The poor old man wept more than I, and said, Ads-bobbers, was ever the like heard! ’Tis too much, too much; I can’t bear it. As I hope to live, I am quite melted. Dear sir, forgive her! The poor thing prays for you; she prays for us all! She owns her fault; yet won’t be forgiven! I profess I know not what to make of it.
My master himself, hardened wretch as he was, seemed a little moved, and took his handkerchief out of his pocket, and walked to the window: What sort of a day is it? said he.—And then, getting a little more hard-heartedness, he said, Well, you may be gone from my presence, thou strange medley of inconsistence! but you shan’t stay after your time in the house.
Nay, pray, sir, pray, sir, said the good old man, relent a little. Ads-heartikins! you young gentlemen are made of iron and steel, I think; I’m sure, said he, my heart’s turned into butter, and is running away at my eyes. I never felt the like before.—Said my master, with an imperious tone, Get out of my presence, hussy! I can’t bear you in my sight. Sir, said I, I’m going as fast as I can.
But, indeed, my dear father and mother, my head was so giddy, and my limbs trembled so, that I was forced to go holding by the wainscot all the way with both my hands, and thought I should not have got to the door: But when I did, as I hoped this would be my last interview with this terrible hard-hearted master, I turned about, and made a low courtesy, and said, God bless you, sir! God bless you, Mr. Longman! and I went into the lobby leading to the great hall, and dropt into the first chair; for I could get no farther a good while.
I leave all these things to your reflection, my dear parents but I can write no more. My poor heart’s almost broken! Indeed it is—O when shall I get away!—Send me, good God, in safety, once more to my poor father’s peaceful cot!—and there the worst that can happen will be joy in perfection to what I now bear!—O pity
Your distressed DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXIX
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
I must write on, though I shall come so soon; for now I have hardly any thing else to do. I have finished all that lay upon me, and only wait the good time of setting out. Mrs. Jervis said, I must be low in pocket, for what I had laid out; and so would have presented me with two guineas of her five; but I could not take them of her, because, poor gentlewoman, she pays old debts for her children, that were extravagant, and wants them herself. This, though, was very good in her.
I am sorry I shall have but little to bring with me; but I know you won’t, you are so good!—and I will work the harder, when I come home, if I can get a little plain-work, or any thing, to do. But all your neighbourhood is so poor, that I fear I shall want work, except, may be, dame Mumford can help me to something, from any good family she is acquainted with.