Pamela by Samuel Richardson (the false prince series TXT) 📖

will say, that your behaviour before honest Longman, when I used you as I did, and you could so well have vindicated yourself, has quite charmed me. And though I am not pleased with all you said yesterday, while I was in the closet, yet you have moved me more to admire you than before; and I am awakened to see more worthiness in you, than ever I saw in any lady in the world. All the servants, from the highest to the lowest, doat upon you, instead of envying you; and look upon you in so superior a light, as speaks what you ought to be. I have seen more of your letters than you imagine, (This surprised me!) and am quite overcome with your charming manner of writing, so free, so easy, and many of your sentiments so much above your years, and your sex; and all put together, makes me, as I tell you, love you to extravagance. Now, Pamela, when I have stooped to acknowledge all this, oblige me only to stay another week or fortnight, to give me time to bring about some certain affairs, and you shall see how much you may find your account in it.

I trembled to find my poor heart giving way.—O good sir, said I, spare a poor girl that cannot look up to you, and speak. My heart is full; and why should you wish to undo me?—Only oblige me, said he, to stay a fortnight longer, and John shall carry word to your father, that I will see him in the time, either here, or at the Swan in his village. O sir, said I, my heart will burst; but, on my bended knees, I beg you to let me go tomorrow, as I designed: and don’t offer to tempt a poor creature, whose whole will would be to do yours, if my virtue would permit!—I shall permit it, said he; for I intend no injury to you, God is my witness! Impossible! said I; I cannot, sir, believe you, after what has passed: How many ways are there to undo poor creatures! Good God, protect me this one time, and send me but to my dear father’s cot in safety!—Strange, d–-d fate! said he, that when I speak so solemnly, I can’t be believed!—What should I believe, sir? said I, what can I believe? What have you said, but that I am to stay a fortnight longer? and what then is to become of me?—My pride of birth and fortune (d—n them both! said he, since they cannot obtain credit with you, but must add to your suspicions) will not let me descend all at once; and I ask you but a fortnight’s stay, that, after this declaration, I may pacify those proud demands upon me.

O how my heart throbbed! and I began (for I did not know what I did) to say the Lord’s prayer. None of your beads to me Pamela! said he; thou art a perfect nun, I think.

But I said aloud, with my eyes lifted up to heaven, Lead me not into temptation: but deliver me from evil, O my good God! He hugged me in his arms, and said, Well, my dear girl, then you stay this fortnight, and you shall see what I will do for you—I’ll leave you a moment, and walk into the next room, to give you time to think of it, and to shew you I have no design upon you. Well, this, I thought, did not look amiss.

He went out, and I was tortured with twenty different doubts in a minute; sometimes I thought that to stay a week or fortnight longer in this house to obey him, while Mrs. Jervis was with me, could do no great harm: But then, thought I, how do I know what I may be able to do? I have withstood his anger; but may I not relent at his kindness?—How shall I stand that.—Well, I hope, thought I, by the same protecting grace in which I will always confide!—But, then, what has he promised? Why, he will make my poor father and mother’s life comfortable. O! said I to myself, that is a rich thought; but let me not dwell upon it, for fear I should indulge it to my ruin.—What can he do for me, poor girl as I am! —What can his greatness stoop to! He talks, thought I, of his pride of heart, and pride of condition; O these are in his head, and in his heart too, or he would not confess them to me at such an instant. Well then, thought I, this can be only to seduce me.—He has promised nothing.—But I am to see what he will do, if I stay a fortnight; and this fortnight, thought I again, is no such great matter; and I shall see in a few days how he carries it.—But then, when I again reflected upon this distance between him and me, and his now open declaration of love, as he called it; and that after this he would talk with me on that subject more plainly than ever, and I shall be less armed, may be, to withstand him; and then I bethought myself, why, if he meant no dishonour, he should not speak before Mrs. Jervis; and the odious frightful closet came again into my head, and my narrow escape upon it; and how easy it might be for him to send Mrs. Jervis and the maids out of the way; and so that all the mischief he designed me might be brought about in less than that time; I resolved to go away and trust all to Providence, and nothing to myself. And how ought I to be thankful for this resolution!—as you shall hear.

