it was well for me, as i have since thought, that i was so maimed, as made me the longer before i got to the water; for this gave me time to consider, and abated the impetuousness of my passions, which possibly might otherwise have hurried me, in my first transport of grief, (on my seeing no way to escape, and the hard usage i had reason to expect from my dreadful keepers,) to throw myself in. but my weakness of body made me move so slowly, that it gave time, as i said, for a little reflection, a ray of grace, to dart in upon my benighted mind; and so, when i came to the pond-side, i sat myself down on the sloping bank, and began to ponder my wretched condition; and thus i reasoned with myself.
pause here a little, pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takest the dreadful leap; and consider whether there be no way yet left, no hope, if not to escape from this wicked house, yet from the mischiefs threatened thee in it.
i then considered; and, after i had cast about in my mind every thing that could make me hope, and saw no probability; a wicked woman, devoid of all compassion! a horrid helper, just arrived, in this dreadful colbrand! an angry and resenting master, who now hated me, and threatened the most afflicting evils! and that i should, in all probability, be deprived even of the opportunity, i now had before me, to free myself from all their persecutions!—what hast thou to do, distressed creature, said i to myself, but throw thyself upon a merciful god, (who knows how innocently i suffer,) to avoid the merciless wickedness of those who are determined on my ruin?
and then, thought i, (and oh! that thought was surely of the devil's instigation; for it was very soothing, and powerful with me,) these wicked wretches, who now have no remorse, no pity on me, will then be moved to lament their misdoings; and when they see the dead corpse of the unhappy pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying breathless at their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their obdurate heart, which, now, has no place there!—and my master, my angry master, will then forget his resentments, and say, o, this is the unhappy pamela! that i have so causelessly persecuted and destroyed! now do i see she preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is no hypocrite, nor deceiver; but really was the innocent creature she pretended to be! then, thought i, will he, perhaps, shed a few tears over the poor corpse of his persecuted servant; and though he may give out, it was love and disappointment; and that, perhaps, (in order to hide his own guilt,) for the unfortunate mr. williams, yet will he be inwardly grieved, and order me a decent funeral, and save me, or rather this part of me, from the dreadful stake, and the highway interment; and the young men and maidens all around my dear father's will pity poor pamela! but, o! i hope i shall not be the subject of their ballads and elegies; but that my memory, for the sake of my dear father and mother, may quickly slide into oblivion.
i was once rising, so indulgent was i to this sad way of thinking, to throw myself in: but, again, my bruises made me slow; and i thought, what art thou about to do, wretched pamela? how knowest thou, though the prospect be all dark to thy short-sighted eye, what god may do for thee, even when all human means fail? god almighty would not lay me under these sore afflictions, if he had not given me strength to grapple with them, if i will exert it as i ought: and who knows, but that the very presence i so much dread of my angry and designing master, (for he has had me in his power before, and yet i have escaped;) may be better for me, than these persecuting emissaries of his, who, for his money, are true to their wicked trust, and are hardened by that, and a long habit of wickedness, against compunction of heart? god can touch his heart in an instant; and if this should not be done, i can then but put an end to my life by some other means, if i am so resolved.
but how do i know, thought i, that even these bruises and maims that i have gotten, while i pursued only the laudable escape i had meditated, may not kindly have furnished me with the opportunity i am now tempted with to precipitate myself, and of surrendering up my life, spotless and unguilty, to that merciful being who gave it!
then, thought i, who gave thee, presumptuous as thou art, a power over thy life? who authorised thee to put an end to it, when the weakness of thy mind suggests not to thee a way to preserve it with honour? how knowest thou what purposes god may have to serve, by the trials with which thou art now exercised? art thou to put a bound to the divine will, and to say, thus much will i bear, and no more? and wilt thou dare to say, that if the trial be augmented and continued, thou wilt sooner die than bear it?
this act of despondency, thought i, is a sin, that, if i pursue it, admits of no repentance, and can therefore hope no forgiveness.—and wilt thou, to shorten thy transitory griefs, heavy as they are, and weak as thou fanciest thyself, plunge both body and soul into everlasting misery! hitherto, pamela, thought i, thou art the innocent, the suffering pamela; and wilt thou, to avoid thy sufferings, be the guilty aggressor? and, because wicked men persecute thee, wilt thou fly in the face of the almighty, and distrust his grace and goodness, who can still turn all these sufferings to benefits? and how do i know, but that god, who sees all the lurking vileness of my heart, may have permitted these sufferings on that very score, and to make me rely solely on his grace and assistance, who, perhaps, have too much prided myself in a vain dependence on my own foolish contrivances?
then, again, thought i, wilt thou suffer in one moment all the good lessons of thy poor honest parents, and the benefit of their example, (who have persisted in doing their duty with resignation to the divine will, amidst the extreme degrees of disappointment, poverty, and distress, and the persecutions of an ungrateful world, and merciless creditors,) to be thrown away upon thee: and bring down, as in all probability this thy rashness will, their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, when they shall understand, that their beloved daughter, slighting the tenders of divine grace, despairing of the mercies of a protecting god, has blemished, in this last act, a whole life, which they had hitherto approved and delighted in?
what then, presumptuous pamela, dost thou here? thought i: quit with speed these perilous banks, and fly from these curling waters, that seem, in their meaning murmurs, this still night, to reproach thy rashness! tempt not god's goodness on the mossy banks, that have been witnesses of thy guilty purpose: and while thou hast power left thee, avoid the tempting evil, lest thy grand enemy, now repulsed by divine grace, and due reflection, return to the assault with a force that thy weakness may not be able to resist! and let one rash moment destroy all the convictions, which now have awed thy rebellious mind into duty and resignation to the divine will!
and so saying, i arose; but was so stiff with my hurts, so cold with the moist dew of the night, and the wet grass on which i had sat, as also with the damps arising from so large a piece of water, that with great pain i got from this pond, which now i think of with terror; and bending my limping steps towards the house, took refuge in the corner of an outhouse, where wood and coals are laid up for family use, till i should be found by my cruel keepers, and consigned to a more wretched confinement, and worse usage than i had hitherto experienced; and there behind a pile of firewood i crept, and lay down, as you may imagine, with a mind just broken, and a heart sensible to nothing but the extremest woe and dejection.
this, my dear father and mother, is the issue of your poor pamela's fruitless enterprise; and who knows, if i had got out at the back-door, whether i had been at all in a better case, moneyless, friendless, as i am, and in a strange place!—but blame not your poor daughter too much: nay, if ever you see this miserable scribble, all bathed and blotted with my tears, let your pity get the better of your reprehension! but i know it will—and i must leave off for the present.—for, oh! my strength and my will are at this time very far unequal to one another.—but yet i will add, that though i should have praised god for my deliverance, had i been freed from my wicked keepers, and my designing master; yet i have more abundant reason to praise him, that i have been delivered from a worse enemy,—myself!
