better Character at my hands, as well for his own sake as mine—So, tho’ I don’t know whether ever you’ll see what I write, I must say, that I will go to-bed, with remembring you in my Prayers, as I always do, and as I know you do me: And so God bless you. Good Night.