She saw me weep; and said, ‘Do you repent?’ ‘Of what?’ said I. ‘Nay, I can’t tell,’ replied she; ‘but to be sure he has had a specimen of your satirical flings,208 or he would not be so angry. Oh!’ continued she, and held up her hand, ‘thou hast a spirit! But I hope it will now be brought down.’ ‘I hope so too,’ said I. ‘I am quite ready, Mrs Jewkes.’
She lifted up the sash,209 and said, ‘I’ll call Robin to take your portmanteau: bag and baggage!210 I’m glad you’re going.’ ‘I have no words,’ replied I, ‘to throw away upon you, Mrs Jewkes; but,’ making her a very low curt’sy, ‘I most heartily thank you for all your virtuous civilities to me. And so adieu! for I’ll have no portmanteau, I assure you, nor any thing besides what I have on, except these few things that I brought with me in my handkerchief.’ For I had all this time worn the clothes I had bought, though my master several times would have had it otherwise. Nevertheless, I had put up paper, ink, and pens.
So down I went; and as I passed by the parlour, she stepped in, and said, ‘Sir, you have nothing to say to the girl, before she goes?’ I heard him reply, though I did not see him, ‘Who bid you say the girl, Mrs Jewkes, in that manner? She has offended only me!’
‘I beg your honour’s pardon,’ said the wretch; ‘but if I were your honour, she should not, for all the trouble she has cost you, go away scot-free.’ ‘No more of this! as I told you before,’ said he: ‘what! when I have such proof, that her virtue is all her pride, shall I rob her of that? No,’ added he, ‘let her go, perverse and foolish as she is; but she deserves to go away virtuous, and she shall.’
I was so overjoyed at this unexpected goodness, that I opened the door before I knew what I did, and I said, falling on my knees at the door, with my hands folded and lifted up, ‘May God bless your honour! May God Almighty bless your honour, for this instance of your goodness! I will pray for you as long as I live, and so shall my father and mother!’
He turned from me, and went into his closet, and shut the door. He needed not; for I would not have gone nearer to him!
Surely I did not say so much, that he should be so very angry.
I think I was loth to leave the house. Can you believe it? What could be the matter with me, I wonder! I felt something so strange, and my heart was so heavy! I wonder what ailed me! But this instance of his goodness was so unexpected! I believe that was all! Yet I have a very strange heart still. Surely, surely, I cannot be like the murmuring Israelites of old, who hungered after the onions and garlick of Egypt, where they had suffered such a heavy bondage?211 I’ll take thee, O contradictory, ungovernable heart, to severe task for these they strange emotions, when I get to my father’s; and if I find any thing in thee that should not be, depend upon it, thou shalt be humbled, if strict abstinence, prayer, and mortification, will do it!
But yet, after all, this last goodness of his has touched me too sensibly: I almost wish I had not heard what he said; and yet, methinks I am glad I did; for I should rejoice to think the best of him, for his own sake.
Well, and so I went out to the chariot, the same that brought me down. ‘So, Mr Robert,’ said I, ‘here I am again! a fine sporting-piece212 for the great, a mere tennis-ball of fortune! You have your orders, no doubt.’ ‘Yes, madam,’ said he. ‘Don’t call me madam,’ said I, ‘nor stand with your hat off to such a one as I.’ ‘Had not my master,’ replied he, ‘ordered me not to be wanting in respects to you, I would have shewn you all I could.’ ‘That’s very kind, Mr Robert,’ said I, with my heart full.
Mr Colbrand (mounted on horseback, with pistols before him) came up to me, as soon as I got in, with his hat off too. ‘What, Monsieur!’ said I, ‘are you to go with me?’ ‘Part of the way,’ he said, to see me safe. ‘I hope that’s kind, too, in you, Mr Colbrand,’ said I.
I had nobody to wave my handkerchief to now, nor to take leave of; and so I resigned myself to my contemplations, with this strange wayward heart of mine, that I never found so awkward before. And away drove the chariot! And when I had got out of the elm-walk, and into the great road, I could hardly think but I was in a dream all the time. A few hours before, said I to myself, so high in my master’s favour, with twenty kind things said to me, and a generous concern for the misfortunes he had brought upon me; and now only for a rash half-word turned out of doors at an hour’s warning; and all his kindness changed to hatred! And I now, from three o’clock to five, several miles off! But if I am going to my dear parents, thought I, all will be well again, I hope.