i will conclude my sad relation.
it seems mrs. jewkes awaked not till day-break; and not finding me in bed, she called me; and, no answer being returned, she relates, that she got out of bed, and ran to my closet; and, missing me, searched under the bed, and in another closet, finding the chamber-door as she had left it, quite fast, and the key, as usual, about her wrist. for if i could have got out of the chamber-door, there were two or three passages, and doors to them all, double-locked and barred, to go through into the great garden; so that, to escape, there was no way, but out of the window; and of that window, because of the summer-parlour under it: for the other windows are a great way from the ground.
she says she was excessively frightened; and instantly raised the swiss, and the two maids, who lay not far off; and finding every door fast, she said, i must be carried away, as st. peter was out of prison, by some angel. it is a wonder she had not a worse thought!
she says, she wept, and wrung her hands, and took on sadly, running about like a mad woman, little thinking i could have got out of the closet window, between the iron bars; and, indeed, i don't know whether i could do so again. but at last finding that casement open, they concluded it must be so; and ran out into the garden, and found my footsteps in the mould of the bed which i dropt down upon from the leads: and so speeded away all of them; that is to say, mrs. jewkes, colbrand, and nan, towards the back-door, to see if that was fast; while the cook was sent to the out-offices to raise the men, and make them get horses ready, to take each a several way to pursue me.
but, it seems, finding that door double-locked and padlocked, and the heel of my shoe, and the broken bricks, they verily concluded i was got away by some means over the wall; and then, they say, mrs. jewkes seemed like a distracted woman: till, at last, nan had the thought to go towards the pond: and there seeing my coat, and cap, and handkerchief, in the water, cast almost to the banks by the agitation of the waves, she thought it was me; and, screaming out, ran to mrs. jewkes, and said, o, madam, madam! here's a piteous thing!—mrs. pamela lies drowned in the pond. thither they all ran; and finding my clothes, doubted not i was at the bottom; and they all, swiss among the rest, beat their breasts, and made most dismal lamentations; and mrs. jewkes sent nan to the men, to bid them get the drag-net ready, and leave the horses, and come to try to find the poor innocent! as she, it seems, then called me, beating her breast, and lamenting my hard hap; but most what would become of them, and what account they should give to my master.
while every one was thus differently employed, some weeping and wailing, some running here and there, nan came into the wood-house; and there lay poor i; so weak, so low, and dejected, and withal so stiff with my bruises, that i could not stir, nor help myself to get upon my feet. and i said, with a low voice, (for i could hardly speak,) mrs. ann! mrs. ann!—the creature was sadly frightened, but was taking up a billet to knock me on the head, believing i was some thief, as she said; but i cried out, o mrs. ann, mrs. ann, help me, for pity's sake, to mrs. jewkes! for i cannot get up!—bless me, said she, what! you, madam!—why, our hearts are almost broken, and we were going to drag the pond for you, believing you had drowned yourself. now, said she, you'll make us all alive again!
and, without helping me, she ran away to the pond, and brought all the crew to the wood-house.—the wicked woman, as she entered, said, where is she?—plague of her spells, and her witchcrafts! she shall dearly repent of this trick, if my name be jewkes; and, coming to me, took hold of my arm so roughly, and gave me such a pull, as made me squeal out, (my shoulder being bruised on that side,) and drew me on my face. o cruel creature! said i, if you knew what i have suffered, it would move you to pity me!
even colbrand seemed to be concerned, and said, fie, madam, fie! you see she is almost dead! you must not be so rough with her. the coachman robin seemed to be sorry for me too, and said, with sobs, what a scene is here! don't you see she is all bloody in her head, and cannot stir?—curse of her contrivance! said the horrid creature; she has frightened me out of my wits, i'm sure. how the d—-l came you here?—oh! said i, ask me now no questions, but let the maids carry me up to my prison; and there let me die decently, and in peace! for, indeed, i thought i could not live two hours.
the still more inhuman tigress said, i suppose you want mr. williams to pray by you, don't you? well, i'll send for my master this minute: let him come and watch you himself, for me; for there's no such thing as holding you, i'm sure.
so the maids took me up between them, and carried me to my chamber; and when the wretch saw how bad i was, she began a little to relent—while every one wondered (at which i had neither strength nor inclination to tell them) how all this came to pass, which they imputed to sorcery and witchcraft.
i was so weak, when i had got up stairs, that i fainted away, with dejection, pain, and fatigue; and they undressed me, and got me to bed; and mrs. jewkes ordered nan to bathe my shoulder, and arm, and ancle, with some old rum warmed; and they cut the hair a little from the back part of my head, and washed that; for it was clotted with blood, from a pretty long, but not a deep gash; and put a family plaister upon it; for, if this woman has any good quality, it is, it seems, in a readiness and skill to manage in cases, where sudden misfortunes happen in a family.
after this, i fell into a pretty sound and refreshing sleep, and lay till twelve o'clock, tolerably easy, considering i was very feverish, and aguishly inclined; and she took a deal of care to fit me to undergo more trials, which i had hoped would have been happily ended: but providence did not see fit.
she would make me rise about twelve: but i was so weak, i could only sit up till the bed was made, and went into it again; and was, as they said, delirious some part of the afternoon. but having a tolerable night on thursday, i was a good deal better on friday, and on saturday got up, and ate a little spoon-meat, and my feverishness seemed to be gone; and i was so mended by evening, that i begged her indulgence in my closet, to be left to myself; which she consented to, it being double-barred the day before, and i assuring her, that all my contrivances, as she called them, were at an end. but first she made me tell the whole story of my enterprise; which i did very faithfully, knowing now that nothing could stand me in any stead, or contribute to my safety and escape: and she seemed full of wonder at my resolution; but told me frankly, that i should have found it a hard matter to get quite off; for that she was provided with a warrant from my master (who is a justice of peace in this county as well as in the other) to get me apprehended, if i had got away, on suspicion of wronging him, let me have been where i would.
o how deep-laid are the mischiefs designed to fall on my devoted head!—surely, surely, i cannot be worthy of all this contrivance! this too well shews me the truth of what was hinted to me formerly at the other house, that my master swore he would have me! o preserve me, heaven! from being his, in his own wicked sense of the adjuration!
