Her nephew seemed uneasy, and blamed her. I came back, but trembled as I stood. He seated me; and, taking my hand, said, ‘I have been accused, my dear, as a dueller,330 and now as a profligate, in another sense; and there was a time, I should not have received these imputations with so much concern as I now do, when I would wish, by a conformity of my manners to your virtue, to shew to every one the force your example has upon me. But this briefly is the case of the first.
‘I had a friend, who was designed to have been basely assassinnated by bravoes, hired by a man of title in Italy, who, like many other persons of title, had no honour; and at Padua, I had the fortune to disarm one of these bravoes in my friend’s defence, and made him confess his employer; and him, I own, I challenged. At Sienna we met, and he died in a month after, of a fever; but, I hope, not occasioned by the slight wounds he had received from me; although I was obliged to leave Italy upon it, sooner than I intended, because of the resentment of his numerous relations, who looked upon me as the cause of his death.
‘This is one of the good-natured hints, that might shock your goodness, on reflecting that you are yoked with a murderer. The other–’ ‘Nay, brother,’ said she, ‘say no more. ’Tis your own fault, if you go further.’ ‘she shall know it all,’ said he. ‘I defy the utmost stretch of your malice.
‘When I was at college, I was well received by a widow lady, who had several daughters, and but small fortunes to give them. The old lady set one of them (a deserving good girl she was) to draw me into marriage with her; and contrived many opportunities to bring us, and leave us together. I was not then of age; and the young lady, who was not half so artful as her mother, yielded to my importunities, before the mother’s plot could be ripened, and, by that means, utterly frustrated it. This, my Pamela, is the Sally Godfrey that Lady Davers, with the worst intentions, has informed you of. And for this, and whatever other liberties I may have taken, (for I have not lived a blameless life) I desire Heaven will forgive me, only, till I revive its vengeance by the like offences in injury to my Pamela.
‘And now, my dear, you may withdraw; for this worthy sister of mine has said all the bad she knows of me; and what, at a proper opportunity, when I could have convinced you, that they were not my boast, but my concern, I should have acquainted you with myself; for I am not fond of being thought better than I am: though I hope, from the hour I devoted myself to so much virtue, to that of my death, my conduct shall be irreproachable.’
She was greatly moved at this, and the noble manner in which he owned his penitence; and gushed out into tears, and said, ‘No, don’t yet go, Pamela, I beseech you. My passion has carried me too far’; and coming to me, she took my hand, and said, ‘You must stay to hear me beg his pardon’; and offered to take his hand also; but, to my concern, he burst from her; and went out of the parlour into the garden, in a rage so violent, that it made me tremble.
She sat down, and leaned her head against my bosom, and made my neck wet with her tears, holding me by my hands; and I wept for company. Her kinsman walked up and down the parlour, in a fret; and going out afterwards, he came in, and said, ‘Mr B. has ordered his chariot to be got ready, and won’t be spoken to by any body.’ ‘Where is he?’ said she. ‘Walking in the garden till it is ready,’ replied he.
‘Well,’ said she, ‘I have indeed gone too far. I was bewitched! And now,’ said she, ‘will he not forgive me for a twelvemonth: for I tell you, Pamela, if ever you offend, he will not easily forgive.’
I was delighted, though sad for the occasion, at her ladyship’s goodness to me. ‘Will you venture,’ said-she, ‘to accompany me to him? Dare you follow a lion into his retreat?’ ‘I’ll attend your ladyship,’ said I, ‘wherever you command.’ ‘Well, wench,’ said she, ‘Pamela, I mean, thou art very good in the main! I should have loved thee as well as my mother did – if– But ’tis all over now. Indeed, you should not have married my brother. But come, I must love him. Let us find him out. And yet will he use me worse than he would use a dog. I should not,’ added she, ‘have so much exasperated him: for whenever I have, I have always had the worst of it. He knows I love him.’
In this manner she talked to me, leaning on my arm, and walked into the garden.