What strange creatures are men! Gentlemen, I should rather say. For you, my good mother, although poverty has been your lot, have had better fortune; and you and my father have always been blest in each other! Yet this pleases me too: he was so good, he would not let Mrs Jewkes speak ill of me, and scorned to take her unwomanly advice. O what a black heart has this poor wretch! So I need not rail against men so much; for my master, bad as I have thought him, is not half so bad as this woman! To be sure she must be an atheist! Do you think she is not?
We could not reach further than this little poor place, and sad alehouse, rather than inn;213 for it soon began to be dark, and Robin did not make so much haste as he might have done. He is forced to make hard shift214 for his horses.
Mr Colbrand, and Robert too, are very civil. I see he has got my portmanteau lashed behind the chariot. I did not desire it; but I shall not come quite destitute.
A thorough riddance of me, I see! Bag and baggage! as Mrs Jewkes says. Well, my story, surely, would furnish out a surprising kind of novel, if it were to be well told.
Ten o’Clock
Mr Robert came up to me just now, and begged me to eat something. I thanked him; but said I could not eat. I bid him ask Mr Colbrand to walk up; and he came; but neither of them would sit, nor put their hats on. What mockery is this to such a poor soul as I! I asked them, if they were at liberty to tell me the truth of what they were to do with me? They both said, Robin was ordered to carry me to my father’s; and Mr Colbrand was to leave me within ten miles, and then strike off for the other house, and wait till my master arrived there. They spoke so seriously, that I could not but believe them.
But when Robin was gone down, the other said he had a letter to give me next day at noon, when we baited, as we were to do, at Mrs Jewkes’s relations. ‘May I not,’ said I, ‘beg the favour to see it to-night?’ He seemed so loth to deny me, that I have hopes I shall prevail on him by-and-by.
Well, my dear father and mother, I have got the letter, on great promises of secrecy, and of making no advantage of the contents. I have opened it, without breaking the seal. This is a copy of it:
‘When these lines are delivered to you, you will be far on your way to your father and mother, with whom you have so long desired to be: and, I hope, I shall forbear thinking of you with the least shadow of that fondness which my foolish heart had entertained for you. I bear you, however, no ill-will; but the end of my detaining you being over, I would not that you should stay with me an hour more than needed, after your ungenerous behaviour to me, at a time when I was inclined to pass over all other considerations, and make an honourable address to you.
‘I will acknowledge another truth – That had I not parted with you as I did, but permitted you to stay till I had read your journal, (freely, as I doubt not you have treated me in it) and till I had heard your bewitching pleas in your own behalf, I feared I could not trust myself with my own resolution. And this was the reason, I frankly own, that I determined not to see you, nor hear you speak; for well I know my weakness in your favour.
‘But since my fond folly was likely to cost me so dear, I am resolved to get the better of it. And yet, I cannot but say, that I could wish you would not think of marrying in haste; and particularly, that you would not have that cursed Williams. But what is all this to me now? Only I am weak enough to wish that, as I had already looked upon you as mine, and you have so soon got rid of your first husband, you will not refuse, to my memory, the regard that every decent w
oman observes on losing a husband; that is to say, that you will pay a twelve-month’s compliment, though but in mere compliment, to my ashes.
‘Your papers shall be faithfully returned. I have paid so dear for my curiosity, that you would look upon yourself amply revenged, if you knew what they have cost me.
‘I thought of writing only a few lines; but I have run into length. I will now try to recollect my scattered thoughts, and resume my reason; and shall find trouble enough to supply the chasms you have made in my family: since, let me tell you, though I can forgive you, I never can my sister, nor my domesticks; for my vengeance must be wreaked somewhere.
‘I doubt not your prudence in forbearing to expose me any more than is necessary for your own justification; and for the sake of that, I will suffer myself to be accused by you, and will also accuse myself, if it be needful. For I am, and will ever be,
Your affectionate Well-wisher.’