i must add, that now the woman sees me pick up so fast, she uses me worse, and has abridged me of paper, all but one sheet, which i am to shew her, written or unwritten, on demand: and has reduced me to one pen: yet my hidden stores stand me in stead. but she is more and more snappish and cross; and tauntingly calls me mrs. williams, and any thing she thinks will vex me.
sunday afternoon.
mrs. jewkes has thought fit to give me an airing, for three or four hours, this afternoon; and i am a good deal better and should be much more so, if i knew for what i am reserved. but health is a blessing hardly to be coveted in my circumstances, since that but exposes me to the calamity i am in continual apprehensions of; whereas a weak and sickly state might possibly move compassion for me. o how i dread the coming of this angry and incensed master; though i am sure i have done him no harm!
just now we heard, that he had like to have been drowned in crossing the stream, a few days ago, in pursuing his game. what is the matter, that with all his ill usage of me, i cannot hate him? to be sure, i am not like other people! he has certainly done enough to make me hate him; but yet, when i heard his danger, which was very great, i could not in my heart forbear rejoicing for his safety; though his death would have ended my afflictions. ungenerous master! if you knew this, you surely would not be so much my persecutor! but, for my late good lady's sake, i must wish him well; and o what an angel would he be in my eyes yet, if he would cease his attempts, and reform!
well, i hear by mrs. jewkes, that john arnold is turned away, being detected in writing to mr. williams; and that mr. longman, and mr. jonathan the butler, have incurred his displeasure, for offering to speak in my behalf. mrs. jervis too is in danger; for all these three, probably, went together to beg in my favour; for now it is known where i am.
mrs. jewkes has, with the news about my master, received a letter: but she says the contents are too bad for me to know. they must be bad indeed, if they be worse than what i have already known.
just now the horrid creature tells me, as a secret, that she has reason to think he has found out a way to satisfy my scruples: it is, by marrying me to this dreadful colbrand, and buying me of him on the wedding day, for a sum of money!—was ever the like heard?—she says it will be my duty to obey my husband; and that mr. williams will be forced, as a punishment, to marry us; and that, when my master has paid for me, and i am surrendered up, the swiss is to go home again, with the money, to his former wife and children; for, she says, it is the custom of those people to have a wife in every nation.
but this, to be sure, is horrid romancing! yet, abominable as it is, it may possibly serve to introduce some plot now hatching!—with what strange perplexities is my poor mind agitated! perchance, some sham-marriage may be designed, on purpose to ruin me; but can a husband sell his wife against her own consent?—and will such a bargain stand good in law?
monday, tuesday, wednesday, the 32d, 33d, and 34th days of my imprisonment.
nothing offers these days but squabblings between mrs. jewkes and me. she grows worse and worse to me. i vexed her yesterday, because she talked nastily; and told her she talked more like a vile london prostitute, than a gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks she cannot use me bad enough for it. bless me! she curses and storms at me like a trooper, and can hardly keep her hands off me. you may believe she must talk sadly, to make me say such harsh words: indeed it cannot be repeated; as she is a disgrace to her sex. and then she ridicules me, and laughs at my notions of honesty; and tells me, impudent creature as she is! what a fine bed-fellow i shall make for my master (and such-like), with such whimsical notions about me!—do you think this is to be borne? and yet she talks worse than this, if possible! quite filthily! o what vile hands am i put into!
thursday.
i have now all the reason that can be, to apprehend my master will be here soon; for the servants are busy in setting the house to rights; and a stable and coach-house are cleaning out, that have not been used some time. i asked mrs. jewkes; but she tells me nothing, nor will hardly answer me when i ask her a question. sometimes i think she puts on these strange wicked airs to me, purposely to make me wish for, what i dread most of all things, my master's coming down. he talk of love!—if he had any the least notion of regard for me, to be sure he would not give this naughty body such power over me:—and if he does come, where is his promise of not seeing me without i consent to it? but, it seems, his honour owes me nothing! so he tells me in his letter. and why? because i am willing to keep mine. but, indeed, he says, he hates me perfectly: but it is plain he does, or i should not be left to the mercy of this woman: and, what is worse, to my woful apprehensions.
friday, the 36th day of my imprisonment.
i took the liberty yesterday afternoon, finding the gates open, to walk out before the house; and, ere i was aware, had got to the bottom of the long row of elms; and there i sat myself down upon the steps of a sort of broad stile, which leads into the road, and goes towards the town. and as i sat musing upon what always busies my mind, i saw a whole body of folks running towards me from the house, men and women, as in a fright. at first i wondered what was the matter, till they came nearer; and i found they were all alarmed, thinking i had attempted to get off. there was first the horrible colbrand, running with his long legs, well nigh two yards at a stride; then there was one of the grooms, poor mr. williams's robber; then i spied nan, half out of breath, and the cook-maid after her! and lastly, came waddling, as fast as she could, mrs. jewkes, exclaiming most bitterly, as i found, against me. colbrand said, o how have you frighted us all!—and went behind me, lest i should run away, as i suppose.
i sat still, to let them see i had no view to get away; for, besides the improbability of succeeding, my last sad attempt has cured me of enterprising again. and when mrs. jewkes came within hearing, i found her terribly incensed, and raving about my contrivances. why, said i, should you be so concerned? here i have sat a few minutes, and had not the least thought of getting away, or going farther; but to return as soon as it was duskish. she would not believe me; and the barbarous creature struck at me with her horrid fist, and, i believe, would have felled me, had not colbrand interposed, and said, he saw me sitting still, looking about me, and not seeming to have the least inclination to stir. but this would not serve: she ordered the two maids to take me each by an arm, and lead me back into the house, and up stairs; and there have i been locked up ever since, without shoes. in vain have i pleaded, that i had no design, as indeed i had not the least; and last night i was forced to be between her and nan; and i find she is resolved to make a handle of this against me, and in her own behalf.—indeed, what with her usage, and my own apprehensions of still worse, i am quite weary of my life.
just now she has been with me, and given me my shoes, and has laid her imperious commands upon me, to dress myself in a suit of clothes out of the portmanteau, which i have not seen lately, against three or four o'clock; for she says, she is to have a visit from lady darnford's two daughters, who come purposely to see me; and so she gave me the key of the portmanteau. but i will not obey her; and i told her, i would not be made a show of, nor see the ladies. she left me, saying, it would be worse for me, if i did not. but how can that be?
five o'clock is come,
and no young ladies!—so that i fancy—but hold! i hear their coach, i believe. i'll step to the window.—i won't go down to them, i am resolved—
good sirs! good sirs! what will become of me! here is my master come in his fine chariot!—indeed he is! what shall i do? where shall i hide myself?—o! what shall i do? pray for me! but oh! you'll not see this!—now, good god of heaven, preserve me; if it be thy blessed will!
