 Section 13 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. Jukes awaked, not till daybreak, 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 parlor 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 gods, 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 madwoman, 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 mold of the bed, which I dropped down upon from the leads, and so speeded away all of them, that is to say Mrs. Juke's coal brand, 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. Juke's seemed like a distracted woman. While 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. Juke's, and said, Oh, 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. Juke sent Nan to the men to bid them get the dragnet 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 everyone was thus differently employed, some weeping and wailing, some running here and there, Nan came into the woodhouse, and there lay poor I, so weak, so low and dejected, and with all so stiff with my bruises that I could not stern or help myself to get upon my feet, and I said with a low voice, for I could hardly speak. Mrs. Anne, Mrs. Anne, 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, Oh Mrs. Anne, Mrs. Anne, help me for pity's sake, to Mrs. Juke's, 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, leaving 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 woodhouse. 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 Juke's, 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. Oh cruel creature, said I, If you knew what I have suffered, it would move you to pity me. Even Cole Brand seemed to be concerned, and said, Fine, madam, fine, you see she's almost dead. You must not be so rough with her. The coachman Robbins seemed to be sorry for me, too, and said with sobs, What a scene is here. She sees 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 devil 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 Tigris said, I suppose you want Mr. 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 everyone wondered, at which I had neither strength nor inclination to tell them how all this came to pass, such they imputed to sorcery and witchcraft, I was so weak, when I had got upstairs that I fainted away with dejection, pain and fatigue, and they undressed me and got me to bed, and Mrs. Juke's ordered Nan to bathe my shoulder and arm and ankle, 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 plaster 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 that 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 founded a hard matter to get quite off, for that she was provided with a warrant from my master, who was 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. Oh, 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 shows me the truth of what was hinted to me formally at the other house that my master swore he would have me. Preserve me, heaven, from being his in his own wicked sense of the adoration. 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 show her, written or unwritten on demand, and has reduced me to one pen, yet my hidden stores stand me instead. But she is more and more snappish and cross, and tauntingly calls me Mrs. Williams, and anything she thinks will vex me. Sunday afternoon Mrs. Jukes 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, though, whereas a weak and sickly state might possibly move compassion for me. Oh, 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 liked to have been drowned in crossing the stream a few days ago in pursuing his game. What is the matter that, with all of 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 for bear 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. For my late good lady's sake I must wish him well. And oh, what an angel would he be in my eyes yet if he would cease his attempts and reform. Well I hear by Mrs. Jukes 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. Jarvis, too, is in danger. For all these three probably went together to beg in my favor, for now it is known where I am. Mrs. Jukes 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 coal-brand, 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. Mrs. Jukes swisses 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 thirty-second, thirty-third, and thirty-fourth days of my imprisonment. Nothing offers these days but squabblings between Mrs. Jukes 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 bedfellow 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 impossible. Quite filthily! Oh! 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. Jukes, 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 errors 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 honor 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 is his plain he does, or I should not be left to the mercy of this woman, and what is worse, to my woeful apprehensions. Friday the thirty-sixth 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 style, which leads into the road and goes towards the town, and as I set 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 coal-brand, running with his long legs, well nigh two yards at a stride. Then there was one of the grooms, poor Mr. William's robber. Then I spied Nan half out a breath, and the cook made after her, and lastly came waddling, as fast as she could, Mrs. Jukes, exclaiming most bitterly as I found against me. Anne said, Oh, 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. Jukes 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 creatures struck at me with her hard fist, and I believe would have felled me, had not coal-brand 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 upstairs, 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. And 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? Oh, 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. Jukes. 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. My 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. Jukes 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 for all your faults. I was ready to faint, and he said, She is mistress of arts, I 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 tomorrow morning, if you are not a fool. Be gone, hideous woman, said I, and let not my affliction be added to by thy inexorable cruelty and unwombly 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 downstairs, said she, to my master. That is, if you please, spirit. Said I, I believe I cannot stand. Then said she, I'll send Mr. Colbrand to carry you down. I got up as well as I could, and trembled all the way downstairs. Then 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 me, 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. Jukes poured it for me, and I carried it as well as I could, and made a low curtsy. He took it, and said, Stand behind me, out of my sight. Why, Mrs. Jukes 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. I 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 villainous plots together, have kept her alive and well to be sure, for mischief, love, and contradiction are the natural elements 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'm 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. Jukes, 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. That 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 and won, when it was tried before the vulture on the accusation of the wolf. So Mrs. Jukes 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 pray, 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. Oh, 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 supp'd, he stood up and said, Oh, 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 wane-scut. And in spite of all I could do to refrain crying, sobbed as if my heart would break. He said, I am surprised, Mrs. Jukes, at the mistake of the letters you tell me of. But you see, I am not afraid anybody 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, Hussie, 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. Could 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. Jukes, 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. Oh, 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 tomorrow morning you'll bring her to a better sense of her duty. Could anything in womanhood be so vile? I had no patience, but yet grief and indignation choked 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 honorable 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 upstairs, Mrs. Jukes, 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 upstairs, 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. Jukes 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. Jukes 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 Telltale, alias Darnford, to dine with him today, whose family sent to welcome him into the country, and it seems the old night 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. Section 14 of Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded. Just now he has sent me up, by Mrs. Jukes, 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 in spirit 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. But remember that I will not be trifled with, and what you give for answer will absolutely decide your fate without expostulation or further 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 show 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. 