Just now, my master being come up, she went to him upon the stairs, and gave him my papers. There, sir, said she; you always said Mrs. Pamela was a great writer; but I never could get at any thing of hers before. He took them; and, without coming to me, went down to the parlour again. And what with the gipsy affair, and what with this, I could not think of going down to dinner; and she told him that too; and so I suppose I shall have him up stairs, as soon as his company is gone.
Saturday, six o’clock.
My master came up, and, in a pleasanter manner than I expected, said, So, Pamela, we have seized, it seems, your treasonable papers? Treasonable! said I, very sullenly. Ay, said he, I suppose so; for you are a great plotter: but I have not read them yet.
Then, sir, said I, very gravely, it will be truly honourable in you not to read them; but to give them to me again. To whom, says he, are they written?—To my father, sir; but I suppose you see to whom.—Indeed, returned he, I have not read three lines yet. Then, pray, sir, don’t read them; but give them to me again. That I will not, said he, till I have read them. Sir, said I, you served me not well in the letters I used to write formerly: I think it was not worthy your character to contrive to get them in your hands, by that false John Arnold! for should such a gentleman as you mind what your poor servant writes?—Yes, said he, by all means, mind what such a servant as my Pamela writes.
Your Pamela! thought I. Then the sham marriage came into my head; and indeed it has not been out of it, since the gipsy affair.—But, said he, have you any thing in these papers you would not have me see? To be sure, sir, said I, there is; for what one writes to one’s father and mother, is not for every body to see. Nor, said he, am I every body.
Those letters, added he, that I did see by John’s means, were not to your disadvantage, I’ll assure you; for they gave me a very high opinion of your wit and innocence: And if I had not loved you, do you think I would have troubled myself about your letters?
Alas! sir, said I, great pride to me that! For they gave you such an opinion of my innocence, that you was resolved to ruin me. And what advantage have they brought me!—Who have been made a prisoner, and used as I have been between you and your housekeeper.
Why, Pamela, said he, a little seriously, why this behaviour, for my goodness to you in the garden?—This is not of a piece with your conduct and softness there, that quite charmed me in your favour: And you must not give me cause to think that you will be the more insolent, as you find me kinder. Ah! sir, said I, you know best your own heart and designs! But I fear I was too open-hearted then; and that you still keep your resolution to undo me, and have only changed the form of your proceedings.
When I tell you once again, said he, a little sternly, that you cannot oblige me more, than by placing some confidence in me, I will let you know, that these foolish and perverse doubts are the worst things you can be guilty of. But, said he, I shall possibly account for the cause of them, in these papers of yours; for I doubt not you have been sincere to your father and mother, though you begin to make me suspect you: For I tell you, perverse girl, that it is impossible you should be thus cold and insensible, after what has passed in the garden, if you were not prepossessed in some other person’s favour: And let me add, that if I find it so, it shall be attended with such effects, as will make every vein in your heart bleed.
He was going away in wrath; and I said, One word, good sir, one word before you read them, since you will read them: Pray make allowances—for all the harsh reflections that you will find in them, on your own conduct to me: And remember only, that they were not written for your sight; and were penned by a poor creature hardly used, and who was in constant apprehension of receiving from you the worst treatment that you could inflict upon her.