seven o'clock.
though i dread to see him, yet do i wonder i have not. to be sure something is resolved against me, and he stays to hear all her stories. i can hardly write; yet, as i can do nothing else, i know not how to forbear!—yet i cannot hold my pen—how crooked and trembling the lines!—i must leave off, till i can get quieter fingers!—why should the guiltless tremble so, when the guilty can possess their minds in peace?
saturday morning.
now let me give you an account of what passed last night: for i had no power to write, nor yet opportunity till now.
this vile woman held my master till half an hour after seven; and he came hither about five in the afternoon. and then i heard his voice on the stairs, as he was coming up to me. it was about his supper; for he said, i shall choose a boiled chicken with butter and parsley.—and up he came!
he put on a stern and majestic air; and he can look very majestic when he pleases. well, perverse pamela, ungrateful runaway, said he, for my first salutation!—you do well, don't you, to give me all this trouble and vexation! i could not speak; but throwing myself on the floor, hid my face, and was ready to die with grief and apprehension.—he said, well may you hide your face! well may you be ashamed to see me, vile forward one, as you are!—i sobbed and wept, but could not speak. and he let me lie, and went to the door, and called mrs. jewkes.—there, said he, take up that fallen angel!—once i thought her as innocent as an angel of light but i have now no patience with her. the little hypocrite prostrates herself thus, in hopes to move my weakness in her favour, and that i'll raise her from the floor myself. but i shall not touch her: no, said he, cruel gentleman as he was! let such fellows as williams be taken in by her artful wiles! i know her now, and see she is for any fool's turn, that will be caught by her.
i sighed, as if my heart would break!—and mrs. jewkes lifted me up upon my knees; for i trembled so, i could not stand. come, said she, mrs. pamela, learn to know your best friend; confess your unworthy behaviour, and beg his honour's forgiveness of all your faults. i was ready to faint: and he said, she is mistress of arts, i'll assure you; and will mimic a fit, ten to one, in a minute.
i was struck to the heart at this; but could not speak presently; only lifted up my eyes to heaven!—and at last made shift to say—god forgive you, sir!—he seemed in a great passion, and walked up and down the room, casting sometimes an eye upon me, and seeming as if he would have spoken, but checked himself—and at last he said, when she has acted this her first part over, perhaps i will see her again, and she shall soon know what she has to trust to.
and so he went out of the room: and i was quite sick at heart!—surely, said i, i am the wickedest creature that ever breathed! well, said the impertinent, not so wicked as that neither; but i am glad you begin to see your faults. nothing like being humble!—come, i'll stand your friend, and plead for you, if you'll promise to be more dutiful for the future: come, come, added the wretch, this may be all made up by to-morrow morning, if you are not a fool.—begone, hideous woman! said i, and let not my affliction be added to by thy inexorable cruelty, and unwomanly wickedness.
she gave me a push, and went away in a violent passion: and it seems, she made a story of this; and said, i had such a spirit, there was no bearing it.
i laid me down on the floor, and had no power to stir, till the clock struck nine: and then the wicked woman came up again. you must come down stairs, said she, to my master; that is, if you please, spirit!—said i, i believe i cannot stand. then, said she, i'll send mons. colbrand to carry you down.
i got up as well as i could, and trembled all the way down stairs: and she went before me into the parlour; and a new servant that he had waiting on him, instead of john, withdrew as soon as i came in: and, by the way, he had a new coachman too, which looked as if bedfordshire robin was turned away.
i thought, said he, when i came down, you should have sat at table with me, when i had not company; but when i find you cannot forget your original, but must prefer my menials to me, i call you down to wait on me while i sup, that i may have some talk with you, and throw away as little time as possible upon you.
sir, said i, you do me honour to wait upon you:—and i never shall, i hope, forget my original. but i was forced to stand behind his chair, that i might hold by it. fill me, said he, a glass of that burgundy. i went to do it, but my hand shook so, that i could not hold the plate with the glass in it, and spilt some of the wine. so mrs. jewkes poured it for me, and i carried it as well as i could; and made a low courtesy. he took it, and said, stand behind me, out of my sight!
why, mrs. jewkes, said he, you tell me she remains very sullen still, and eats nothing. no, said she, not so much as will keep life and soul together.—and is always crying, you say, too? yes, sir, answered she, i think she is, for one thing or another. ay, said he, your young wenches will feed upon their tears; and their obstinacy will serve them for meat and drink. i think i never saw her look better though, in my life!—but, i suppose, she lives upon love. this sweet mr. williams, and her little villanous plots together, have kept her alive and well, to be sure: for mischief, love, and contradiction, are the natural aliments of a woman.
poor i was forced to hear all this, and be silent; and indeed my heart was too full to speak.
and so you say, said he, that she had another project, but yesterday, to get away? she denies it herself, said she; but it had all the appearance of one. i'm sure she made me in a fearful pucker about it: and i am glad your honour is come, with all my heart; and i hope, whatever be your honour's intention concerning her, you will not be long about it; for you'll find her as slippery as an eel, i'll assure you.
sir, said i, and clasped his knees with my arms, not knowing what i did, and falling on my knees, have mercy on me, and hear me, concerning that wicked woman's usage of me—
he cruelly interrupted me, and said, i am satisfied she has done her duty: it signifies nothing what you say against mrs. jewkes. that you are here, little hypocrite as you are, pleading your cause before me, is owing to her care of you; else you had been with the parson.—wicked girl! said he, to tempt a man to undo himself, as you have done him, at a time i was on the point of making him happy for his life!
i arose; but said with a deep sigh, i have done, sir!—i have done!—i have a strange tribunal to plead before. the poor sheep in the fable had such an one; when it was tried before the vulture, on the accusation of the wolf!
so, mrs. jewkes, said he, you are the wolf, i the vulture, and this the poor innocent lamb on her trial before us.—oh! you don't know how well this innocent is read in reflection. she has wit at will, when she has a mind to display her own romantic innocence, at the price of other people's characters.
well, said the aggravated creature, this is nothing to what she has called me: i have been a jezebel, a london prostitute, and what not?—but i am contented with her ill names, now i see it is her fashion, and she can call your honour a vulture.
said i, i had no thought of comparing my master—and was going to say on: but he said, don't prate, girl!—no, said she, it don't become you, i am sure.
well, said i, since i must not speak, i will hold my peace; but there is a righteous judge, who knows the secrets of all hearts; and to him i appeal.