This letter, when I expected some new plot, has greatly affected me. For here plainly does he confess his great value for me; and accounts for his rigorous behaviour to me. And so all this wicked gypsey-story is, as it seems, a forgery, and has quite ruined me! For, O my dear parents, forgive me! but I found, to my grief, before, that my heart was too partial in his favour; but now, to find him capable of so much openness, so much affection, nay, and of so much honour too, I am quite over-come. This was a good fortune, however, I had no reason to expect. But to be sure, I must own to you, that I shall never be able to think of any body in the world but him! Presumption! you will say; and so it is: but love, I imagine, is not a voluntary thing – Love, did I say! But come, I hope not: at least it is not, I hope, gone so far, as to make me very uneasy: for I know not how it came, nor when it began; but it has crept, crept, like a thief, upon me; and before I knew what was the matter, it looked like love.
I wish, since it is too late, and that my lot is so absolutely, so irrevocably determined, that I had not had this letter, nor heard him take my part to that vile woman; for then I should have blessed myself for having escaped so happily his designing arts; but now, my poor mind is all topsy-turvied, as I may say,215 and I have made an escape from my prison, only to be more a prisoner.
But, I hope, since thus it is, that all will be for the best; and I shall, with your prudent advice, and pious prayers, be able to overcome this weakness. But, to be sure, my dear sir, I will keep a longer time than a twelve-month, as a true widow, for a compliment, and more than a compliment, to your ashes! O the dear request! how kind, how affectionate! O that I had been the greatest duchess in the land! Then might I have been enabled to shew my gratitude to him; and not, as now, labour under the weight of obligation, that presses me to death;216 and which, had I been a duchess, I never could have returned, but by a whole life of faithful love, and chearful duty and obedience!
Forgive, I beseech you, my dear father, forgive your poor daughter! How am I grieved to find this trial so severe upon me. O my unguarded youth, and tender years, will ye not in some measure excuse me? I never before knew, I could have no notion of what it was to be so affected! But prayer, and resignation to the Divine Will, and the benefits of your good lessons and examples, I hope, will enable me to get over this heavy trial.
Yet, O my treacherous, treacherous heart! How couldst thou serve me thus! And give no notice to me of the mischiefs thou wert about to bring upon me! How couldst thou thus inconsiderately give thyself up to the proud invader, without ever consulting thy poor mistress in the least! But thy punishment will be the first and the greatest: and well, perfidious traitor! deservest thou to smart, for giving up so weakly, thy whole self, before a summons came, and to one too, who had used me so hardly; and when likewise thou hadst so well maintained thy post against the most violent and avowed, and therefore, as I thought, only dangerous attacks!
After all, I must either not shew you this confession of my weakness, or tear it out of my writing. [Memorandum, to consider of this, when I get home.]
MONDAY Morning, Eleven o’ Clock
We are just come in here, to the inn kept by Mrs Jewkes’s relations. The first compliment I had, was, in a very impudent manner – How I liked the ’squire? I could not help saying, ‘Bold, forward woman! is it for you, who keep an inn, to treat passengers with so much freedom?’ She was but in jest, she said, and asked pardon: and she came and begged excuse again, very submissively, after Robin and Mr Colbrand had talked to her a little.
The latter here, in great form, gave me, before Robin, the letter, which I had returned him for that purpose. And I retired, as if to read it; and so I did; for I think I can’t read it too often; though, for my peace of mind’s sake, I might better try to forget it. I am sorry, methinks, I cannot bring you back a sound heart; but indeed it is an honest one, as to any body but me; for, wicked thing that it is, it has deceived nobody else.
More and more surprising things still!