1. If you can convince me that the hated person 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. 1. As to the first article, sir, it may behoove me that I may not deserve, in your opinion, the appropriate 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 honor more than another is the gentleman who, of all others, seeks my everlasting dishonor. 2. I will directly make you a present of five hundred 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 favor in return till you are satisfied in the possession of it. 2. 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 instead at a time when millions of gold will not purchase one happy moment of reflection on a past misspent life. 3. I will likewise directly make over to you a purchase I lately made in Kent, which brings in two hundred and fifty pounds 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 fifty pounds per annum besides for his life, and that of your mother, for his care and management of this your estate. 3. Your third proposal, sir, I reject for the same reason, and I'm 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. 4. 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. 4. I will, moreover, extend my favor to any other of your relations that you may think worthy of it, or that are valued by you. 4. Your fourth proposal, I take upon me, sir, to answer as the third. If I have any friends that want the favor of the great, may they ever want it if they are capable of desiring it on unworthy terms. 5. I will, besides order patterns to be sent to 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 two diamond rings and two pair of earrings and diamond necklace that were bought by my mother to present to Miss Tomlin's 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 behavior and affection. 5. 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-porn Pamela than the rags your good mother raised me from. Your rings, sir, your necklace and your earrings 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. 6. 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. 6. I know, sir, by woeful 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 as 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. 7. 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 twelve-months 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 anything. 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 passed. 7. 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 honorable to me. Your honor, well I know, would not let you stoop to be 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 want 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 principle 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 twelve month's time marry me, on the continuance of my good behavior, that this weighs less with me if possible than anything else you have said, for in the first place there is an end of all merit, and all good behavior 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 suffer 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 favor, and save you from this sin, and save 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. Because so he clasped me in his arms in such a manner that's quite frightened me, and kissed me two or three times. I got from him, and run upstairs, and went to the closet, and was quite uneasy and fearful. In an hour's time he called Mrs. Duke's 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. Duke's about ten o'clock to tell me to come to him. Where, said I? I'll show 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 bit 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 peace of undone, she said. But he was too much exasperated against me. To be so familiar with me, she would assure me. I 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. That said I, am I to have two bedfellows again, these warm nights? Yes, said she, slippery one you are, till you can have one good one, instead of us. Said I, Mrs. Jukes, don't talk nastily to me. I see you are beginning again, and I shall affront you, maybe. 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 none such, 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. Who said she, I think it an office worthier of Mr. Cole-brand, you are very wicked, said I. I know it, said she. I am a Jezebel, and a London prostitute, you know. You did great feat, 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. I said I, no matter for your flears, Mrs. Jukes, though I can have neither justice nor mercy here and cannot be heard in my defence. Yet a time will come, maybe, when I shall be heard, and when your own guilt will strike you dumb. I, spirit, said she, and the vulture, too. Do 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 bleed 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 anything of another world could not talk thus, but no wonder. It shows what hands I'm got into. I, 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 show 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 wouldst 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 humor 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 willful eye. 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. Oh, how unlike good Mrs. Jarvis in everything. 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 honor, who labors 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. Chukes came up. Always writing, said she, and would see it, and straight 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 favors, 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 for dinner. I suppose he dines with this Sir Simon Darnford. I am much concerned for poor Mr. Williams. Mrs. Chukes 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 favor. 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. Chukes has received a line from my master. I wonder what it is, for his chariot has 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. Everything 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 release at any rate. But this letter makes my heart ache, yet I have another day's reprieve, thank God. Mrs. Chukes, I have been so pressed on Williams affairs 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 tomorrow 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 at times, and to go to bed. I, 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. I, 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 may not suspect I have seen it. Tuesday night. For the future I will always mistrust most when appearances look fairest. Oh, your poor daughter, what has she not suffered since what I wrote on Sunday night? My worst trial, and my fearfulest danger, oh 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 pretense, for he came home privately, and had well nigh affected 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 violent and womanly part that wicked wretch Mrs. Jukes 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 Nann is a little apt to drink, if she can get at liquor. And Mrs. Jukes 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. Jukes 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 anybody 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 upstairs. End of Section 14