see there! said he: now this meek, good creature is praying for fire from heaven upon us! o she can curse most heartily, in the spirit of christian meekness, i'll assure you!—come, saucy-face, give me another glass of wine.
so i did, as well as i could; but wept so, that he said, i suppose i shall have some of your tears in my wine!
when he had supped, he stood up, and said, o how happy for you it is, that you can, at will, thus make your speaking eyes overflow in this manner, without losing any of their brilliancy! you have been told, i suppose, that you are most beautiful in your tears!—did you ever, said he to her, (who all this while was standing in one corner of the parlour,) see a more charming creature than this? is it to be wondered at, that i demean myself thus to take notice of her?—see, said he, and took the glass with one hand, and turned me round with the other, what a shape! what a neck! what a hand! and what a bloom on that lovely face!—but who can describe the tricks and artifices, that lie lurking in her little, plotting, guileful heart! 'tis no wonder the poor parson was infatuated with her.—i blame him less than i do her; for who could expect such artifice in so young a sorceress?
i went to the farther part of the room, and held my face against the wainscot; and in spite of all i could do to refrain crying, sobbed as if my heart would break. he said, i am surprised, mrs. jewkes, at the mistake of the letters you tell me of! but, you see, i am not afraid any body should read what i write. i don't carry on private correspondences, and reveal every secret that comes to my knowledge, and then corrupt people to carry my letters against their duty, and all good conscience.
come hither, hussy! said he: you and i have a dreadful reckoning to make. why don't you come, when i bid you?—fie upon it, mrs. pamela, said she. what! not stir, when his honour commands you to come to him!—who knows but his goodness will forgive you?
he came to me, (for i had no power to stir,) and put his arms about my neck, and would kiss me; and said, well, mrs. jewkes, if it were not for the thought of this cursed parson, i believe in my heart, so great is my weakness, that i could not forgive this intriguing little slut, and take her to my bosom.
o, said the sycophant, you are very good, sir, very forgiving, indeed!—but come, added the profligate wretch, i hope you will be so good, as to take her to your bosom; and that, by to-morrow morning, you'll bring her to a better sense of her duty!
could any thing in womanhood be so vile? i had no patience: but yet grief and indignation choaked up the passage of my words; and i could only stammer out a passionate exclamation to heaven, to protect my innocence. but the word was the subject of their ridicule. was ever poor creature worse beset!
he said, as if he had been considering whether he could forgive me or not, no, i cannot yet forgive her neither.—she has given me great disturbance, has brought great discredit upon me, both abroad and at home: has corrupted all my servants at the other house; has despised my honourable views and intentions to her, and sought to run away with this ungrateful parson.—and surely i ought not to forgive all this!—yet, with all this wretched grimace, he kissed me again, and would have put his hand into my bosom; but i struggled, and said, i would die before i would be used thus.—consider, pamela, said he, in a threatening tone, consider where you are! and don't play the fool: if you do, a more dreadful fate awaits you than you expect. but take her up stairs, mrs. jewkes, and i'll send a few lines to her to consider of; and let me have your answer, pamela, in the morning. 'till then you have to resolve: and after that your doom is fixed.—so i went up stairs, and gave myself up to grief, and expectation of what he would send: but yet i was glad of this night's reprieve!
he sent me, however, nothing at all. and about twelve o'clock, mrs. jewkes and nan came up, as the night before, to be my bed-fellows: and i would go to bed with some of my clothes on: which they muttered at sadly; and mrs. jewkes railed at me particularly. indeed i would have sat up all night, for fear, if she would have let me. for i had but very little rest that night, apprehending this woman would let my master in. she did nothing but praise him, and blame me: but i answered her as little as i could.
he has sir simon tell-tale, alias darnford, to dine with him to-day, whose family sent to welcome him into the country; and it seems the old knight wants to see me; so i suppose i shall be sent for, as samson was, to make sport for him.—here i am, and must bear it all!
twelve o'clock, saturday noon.
just now he has sent me up, by mrs. jewkes, the following proposals. so here are the honourable intentions all at once laid open. they are, my dear parents, to make me a vile kept mistress: which, i hope, i shall always detest the thoughts of. but you'll see how they are accommodated to what i should have most desired, could i have honestly promoted it, your welfare and happiness. i have answered them, as i am sure you'll approve; and i am prepared for the worst: for though i fear there will be nothing omitted to ruin me, and though my poor strength will not be able to defend me, yet i will be innocent of crime in my intention, and in the sight of god; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs, time and manner. i shall write to you my answer against his articles; and hope the best, though i fear the worst. but if i should come home to you ruined and undone, and may not be able to look you in the face; yet pity and inspirit the poor pamela, to make her little remnant of life easy; for long i shall not survive my disgrace: and you may be assured it shall not be my fault, if it be my misfortune.
'to mrs. pamela andrews.
'the following articles are proposed to your serious consideration; and let me have an answer, in writing, to them, that i may take my resolutions accordingly. only remember, that i will not be trifled with; and what you give for answer will absolutely decide your fate, without expostulation, or farther trouble.
this is my answer.
forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to show in
her answer to your articles. not to be warm, and in earnest,
on such an occasion as the present, would shew a degree of guilt,
that, i hope, my soul abhors. i will not trifle with you, nor
act like a person doubtful of her own mind; for it wants not one
moment's consideration with me; and i therefore return the answer
following, let what will be the consequence.
'i. if you can convince me that the hated parson has had no encouragement from you in his addresses; and that you have no inclination for him in preference to me; then i will offer the following proposals to you, which i will punctually make good.
i. as to the first article, sir, it may behove me (that i may
not deserve, in your opinion, the opprobrious terms of forward
and artful, and such like) to declare solemnly, that mr. williams
never had the least encouragement from me, as to what you hint;
and i believe his principal motive was the apprehended duty of his
function, quite contrary to his apparent interest, to assist a
person he thought in distress. you may, sir, the rather believe
me, when i declare, that i know not the man breathing i would wish
to marry; and that the only one i could honour more than another,
is the gentleman, who, of all others, seeks my everlasting dishonour.
'ii. i will directly make you a present of 500 guineas, for your own use, which you may dispose of to any purpose you please: and will give it absolutely into the hands of any person you shall appoint to receive it; and expect no favour in return, till you are satisfied in the possession of it.
ii. as to your second proposal, let the consequence be what it
will, i reject it with all my soul. money, sir, is not my chief
good: may god almighty desert me, whenever it is! and whenever,
for the sake of that, i can give up my title to that blessed hope
which will stand me in stead, at a time when millions of gold will
not purchase one happy moment of reflection on a past misspent life!