I saw he was still in tumults, as it were, and he took another walk to avoid us. She called after him, and said, ‘Brother, brother, let me speak to you! One word with you!’ And as we made haste towards him, and came near to him, ‘I desire,’ said he, ‘that you will not farther oppress me with your violence. I have borne too much with you. And I will vow for a twelvemonth, from this day–’ ‘Hush,’ said she, ‘don’t vow, I beg you; for too well will you keep your vow, I know, if you do. You see,’ said she, ‘I stoop to ask Pamela to be my advocate. Sure that will pacify you!’
‘Indeed,’ said he, ‘I desire to see neither of you on this occasion; and let me be left to myself.’ He was going away: but she said, ‘One word, sir, I desire. If you will forgive me, I will forgive you!’ ‘For what,’ said the dear man, haughtily, ‘will you forgive me?’ ‘Why,’ said she, (for she saw him too angry to mention his marriage, as a subject that required her pardon) ‘I will forgive you for all your ill usage of me this day.’
‘I will be serious with you, Lady Davers,’ said he: ‘I wish you well; but let us, from this time, study so much each other’s quiet, as never to come near each other more.’ ‘Never!’ said she. ‘And can you desire this, barbarous brother, can you?’ ‘I can, I do,’ replied he; ‘and what have I to do, but to hide from you, not a brother, but a murderer, and a profligate, unworthy of your relation? And let me be consigned to penitence for my past wickedness: a penitence, however, that shall not be broken in upon by so violent an accuser.’
‘Pamela,’ said he, and made me tremble, ‘how dare you approach me, without leave, when you see me thus disturbed! Never, for the future, come near me, when I am in tumults, unless I send for you.’
‘Dear sir!’ said I – ‘Leave me,’ interrupted he. ‘I will set out for Bedfordshire this moment.’ ‘What! sir, without me? What have I done?’ ‘You have too meanly,’ said he, ‘for my wife, stooped to this furious woman; and, till I can recollect, must say, I am not pleased with you: but Colbrand, and two other of my servants, shall attend you; and Mrs Jewkes shall wait upon you part of the way. And I hope you will find me in a better disposition to receive you there, than I am at parting with you here.’
Had I not hoped, that this was partly put on to intimidate my lady, I believe I could not have borne it.
‘I was afraid,’ said she, ‘he would be angry at you, as well as at me; for well do I know his unreasonable violence, when he is provoked. But one word, sir,’ said she: ‘forgive Pamela, if you won’t forgive me; for she has committed no fault. Her good-nature to me is her only one. I requested her to accompany me. I will be gone myself, directly, as I would have done before, had you not prevented me.’
‘I prevented you,’ said he, ‘through love; but you have stung me for it, through hatred. But as for my Pamela, I know, that I cannot be angry with her beyond the present moment. But I desire her never to see me on such occasions, till I can see her in the temper I ought to be in, when such sweetness approaches me. ’Tis, therefore, I say, my dearest, leave me now.’
‘But, sir,’ said I, ‘must I leave you, and let you go to Bedfordshire without me? O dear sir, how can I?’ ‘You may go to-morrow, both of you,’ said my lady, ‘as you had designed, and I will depart this afternoon; and since I am not to be forgiven, I will try to forget I have a brother.’
‘May I, sir, ’ said I, ‘beg that all your anger may fall on myself, on condition of your being reconciled to Lady Davers?’ ‘Presuming Pamela!’ replied he, and made me start, ‘are you then so well able to sustain a displeasure, which, of all things, I expected, from your affection, and your tenderness, you would have wished to avoid? Now,’ said he, and took my hand, and, as it were, tossed it from him, ‘be gone from my presence, and reflect upon what you have sa
id!’
I was so affrighted, that I sunk down at his feet, and clasped his knees, as he was turning from me, and said, ’ Forgive me, sir! you see I am not so hardy! I cannot bear your displeasure!’ And was ready to faint.
His sister said, ‘Only forgive Pamela; ‘tis all I ask! You will break her spirit. You will carry your passion as much too far as I have done mine.’
‘I need not say,’ said he, ‘how well I love her: but she must not intrude upon me in these my ungovernable moments! I had intended, as soon as I could have suppressed, by reason, the tumults, which you, Lady Davers, had caused by your violence, to have come in, and taken such a leave of you both, as became an husband and a brother: but she has, unbidden, broken in upon me, and must take the consequence of a passion, which, when raised, is as un-controulable as your own.’