But just as I have writ to this place, John sends me word, that he is going this minute your way; and so I will send you so far as I have written, and hope by tomorrow night, to ask your blessings, at your own poor, but happy abode, and tell you the rest by word of mouth; and so I rest, till then, and for ever, Your dutiful DAUGHTER.

LETTER XXXI

DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,

I will continue my writing still, because, may be, I shall like to read it, when I am with you, to see what dangers I have been enabled to escape; and though I bring it along with me.

I told you my resolution, my happy resolution as I have reason to think it: and just then he came in again, with great kindness in his looks, and said, I make no doubt, Pamela, you will stay this fortnight to oblige me. I knew not how to frame my words so as to deny, and yet not make him storm. But, said I, Forgive, sir, your poor distressed servant. I know I cannot possibly deserve any favour at your hands, consistent with virtue; and I beg you will let me go to my poor father. Why, said he, thou art the veriest fool that I ever knew. I tell you I will see your father; I’ll send for him hither tomorrow, in my travelling chariot, if you will; and I’ll let him know what I intend to do for him and you. What, sir, may I ask you, can that be? Your honour’s noble estate may easily make him happy, and not unuseful, perhaps to you, in some respect or other. But what price am I to pay for all this?—Yon shall be happy as you can wish, said he, I do assure you: And here I will now give you this purse, in which are fifty guineas, which I will allow your father yearly, and find an employ suitable to his liking, to deserve that and more: Pamela, he shall never want, depend upon it. I would have given you still more for him, but that, perhaps, you’d suspect I intended it as a design upon you.—O sir, said I, take back your guineas! I will not touch one, nor will my father, I am sure, till he knows what is to be done for them; and particularly what is to become of me. Why then, Pamela, said he, suppose I find a man of probity, and genteel calling, for a husband for you, that shall make you a gentlewoman as long as you live?—I want no husband, sir, said I: for now I began to see him in all his black colours!—Yet being so much in his power, I thought I would a little dissemble. But, said he, you are so pretty, that go where you will, you can never be free from the designs of some or other of our sex; and I shall think I don’t answer the care of my dying mother for you, who committed you to me, if I don’t provide you a husband to protect your virtue, and your innocence; and a worthy one I have thought of for you.

O black, perfidious creature! thought I, what an implement art thou in the hands of Lucifer, to ruin the innocent heart!—Yet still I dissembled: for I feared much both him and the place I was in. But, whom, pray sir, have you thought of?—Why, said he, young Mr. Williams, my chaplain, in Lincolnshire, who will make you happy. Does he know, sir, said I, any thing of your honour’s intentions?—No, my girl, said he, and kissed me, (much against my will; for his very breath was now poison to me,) but his dependance upon my favour, and your beauty and merit, will make him rejoice at my kindness to him. Well, sir, said I, then it is time enough to consider of this matter; and it cannot hinder me from going to my father’s: for what will staying a fortnight longer signify to this? Your honour’s care and goodness may extend to me there, as well as here; and Mr. Williams, and all the world, shall know that I am not ashamed of my father’s poverty.

He would kiss me again, and I said, If I am to think of Mr. Williams, or any body, I beg you’ll not be so free with me: that is not pretty, I’m sure. Well, said he, but you stay this next fortnight, and in that time I’ll have both Williams and your father here; for I will have the match concluded in my house; and when I have brought it on, you shall settle it as you please together. Meantime take and send only these fifty pieces to your father, as an earnest of my favour, and I’ll make you all happy. —Sir, said I, I beg at least two hours to consider of this. I shall, said he, be gone out in one hour; and I would have you write to your father what I propose; and John shall carry it on purpose: and he shall take the purse with him for the good old man, if you approve it. Sir, said I, I will then let you know in one hour my resolution. Do so, said he; and gave me another kiss, and let nee go.

O how I rejoiced I had got out of his clutches!—So I write you this, that you may see how matters stand; for I am resolved to come away, if possible. Base, wicked, treacherous gentleman as he is!

So here was a trap laid for your poor Pamela! I tremble to think of it! O what a scene of wickedness was here laid down for all my wretched life! Black-hearted wretch! how I hate him!—For, at first, as you’ll see by what I have written, he would have made me believe other things; and this of Mr. Williams, I suppose, came into his head after he walked out from his closet, to give himself time