'iii. i will likewise directly make over to you a purchase i lately made in kent, which brings in 250l. per annum, clear of all deductions. this shall be made over to you in full property for your life, and for the lives of any children to perpetuity, that you may happen to have: and your father shall be immediately put into possession of it in trust for these purposes: and the management of it will yield a comfortable subsistence to him, and your mother, for life; and i will make up any deficiencies, if such should happen, to that clear sum, and allow him 50l. per annum, besides, for his life, and that of your mother, for his care and management of this your estate.
iii. your third proposal, sir, i reject for the same reason;
and am sorry you could think my poor honest parents would enter
into their part of it, and be concerned for the management of
an estate, which would be owing to the prostitution of their
poor daughter. forgive, sir, my warmth on this occasion; but
you know not the poor man, and the poor woman, my ever-dear
father and mother, if you think, that they would not much rather
choose to starve in a ditch, or rot in a noisome dungeon, than
accept of the fortune of a monarch, upon such wicked terms.
i dare not say all that my full mind suggests to me on this
grievous occasion—but, indeed, sir, you know them not; nor
shall the terrors of death, in its most frightful form, i hope,
through god's assisting grace, ever make me act unworthy of
such poor honest parents!
'iv. i will, moreover, extend my favour to any other of your relations, that you may think worthy of it, or that are valued by you.
iv. your fourth proposal, i take upon me, sir, to answer as the
third. if i have any friends that want the favour of the great,
may they ever want it, if they are capable of desiring it on
unworthy terms!
'v. i will, besides, order patterns to be sent you for choosing four complete suits of rich clothes, that you may appear with reputation, as if you were my wife. and will give you the two diamond rings, and two pair of ear-rings, and diamond necklace, that were bought by my mother, to present to miss tomlins, if the match that was proposed between her and me had been brought to effect: and i will confer upon you still other gratuities, as i shall find myself obliged, by your good behaviour and affection.
v. fine clothes, sir, become not me; nor have i any ambition
to wear them. i have greater pride in my poverty and meanness,
than i should have in dress and finery. believe me, sir, i think
such things less become the humble-born pamela, than the rags
your good mother raised me from. your rings, sir, your necklace,
and your ear-rings, will better befit ladies of degree, than me:
and to lose the best jewel, my virtue, would be poorly recompensed
by those you propose to give me. what should i think, when i
looked upon my finger, or saw in the glass those diamonds on my
neck, and in my ears, but that they were the price of my honesty;
and that i wore those jewels outwardly, because i had none inwardly.
'vi. now, pamela, will you see by this, what a value i set upon the free-will of a person already in my power; and who, if these proposals are not accepted, shall find, that i have not taken all these pains, and risked my reputation, as i have done, without resolving to gratify my passion for you, at all adventures; and if you refuse, without making any terms at all.
vi. i know, sir, by woful experience, that i am in your power:
i know all the resistance i can make will be poor and weak, and,
perhaps, stand me in little stead: i dread your will to ruin me
is as great as your power: yet, sir, will i dare to tell you,
that i will make no free-will offering of my virtue. all that
i can do, poor as it is, i will do, to convince you, that your
offers shall have no part in my choice; and if i cannot escape
the violence of man, i hope, by god's grace, i shall have nothing
to reproach myself, for not doing all in my power to avoid my
disgrace; and then i can safely appeal to the great god, my only
refuge and protector, with this consolation, that my will bore no
part in my violation.
'vii. you shall be mistress of my person and fortune, as much as if the foolish ceremony had passed. all my servants shall be yours; and you shall choose any two persons to attend yourself, either male or female, without any control of mine: and if your conduct be such, that i have reason to be satisfied with it, i know not (but will not engage for this) that i may, after a twelvemonth's cohabitation, marry you; for, if my love increases for you, as it has done for many months past, it will be impossible for me to deny you any thing.
'and now, pamela, consider well, it is in your power to oblige me on such terms, as will make yourself, and all your friends, happy: but this will be over this very day, irrevocably over; and you shall find all you would be thought to fear, without the least benefit arising from it to yourself.
'and i beg you'll well weigh the matter, and comply with my proposals; and i will instantly set about securing to you the full effect of them: and let me, if you value yourself, experience a grateful return on this occasion, and i'll forgive all that's past.'
vii. i have not once dared to look so high, as to such a
proposal as your seventh article contains. hence have proceeded
all my little abortive artifices to escape from the confinement
you have put me in; although you promised to be honourable to me.
your honour, well i know, would not let you stoop to so mean and
so unworthy a slave, as the poor pamela: all i desire is, to be
permitted to return to my native meanness unviolated. what have
i done, sir, to deserve it should be otherwise? for the obtaining
of this, though i would not have married your chaplain, yet would
i have run away with your meanest servant, if i had thought i could
have got safe to my beloved poverty. i heard you once say, sir,
that a certain great commander, who could live upon lentils, might
well refuse the bribes of the greatest monarch: and i hope, as i
can contentedly live at the meanest rate, and think not myself
above the lowest condition, that i am also above making an exchange
of my honesty for all the riches of the indies. when i come to be
proud and vain of gaudy apparel, and outside finery, then (which i
hope will never be) may i rest my principal good in such vain
trinkets, and despise for them the more solid ornaments of a good
fame, and a chastity inviolate!
give me leave to say, sir, in answer to what you hint, that you may in a twelvemonth's time marry me, on the continuance of my good behaviour; that this weighs less with me, if possible, than any thing else you have said: for, in the first place, there is an end of all merit, and all good behaviour, on my side, if i have now any, the moment i consent to your proposals: and i should be so far from expecting such an honour, that i will pronounce, that i should be most unworthy of it. what, sir, would the world say, were you to marry your harlot? that a gentleman of your rank in life should stoop, not only to the base-born pamela, but to a base-born prostitute?—little, sir, as i know of the world, i am not to be caught by a bait so poorly covered as this!
yet, after all, dreadful is the thought, that i, a poor, weak, friendless, unhappy creature, am too full in your power! but permit me, sir, to pray, as i now write on my bended knees, that before you resolve upon my ruin, you will weigh well the matter. hitherto, sir, though you have taken large strides to this crying sin, yet are you on this side the commission of it.—when once it is done, nothing can recall it! and where will be your triumph?—what glory will the spoils of such a weak enemy yield you? let me but enjoy my poverty with honesty, is all my prayer, and i will bless you, and pray for you, every moment of my life! think, o think! before it is yet too late! what stings, what remorse will attend your dying hour, when you come to reflect, that you have ruined, perhaps soul and body, a wretched creature, whose only pride was her virtue! and how pleased you will be, on the contrary, if in that tremendous moment you shall be able to acquit yourself of this foul crime, and to plead in your own behalf, that you suffered the earnest supplications of an unhappy wretch to prevail with you to be innocent yourself, and let her remain so!—may god almighty, whose mercy so lately saved you from the peril of perishing in deep waters, (on which, i hope, you will give me cause to congratulate you!) touch your heart in my favour, and save you from this sin, and me from this ruin!—and to him do i commit my cause; and to him will i give the glory, and night and day pray for you, if i may be permitted to escape this great evil!——
your poor oppressed, broken spirited servant.
