Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded. Сэмюэл Ричардсон

thunder-struck; and looked round, as if I wanted somebody to help me; but, alas! I had nobody; and said, at last, rubbing my shoulder, Is this also in your instructions?—Alas! for me! am I to be beaten too? And so fell a crying, and threw myself upon the grass-walk we were upon.—Said she, in a great pet, I won’t be called such names, I’ll assure you. Marry come up! I see you have a spirit: You must and shall be kept under. I’ll manage such little provoking things as you, I warrant ye! Come, come, we’ll go in a’doors, and I’ll lock you up, and you shall have no shoes, nor any thing else, if this be the case.

      I did not know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me, and I blamed myself for my free speech; for now I have given her some pretence: and O! thought I, here I have, by my malapertness, ruined the only project I had left.

      The gardener saw this scene: but she called to him, Well, Jacob, what do you stare at? Pray mind what you’re upon. And away he walked, to another quarter, out of sight.

      Well, thought I, I must put on the dissembler a little, I see. She took my hand roughly; Come, get up, said she, and come in a’doors!—I’ll Jezebel you, I will so!—Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes, said I.—None of your dears, and your coaxing! said she; why not Jezebel again?—She was in a fearful passion, I saw, and I was out of my wits. Thought I, I have often heard women blamed for their tongues; I wish mine had been shorter. But I can’t go in, said I, indeed I can’t!—Why, said she, can’t you? I’ll warrant I can take such a thin body as you under my arm, and carry you in, if you won’t walk. You don’t know my strength.—Yes, but I do, said I, too well; and will you not use me worse when I come in?—So I arose, and she muttered to herself all the way, She to be a Jezebel with me, that had used me so well! and such like.

      When I came near the house, I said, sitting down upon a settle-bench, Well, I will not go in, till you say you forgive me, Mrs. Jewkes.—If you will forgive my calling you that name, I will forgive your beating me.—She sat down by me, and seemed in a great pucker, and said, Well, come, I will forgive you for this time: and so kissed me, as a mark of reconciliation.—But pray, said I, tell me where I am to walk and go, and give me what liberty you can; and when I know the most you can favour me with, you shall see I will be as content as I can, and not ask you for more.

      Ay, said she, this is something like: I wish I could give you all the liberty you desire; for you must think it is no pleasure to me to tie you to my petticoat, as it were, and not let you stir without me.—But people that will do their duties, must have some trouble: and what I do, is to serve as good a master, to be sure, as lives.—Yes, said I, to every body but me! He loves you too well, to be sure, returned she; and that’s the reason: so you ought to bear it. I say, love! replied I. Come, said she, don’t let the wench see you have been crying, nor tell her any tales: for you won’t tell them fairly, I am sure: and I’ll send her, and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will: May be it will get you a stomach to your dinner: for you don’t eat enough to keep life and soul together. You are beauty to the bone, added the strange wretch, or you could not look so well as you do, with so little stomach, so little rest, and so much pining and whining for nothing at all. Well, thought I, say what thou wilt, so I can be rid of thy bad tongue and company: and I hope to find some opportunity now to come at my sunflower. But I walked the other way, to take that in my return, to avoid suspicion.

      I forced my discourse to the maid; but it was all upon general things; for I find she is asked after every thing I say and do. When I came near the place, as I had been devising, I said, Pray step to the gardener, and ask him to gather a sallad for me to dinner. She called out, Jacob! said I, He can’t hear you so far off; and pray tell him, I should like a cucumber too, if he has one. When she had stept about a bow-shot from me, I popt down, and whipt my fingers under the upper tile, and pulled out a letter without direction, and thrust it in my bosom, trembling for joy. She was with me, before I could well secure it; and I was in such a taking that I feared I should discover myself. You seem frightened, madam, said she; Why, said I, with a lucky thought, (alas! your poor daughter will make an intriguer by and by; but I hope an innocent one!) I stooped to smell at the sunflower, and a great nasty worm ran into the ground, that startled me; for I can’t abide worms. Said she, Sunflowers don’t smell. So I find, replied I. And then we walked in; and Mrs. Jewkes said; Well, you have made haste now.—You shall go another time.

      I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my letter, found in it these words:

      ‘I am infinitely concerned for your distress. I most heartily wish it may be in my power to serve and save so much innocence, beauty, and merit. My whole dependance is upon Mr. B–, and I have a near view of being provided for by his favour to me. But yet I would sooner forfeit all my hopes in him, (trusting in God for the rest,) than not assist you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B– in the light he now appears in to me, in your case. To be sure, he is no professed debauchee. But I am entirely of opinion, you should, if possible, get out of his hands; and especially as you are in very bad ones in Mrs. Jewkes’s.

      ‘We have here the widow Lady Jones, mistress of a good fortune; and a woman of virtue, I believe. We have also old Sir Simon Darnford, and his lady, who is a good woman; and they have two daughters, virtuous young ladies. All the rest are but middling people, and traders, at best. I will try, if you please, either Lady Jones, or Lady Darnford, if they’ll permit you to take refuge with them. I see no probability of keeping myself concealed in this matter; but will, as I said, risk all things to serve you; for I never saw a sweetness and innocence like yours; and your hard case has attached me entirely to you; for I know, as you so happily express, if I can serve you in this case, I shall thereby perform all the acts of religion in one.

      ‘As to Lady Davers, I will convey a letter, if you please, to her; but it must not be from our post-house, I give you caution; for the man owes all his bread to Mr. B–, and his place too; and I believe, by something that dropt from him, over a can of ale, has his instructions. You don’t know how you are surrounded; all which confirms me in your opinion, that no honour is meant you, let what will be professed; and I am glad you want no caution on that head.

      ‘Give me leave to say, that I had heard much in your praise; but, I think, greatly short of what you deserve, both as to person and mind: My eyes convince me of the one, your letter of the other. For fear of losing the present lucky opportunity, I am longer than otherwise I should be. But I will not enlarge, any further than to assure you that I am, to the best of my power,

‘Your faithful friend and servant,‘ARTHUR WILLIAMS.’

      ‘I will come once every morning, and once every evening, after school-time, to look for your letters. I’ll come in, and return without going into the house, if I see the coast clear: Otherwise, to avoid suspicion, I’ll come in.’

      I instantly, in answer to this pleasing letter, wrote as follows:

      ‘REVEREND SIR,

      ‘O how suited to your function, and your character, is your kind letter! God bless you for it! I now think I am beginning to be happy. I should be sorry to have you suffer on my account: but I hope it will be made up to you an hundred-fold, by that God whom you so faithfully serve. I should be too happy, could I ever have it in my power to contribute in the least to it. But, alas! to serve me, must be for God’s sake only; for I am poor and lowly in fortune; though in mind, I hope, too high to do a mean or unworthy deed to gain a kingdom. But I lose time.–

      ‘Any way you think best, I should be pleased with; for I know not the persons, nor in what manner it is best to apply to them. I am glad of the hint you so kindly give me of the man at the post-house. I was thinking of opening a way for myself by letter, when I could have opportunity; but I see more and more that I am, indeed, strangely surrounded with dangers; and that there is no dependance to be made on my master’s honour.

      ‘I should think, sir, if either of those ladies would give leave, I might some way get out by favour of your key: and as it is impossible, watched as I am, to know when it can be, suppose, sir, you get one made by it, and put it, the next opportunity, under the sunflower?—I am sure no time is to be lost, because it is rather my wonder, that she is not thoughtful about this key, than otherwise; for she forgets not the minutest thing. But, sir, if I had this key, I could, if these ladies would not shelter me, run away any where: and if I was