Just as I had sat down, to try to eat a morsel before I set out to pursue my journey, came in Mr Colbrand, in a great hurry. ‘O madam! madam!’ said he, ‘here is the groom from my master, all in a foam, man and horse!’ How my heart fluttered! What now! thought I; what is to come next! He went out, and presently returned with a letter for me, and another, inclosed for himself. I shut the door; and (never, sure, was the like known!) found that to me to contain as follows:
‘I find it in vain, my Pamela, to struggle against my affection for you. After you were gone, I ventured to look into your journal. Mrs Jewkes’s bad usage of you, after your dreadful temptations and bruises, affected me greatly: but when in one place I read the unexpected declaration of your generous concern for me, on hearing how narrowly I escaped drowning (though my death would have been your freedom, and my treatment of you had made it your interest to wish it); and in another, your most agreeable confession, that notwithstanding all my hard usage of you, you could not hate me; and that expressed in so sweet, so innocent a manner, that I flatter myself you may be brought to love me, I began to regret parting with you; but, God is my witness! from no dishonourable motives, but the very contrary: and the more, when I reflected upon your behaviour at leaving my house: for, still that melodious voice praying for me at your departure, and thanking me for my rebuke to Mrs Jewkes, hangs upon my ears, and delights my memory. And though I went to-bed, I could not rest; but about two I arose, and ordered Thomas to get himself and one of the swiftest horses ready to overtake you with a letter, which is this, that I instantly sat down to write to you.
‘Now, my dear Pamela, let me beg of you, on the receipt of this, to order Robin to bring you back to my house. I would have set out myself, for the pleasure of bearing you company back in the chariot, but am really indisposed; I believe, with vexation, that I should part thus with the delight of my soul, as I now find you are, and must be, in spite of the pride of my heart.
‘You cannot imagine the obligation your return will lay me under to your goodness: and yet, if you will not so far favour me, you are to be under no restraint, as you will see by my letter unsealed inclosed to Colbrand. But spare me, my dearest girl, the confusion of following you to your father’s; which I must do, if you go on; for I find I cannot live without you.
‘If you are the generous Pamela I imagine you to be, (for hitherto you have been all unmerited goodness to me) let me see, by your compliance, the further excellency of your disposition. Let me see you can forgive the repeated attempts of a man who loves you more than he loves himself. Let me see by it, that you are not prepossessed in any other person’s favour: and one instance more of your consideration for me, I would beg you to give me, and then I will be all gratitude: and that is, that you would dispatch Colbrand with a letter to your father, desiring him to send to you, at my house, the letters you found means, by Williams’s conveyance, to transmit to him. You may assure the good man from me, that all must and shall end happily. And when I have all my proud, and, perhaps, punctilious doubts answered, I shall have nothing to do, but to make my promise good, a
nd you and myself equally happy: for I must be
Yours, and only yours.’
MONDAY Morning, near Three o’ Clock
What, my dear parents, will you say to this letter? How my exulting heart throbbed, and even upbraided me for so lately reproaching it for giving way to the love of so dear a man! But take care thou art not too credulous neither, O fond believer! said I to myself; things that we wish, are apt to gain a too ready credit with us. This sham-marriage is not yet cleared up: Mrs Jewkes, the vile Mrs Jewkes! may yet instigate and influence the mind of this master: his pride of heart, and pride of condition, may again take place; and a man that could, in so little a space of time, change his professed love into avowed hatred, and so disgracefully banish me his house in consequence of that hatred, must be too unsteady to be depended upon; and though he sends for me now in such affectionate terms, he may again relapse, if now he mean honourably, and then may more effectually deceive, and ruin me. Therefore will I not acquit thee yet, O credulous, fluttering, throbbing mischief! that art so ready to believe what thou wishest: and I charge thee to keep better guard than thou hast lately done, and tempt me not to follow too implicitly thy flattering impulses.
Thus foolishly dialogued I with my heart; and yet, all the time, this heart was Pamela.
The letter to Monsieur Colbrand is as follows:
‘I am sure, my honest Colbrand will excuse the trouble I give him. I have, for good reasons, besought Mrs Andrews, in a letter, which incloses this to you, wherever Tom shall overtake her, as a favour, to discontinue her journey to her father’s, and instantly to set out on her return to Brandon Hall. I hope she will have the goodness to oblige me: but if she chuses to prosecute her journey, Robin is to pursue his first directions, and set her down at her father’s door. If she will oblige me in her return, perhaps, she will give you a letter to her father, for some papers to be delivered to you for her: and if she do, you will carry it to Mr Andrews; and if he give you the papers, you will deliver them into her own hands here: but if she give you not such a letter, you will attend her on her return to the Hall, if she pleases to favour me so far; and that with all the expedition, that her health will permit. I am, &c.