i took a copy of this for your perusal, my dear parents, if i shall ever be so happy to see you again; (for i hope my conduct will be approved of by you;) and at night, when sir simon was gone, he sent for me down. well, said he, have you considered my proposals? yes, sir, said i, i have: and there is my answer: but pray let me not see you read it. is it your bashfulness, said he, or your obstinacy, that makes you not choose i should read it before you?
i offered to go away; and he said, don't run from me; i won't read it till you are gone. but, said he, tell me, pamela, whether you comply with my proposals, or not? sir, said i, you will see presently; pray don't hold me; for he took my hand. said he, did you well consider before you answered?—i did, sir, said i. if it be not what you think will please me, said he, dear girl, take it back again, and reconsider it; for if i have this as your absolute answer, and i don't like it, you are undone; for i will not sue meanly, where i can command. i fear, said he, it is not what i like, by your manner: and let me tell you, that i cannot bear denial. if the terms i have offered are not sufficient, i will augment them to two-thirds of my estate; for, said he, and swore a dreadful oath, i cannot live without you: and, since the thing is gone so far, i will not! and so he clasped me in his arms in such a manner as quite frightened me; and kissed me two or three times.
i got from him, and run up stairs, and went to the closet, and was quite uneasy and fearful.
in an hour's time he called mrs. jewkes down to him! and i heard him very high in passion: and all about me! and i heard her say, it was his own fault; there would be an end of all my complaining and perverseness, if he was once resolved; and other most impudent aggravations. i am resolved not to go to bed this night, if i can help it!—lie still, lie still, my poor fluttering heart!—what will become of me!
almost twelve o'clock, saturday night.
he sent mrs. jewkes, about ten o'clock, to tell me to come to him. where? said i. i'll shew you, said she. i went down three or four steps, and saw her making to his chamber, the door of which was open: so i said, i cannot go there!—don't be foolish, said she; but come; no harm will be done to you!—well, said i, if i die, i cannot go there. i heard him say, let her come, or it shall be worse for her. i can't bear, said he, to speak to her myself!—well, said i, i cannot come, indeed i cannot; and so i went up again into my closet, expecting to be fetched by force.
but she came up soon after, and bid me make haste to bed: said i, i will not go to bed this night, that's certain!—then, said she, you shall be made to come to bed; and nan and i will undress you. i knew neither prayers nor tears would move this wicked woman: so i said, i am sure you will let master in, and i shall be undone! mighty piece of undone! she said: but he was too much exasperated against me, to be so familiar with me, she would assure me!—ay, said she, you'll be disposed of another way soon, i can tell you for your comfort: and i hope your husband will have your obedience, though nobody else can have it. no husband in the world, said i, shall make me do an unjust or base thing.—she said, that would be soon tried; and nan coming in, what! said i, am i to have two bed-fellows again, these warm nights? yes, said she, slippery-one, you are, till you can have one good one instead of us. said i, mrs. jewkes, don't talk nastily to me: i see you are beginning again; and i shall affront you, may be; for next to bad actions, are bad words; for they could not be spoken, if they were not in the heart.—come to bed, purity! said she. you are a nonsuch, i suppose. indeed, said i, i can't come to bed; and it will do you no harm to let me stay all night in the great chair. nan, said she, undress my young lady. if she won't let you, i'll help you; and, if neither of us can do it quietly, we'll call my master to do it for us; though, said she, i think it an office worthier of monsieur colbrand!—you are very wicked, said i. i know it, said she; i am a jezebel, and a london prostitute, you know. you did great feats, said i, to tell my master all this poor stuff; but you did not tell him how you beat me. no, lambkin, said she, (a word i had not heard a good while,) that i left for you to tell and you was going to do it if the vulture had not taken the wolf's part, and bid the poor innocent lamb be silent!—ay, said i, no matter for your fleers, mrs. jewkes; though i can have neither justice nor mercy here, and cannot be heard in my defence, yet a time will come, may be, when i shall be heard, and when your own guilt will strike you dumb.—ay! spirit, said she; and the vulture too! must we both be dumb? why that, lambkin, will be pretty!—then, said the wicked one, you'll have all the talk to yourself!—then how will the tongue of the pretty lambkin bleat out innocence, and virtue, and honesty, till the whole trial be at an end!—you're a wicked woman, that's certain, said i; and if you thought any thing of another world, could not talk thus. but no wonder!—it shews what hands i'm got into!—ay, so it does, said she; but i beg you'll undress, and come to bed, or i believe your innocence won't keep you from still worse hands. i will come to bed, said i, if you will let me have the keys in my own hand; not else, if i can help it. yes, said she, and then, hey for another contrivance, another escape!—no, no, said i, all my contrivances are over, i'll assure you! pray let me have the keys, and i will come to bed. she came to me, and took me in her huge arms, as if i was a feather: said she, i do this to shew you what a poor resistance you can make against me, if i please to exert myself; and so, lambkin, don't say to your wolf, i won't come to bed!—and set me down, and tapped me on the neck: ah! said she, thou art a pretty creature, 'tis true; but so obstinate! so full of spirit! if thy strength was but answerable to that, thou would'st run away with us all, and this great house too on thy back!—but, undress, undress, i tell you.
well, said i, i see my misfortunes make you very merry, and very witty too: but i will love you, if you will humour me with the keys of the chamber-doors.—are you sure you will love me? said she: now speak your conscience!—why, said i, you must not put it so close; neither would you, if you thought you had not given reason to doubt it!—but i will love you as well as i can!—i would not tell a wilful lie: and if i did, you would not believe me, after your hard usage of me. well, said she, that's all fair, i own!—but nan, pray pull off my young lady's shoes and stockings.—no, pray don't, said i; i will come to bed presently, since i must.
and so i went to the closet, and scribbled a little about this idle chit-chat. and she being importunate, i was forced to go to bed; but with some of my clothes on, as the former night; and she let me hold the two keys; for there are two locks, there being a double door; and so i got a little sleep that night, having had none for two or three nights before.
