Pamela by Samuel Richardson (classic romance novels .TXT) 📕

And what if he was to come?—Why I would have you, as I know you have a good fancy, give Pamela your judgment on some patterns I expect from London, for clothes.—Provoking wretch! said she; now I wish I may keep my hands to myself. I don’t say it to provoke you, said he, nor ought it to do so. But when I tell you I am married, is it not a consequence that we must have new clothes?

Hast thou any more of these obliging things to say to me, friend? said she. I will make you a present, returned he, worth your acceptance, if you will grace us with your company at church, when we make our appearance.—Take that, said she, if I die for it, wretch that thou art! and was going to hit him a great slap; but he held her hand. Her kinsman said, Dear aunt, I wonder at you! Why, all these are things of course.

I begged leave to withdraw; and, as I went out, my good master said, There’s a person! There’s a shape! There’s a sweetness! O, Lady Davers! were you a man, you would doat on her, as I do. Yes, said the naughty lady, so I should, for my harlot, but not for my wife. I turned, on this, and said, Indeed your ladyship is cruel; and well may gentlemen take liberties, when ladies of honour say such things! And I wept, and added, Your ladyship’s inference, if your good brother was not the most generous of men, would make me very unhappy.

No fear, wench; no fear, said she; thou’lt hold him as long as any body can, I see that!—Poor Sally Godfrey never had half the interest in him, I’ll assure you.

Stay, my Pamela, said he, in a passion; stay, when I bid you. You have now heard two vile charges upon me!—I love you with such a true affection, that I ought to say something before this malicious accuser, that you may not think your consummate virtue linked to so black a villain.

Her nephew seemed uneasy, and blamed her much; and I came back, but trembled as I stood; and he set me down, and said, taking my hand, I have been accused, my dear, as a dueller, 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 degrees, by a conformity of my manners to your virtue, to shew every one the force your example has upon me. But this briefly is the case of the first.

I had a friend, who had been basely attempted to be assassinated 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; though I was obliged to leave Italy upon it, sooner than I intended, because of his numerous relations, who looked upon me as the cause of his death; though I pacified them by a letter I wrote them from Inspruck, acquainting them with the baseness of the deceased: and they followed me not to Munich, as they intended.

This is one of the good-natured hints that might shock your sweetness, 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; and 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; and the old lady set one of them (a deserving good girl she was,) to draw me into marriage with her, for the sake of the fortune I was heir to; and contrived many opportunities to bring us and leave us together. I was not then of age; and the young lady, not half so artful as her mother, yielded to my addresses before the mother’s plot could be ripened, and so utterly disappointed it. This, my Pamela, is the Sally Godfrey, this malicious woman, with the worst intentions, has informed you of. And whatever other liberties I may have taken, (for perhaps some more I have, which, had she known, you had heard of, as well as this,) I desire Heaven will only forgive me, 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 the dear gentleman owned and repented of his faults; and gushed out into tears, and said, No, don’t yet go, Pamela, I beseech you. My passion has carried me too far, a great deal; and, coming to me, she shook my hand, and said, You must stay to hear me beg his pardon; and so took his hand. —But, to my concern, (for I was grieved for her ladyship’s grief,) he burst from her; and went out of the parlour into the garden in a violent rage, that made me tremble. Her ladyship sat down, and leaned her head against my bosom, and made my neck wet with her tears, holding me by the hands; and I wept for company.—Her kinsman walked up and down the parlour in a sad 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, malicious as he calls me, will he not forgive me for a twelvemonth: for I tell you, Pamela, if ever you offend, he will not easily forgive. I was all delighted, though sad, to see her ladyship so good to me. Will you venture, said she, to accompany me to him?—Dare you follow a lion in his retreats?—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’s find him out! And yet will he use me worse than 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 her ladyship talked to me, leaning on my arm, and walking into the garden. I saw he was still in a tumult, 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’ll not oppress me more with your follies, and 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 it, I know by experience, 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 such an occasion; and let me only be left to myself, for I will not be intruded upon thus; and was going away.—But, said she, One word first, I desire.—If you’ll forgive me, I’ll forgive you.—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 all your bad usage of me this day.

I will be serious with you, sister, said he: I wish you most sincerely well; but let us, from this time, study so much one another’s quiet, as never to come near one another more. Never? said she.—And can you desire this? barbarous brother! can you?—I can, I do, said he; and I have nothing 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 evils: 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 these tumults, unless I send for you.

Dear sir! said I—Leave me, interrupted he. I will set out for Bedfordshire this moment! What! sir, said I, without me?—What have I done? You have too meanly, said he, for my wife, stooped to this furious sister of mine; and, till I can recollect, I am not pleased with you: But Colbrand shall attend you, and two other of my servants; and Mrs. Jewkes shall wait upon you part of the way: And I hope you’ll 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: But it was grievous to me; for I saw he was most sincerely in a passion.

I was afraid, said she, he would be angry at you, as well as me; for well do I know his unreasonable violence, when he is moved. But one word, sir, said she; Pardon Pamela, if you won’t me; for she has committed no offence, but that of good-nature to me, and at my request. I will be gone myself, directly as I was about to do, had you not prevented me.

I prevented you, said he, through love; but you have strung me for it, through hatred. But as for my Pamela, I know, besides the present moment, I cannot be angry with her; and therefore I desire her never to see me, on such occasions, till I can see her in the temper I ought to be in, when so much 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? Oh, dear sir, how can I?—Said my lady, You may go tomorrow, both of you, as you had designed; and I will go away this afternoon: And, since I cannot be forgiven, will try to forget I have a brother.

May I, sir, said I, beg all your