‘Did I not,’ said Lady Davers, ‘love you, as sister never loved a brother, I should not have given you all this trouble.’ ‘And did I not,’ said he, ‘love you better than you are resolved to deserve, I should be indifferent to all you say. But this last instance, of poor Sally Godfrey, after the duelling-hint, (which you would not have mentioned, had you not known it to be a subject that I never can hear of without concern) carries with it such an appearance of spite and meanness, as makes me desirous to forget that I have a sister.’
‘Well,’ said she, ‘I am convinced it was wrong. I am ashamed of it myself. It was poor, it was mean, it was unworthy of your sister: and it is from this conviction that I stoop to follow you, to beg your pardon, and even to procure one for my advocate, who, I thought, by your own professions in her favour, had some interest with you; which now I shall begin to think made purposely to insult me.’
‘I care not what you think! After the meanness you have been guilty of, I can only look upon you with pity. For, indeed, you are sunk very low with me.’
‘It is plain, I am,’ said she. ‘But I’ll be gone. And so, brother, let me call you so this once! God bless you! And, Pamela,’ said her ladyship, ‘God bless you! ’ And saluted me, and wept.
I dared say no more; and my lady turning from him, he said, ‘Your sex is the Devil! how strangely can you discompose, calm, and turn, as you please, us poor weathercocks of men! Your kind blessing of my Pamela, I cannot stand! Salute but each other again.’ And he then took both our hands, and joined them; and my lady kissing me again, with tears on both sides, he put his kind arms about each of our waists, and kissed first her ladyship, then me, with ardour, saying, ‘Now, God bless you both, the two dearest creatures in the world to me! ’
‘Well,’ said she, ‘you will quite forget my fault about Miss –’ He stopped her, before she could speak the name, and said, ‘For ever forget it! But, Pamela, let me hope that you will never again make my anger so light a thing to you, as you did just now.’
‘she did not,’ said my lady, ‘make light of your anger; but the heavier she thought it, the higher compliment she made me, in saying, she would bear it all, rather than not see you and me reconciled.’
‘It was a slight,’ said he, ‘(by implication at least) that my nice-ness331 could not bear from her. For, looked it not like her presuming on such an interest in my affections, that, offend as she would, she could make it up with me whenever she pleased? Which, I assure her, will not, in cases of wilful disobligation, be always in her power.’
‘I can tell you, Pamela,’ said my lady, ’ that you have a gentleman to deal with in my brother; and you may expect such treatment from him, as that character, and his known good sense, will demand of him: but if ‘you offend, the Lord have mercy upon you! You see how it is by me! And yet, I never knew him forgive so soon.’
‘I am sure,’ said I, ‘I will take as much care as I can; for I have been excessively frighted; and had offended by intending to oblige.’
Thus happily did this storm blow over; and my lady was quite subdued and pacified.
When we came out of the garden, on seeing his chariot quite ready, he said, ‘Well, Lady Davers, I had most assuredly set out for Bedfordshire, if things had not taken this happy turn. But, instead of it, if you please, you and I will take an airing. We will attend you, my dear, at supper.’
Mr B. asked Mr H. to escort his aunt on horseback. ‘I will,’ answered he; ‘and am glad, at my soul, to see you all so good friends.’
My dear master (I think, after this instance of his displeasure with me, I must not forbear calling him so) handed Lady Davers into his chariot: her kinsman, and his servant, rode after them; and I went up to my closet, to ruminate on all that had passed. And, foolish thing that I am, this poor Miss Sally Godfrey runs in my head! How soon the name and quality of a wife gives one privileges, in one’s own account! Yet, methinks, I want to know more about her; for, is it not strange, that I, who lived years in the family, should have heard nothing of this? But I was so constantly with my good lady, that it was the less likely I should; and she, I dare say, never knew it, or she would have told me.
But I dare not ask him about this poor Miss Godfrey. Yet I wonder what became of her? Whether she be living? And whether any thing came of it? Perhaps I shall hear full soon enough. But I hope all bad consequences from it are over.