i can't imagine what she means; but nan offered to talk a little once or twice; and she snubbed her, and said, i charge you, wench, don't open your lips before me; and if you are asked any questions by mrs. pamela, don't answer her one word, while i am here!—but she is a lordly woman to the maid-servants; and that has always been her character: o how unlike good mrs. jervis in every thing.
sunday morning.
a thought came into my head; i meant no harm; but it was a little bold. for, seeing my master dressing to go to church; and his chariot getting ready, i went to my closet, and i writ,
the prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired for a
gentleman of great worth and honour, who labours under a temptation
to exert his great power to ruin a poor, distressed, worthless
maiden:
and also,
the prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired by a poor
distressed creature, for the preservation of her virtue and
innocence.
mrs. jewkes came up: always writing! said she; and would see it: and strait, all that ever i could say, carried it down to my master.—he looked upon it, and said, tell her, she shall soon see how her prayers are answered; she is very bold: but as she has rejected all my favours, her reckoning for all is not far off. i looked after him out of the window; and he was charmingly dressed: to be sure he is a handsome fine gentleman!—what pity his heart is not as good as his appearance! why can't i hate him?—but don't be uneasy, if you should see this; for it is impossible i should love him; for his vices all ugly him over, as i may say.
my master sends word, that he shall not come home to dinner: i suppose he dines with this sir simon darnford. i am much concerned for poor mr. williams. mrs. jewkes says, he is confined still, and takes on much. all his trouble is brought upon him for my sake: this grieves me much. my master, it seems, will have his money from him. this is very hard; for it is three fifty pounds, he gave him, as he thought, as a salary for three years that he has been with him: but there was no agreement between them; and he absolutely depended on my master's favour. to be sure, it was the more generous of him to run these risks for the sake of oppressed innocence: and i hope he will meet with his reward in due time. alas for me! i dare not plead for him; that would raise my oppressor's jealousy more. and i have not interest to save myself!
sunday evening.
mrs. jewkes has received a line from my master: i wonder what it is, for his chariot is come home without him. but she will tell me nothing; so it is in vain to ask her. i am so fearful of plots and tricks, i know not what to do!—every thing i suspect; for, now my disgrace is avowed, what can i think!—to be sure, the worst will be attempted! i can only pour out my soul in prayer to god, for his blessed protection. but, if i must suffer, let me not be long a mournful survivor!—only let me not shorten my own time sinfully!——
this woman left upon the table, in the chamber, this letter of my master's to her; and i bolted myself in, till i had transcribed it. you'll see how tremblingly, by the lines. i wish poor mr. williams's release at any rate; but this letter makes my heart ache. yet i have another day's reprieve, thank god!
'mrs. jewkes,
'i have been so pressed on williams's affair, that i shall set out this afternoon, in sir simon's chariot, and with parson peters, who is his intercessor, for stamford; and shall not be back till to-morrow evening, if then. as to your ward, i am thoroughly incensed against her: she has withstood her time; and now, would she sign and seal to my articles, it is too late. i shall discover something, perhaps, by him; and will, on my return, let her know, that all her ensnaring loveliness shall not save her from the fate that awaits her. but let her know nothing of this, lest it put her fruitful mind upon plots and artifices. be sure trust her not without another with you at night, lest she venture the window in her foolish rashness: for i shall require her at your hands.
'yours, etc.'
i had but just finished taking a copy of this, and laid the letter where i had it, and unbolted the door, when she came up in a great fright, for fear i should have seen it; but i being in my closet, and that lying as she left it, she did not mistrust. o, said she, i was afraid you had seen my master's letter here, which i carelessly left on the table. i wish, said i, i had known that. why sure, said she, if you had, you would not have offered to read my letters! indeed, said i, i should, at this time, if it had been in my way:—do let me see it.—well, said she, i wish poor mr. williams well off: i understand my master is gone to make up matters with him; which is very good. to be sure, added she, he is a very good gentleman, and very forgiving!—why, said i, as if i had known nothing of the matter, how can he make up matters with him? is not mr. williams at stamford? yes, said she, i believe so; but parson peters pleads for him, and he is gone with him to stamford, and will not be back to-night: so we have nothing to do, but to eat our suppers betimes, and go to bed. ay, that's pure, said i; and i shall have good rest this night, i hope. so, said she, you might every night, but for your own idle fears. you are afraid of your friends, when none are near you. ay, that's true, said i; for i have not one near me.
so i have one more good honest night before me: what the next may be i know not, and so i'll try to take in a good deal of sleep, while i can be a little easy. therefore, here i say, good night, my dear parents; for i have no more to write about this night: and though his letter shocks me, yet i will be as brisk as i can, that she mayn't suspect i have seen it.
tuesday night.
for the future, i will always mistrust most when appearances look fairest. o your poor daughter! what has she not suffered since what i wrote on sunday night!—my worst trial, and my fearfullest danger! o how i shudder to write you an account of this wicked interval of time! for, my dear parents, will you not be too much frightened and affected with my distress, when i tell you, that his journey to stamford was all abominable pretence! for he came home privately, and had well nigh effected all his vile purposes, and the ruin of your poor daughter! and that by such a plot as i was not in the least apprehensive of: and, oh! you'll hear what a vile and unwomanly part that wicked wretch, mrs. jewkes, acted in it!
i left off with letting you know how much i was pleased that i had one night's reprieve added to my honesty. but i had less occasion to rejoice than ever, as you will judge by what i have said already. take, then, the dreadful story, as well as i can relate it.
the maid nan is a little apt to drink, if she can get at liquor; and mrs. jewkes happened, or designed, as is too probable, to leave a bottle of cherry-brandy in her way, and the wench drank some of it more than she should; and when she came in to lay the cloth, mrs. jewkes perceived it, and fell a rating at her most sadly; for she has too many faults of her own, to suffer any of the like sort in any body else, if she can help it; and she bid her get out of her sight, when we had supped, and go to bed, to sleep off her liquor, before we came to bed. and so the poor maid went muttering up stairs.
about two hours after, which was near eleven o'clock, mrs. jewkes and i went up to go to bed; i pleasing myself with what a charming night i should have. we locked both doors, and saw poor nan, as i thought, (but, oh! 'twas my abominable master, as you shall hear by and by,) sitting fast asleep, in an elbow-chair, in a dark corner of the room, with her apron thrown over her head and neck. and mrs. jewkes said, there is that beast of a wench fast asleep, instead of being a-bed! i knew, said she, she had taken a fine dose. i'll wake her, said i. no, don't, said she; let her sleep on; we shall he better without her. ay, said i, so we shall; but won't she get cold?
