I have this note now at eleven o'clock:
"MY DEAREST PAMELA,
"I dispatch the messenger, lest, expecting me this night, you should be uneasy. I shall not be with you till Monday, when I hope to dine with my dearest life. Ever affectionately yours."
So I'll go up and pray for him, and then to bed.—Yet 'tis a sad thing!—I have had but poor rest for a great while; nor shall have any till my fate is decided.—Hard-hearted man, he knows under what uneasiness he left me!
MONDAY, ELEVEN.
If God Almighty hears my yesterday's, and indeed my hourly, prayers, the dear man will be good still; but my aching heart, every time I think what company he is in (for I find the Countess is certainly one of the party), bodes me little satisfaction.
He's come! He's come! now, just now, come! I will have my trial over before this night be past, if possible. I'll go down and meet him with love unfeigned, and a duty equal to my love, although he may forget his to me. If I conquer myself on this occasion, I conquer nature, as your ladyship says: and then, by God's grace, I can conquer every thing. They have taken their house, I suppose: but what need they, when they'll have one in Bedfordshire, and one in Lincolnshire? But they know best. God bless him, and reform her! That's all the harm I wish them, or will wish them!
My dear Mr. B. has received me with great affection and tenderness.
Sure he cannot be so bad!—Sure he cannot!
"I know, my dear," said he, "I left you in great anxiety; but 'tis an anxiety you have brought upon yourself; and I have not been easy ever since I parted from you."
"I am sorry for it, Sir."