As to the other unhappy case, I know it was talked of, that in his travels, before I was taken into the family, he was in one or two broils; and, from a youth, he was always remarkable for courage, and is reckoned a great master of his sword. God grant he may never be put to use it! And that he may always be preserved in honour and safety!
About seven o’clock, my master sent word, that he would not have me expect him to supper: for that he, and Lady Davers, and Mr H., were prevailed upon to stay with Mrs Jones; and that Lady Darnford, and Mr Peters’s family, had promised to sup with them there. I was glad they did not send for me; and the rather, as I hoped those good families, being my friends, would confirm my lady in my favour.
At about half an hour after ten o’clock, having tired myself with writing, I came down, and went into the housekeeper’s parlour, where were Mrs Jewkes and Mrs Worden, whom, notwithstanding they would have excused themselves, I made sit down by me. Mrs Worden asked me pardon, in a good deal of confusion, for the part she acted the day before; saying, That things had been very differently represented to her; and she little thought I was married, and that she was behaving so rudely to the mistress of the house.
I said, I very freely forgave her; and hoped my new condition would not make me forget how to behave properly to every one; but that I must endeavour to act not unworthy of it, for the honour of the gentleman who had so generously raised me to it.
Mrs Jewkes said, That my situation gave me great opportunities of shewing the excellency of my nature, in forgiving offences so readily, as she, for her own part, must always, she said, acknowledge, with confusion of face.
‘People, Mrs Jewkes,’ replied I, ‘don’t know how they shall act, when their wills are in the power of their superiors. I always thought it became me to distinguish between acts of malice, and of implicit obedience, to the will of principals; though no commands of another should make us do an evidently wrong thing. The great,’ continued I, ‘though at the time they may be angry they are not obeyed, will have no ill opinion of a person for withstanding them in their unlawful commands.’
Mrs Jewkes seeming a little concerned, I said, I spoke chiefly from my own experience: as they both knew my story, I might say, that I had not wanted either for menaces or temptations; and had I complied with the one, or been intimidated by the other, I should not have been what I was.
‘Ah! madam,’ replied Mrs Jewkes, ‘I never knew any body like you: and I think your temper sweeter since the happy day than before; and that, if possible, you take less upon you.’
‘A good reason, Mrs Jewkes, may be assigned for that: I thought myself in danger: I looked upon every one as my enemy; and it was impossible, that I should not be fretful, uneasy, jealous. But when my dearest Mr B. had taken from me the ground of my uneasiness, and mad
e me quite happy, I should have been very blameable, if I had not shewn a satisfied and easy mind, and an endeavour to engage every one’s respect and love at the same time: and the rather, as it is but justifying, in some sort, my dear master, in the honour he has done me; for were I, by a contrary conduct, to augment the number of my enemies, I should encrease that of his censurers, for stooping so low.’
This way of talking pleased them both; and they made me many compliments upon it.
We were thus engaged, when my best friend, and Lady Davers, and her nephew, came home: they made me quite happy, by the good humour in which they returned. My dear Mr B. came to me, and saluting me, said, ‘I will hope, my love, that you will not think hardly of our absence, when you are told that it has not been to your disadvantage; for we have talked of nobody but you.’
My lady came up to me, and said, ‘Ay, child, you have been all our subject. I don’t know how it is; but you have made two or three good families in this neighbourhood, as much your admirers, as your friend here.’
‘Lady Davers,’ said he, ‘has been hearing your praises, Pamela, from half a score mouths, with more pleasure than her pride will easily let her own to you.’
‘I cannot express the joy I should have,’ said I, ‘if Lady Davers would look upon me with an eye of favour.’
‘Well, child,’ replied she, ‘proud hearts do not come down all at once; though my brother, here, has this day taken mine a good many pegs lower than ever it was before: but I will say, I wish you joy.’ And saluted me.
‘I am now, my dear lady,’ said I, ‘quite happy. Your favour was all that was wanting to make me so. To the last hour of my life I will shew your ladyship, that I have the most grateful and respectful sense of your goodness.’
‘But, child,’ said she, ‘I shall not give you my company when you make your appearance. Let your own merit make all your Bedfordshire neighbours your friends, as it has done here, by your Lincolnshire ones; and you will have no need of my countenance, nor any body’s else.’