I can, sir, and I will!-rather than divide my interest in you, knowingly, with any lady upon earth. But say not, however, Can I part with you? sir; it is you that part with me: And tell me, sir, tell me but what you had intended should become of me?

You talk to me, my dearest life, as if all you had heard against me was true; and you would have me answer you (would you?) as if it was. I want nothing to convince me, sir, that the Countess loves you: You know the rest of my information: Judge for me, what I can, what I ought to believe!-You know the rumours of the world concerning you: Even I, who stay so much at home, and have not taken the least pains to find out my wretchedness, nor to confirm it, since I knew it, have come to the hearing of it; and if you know the license taken with both your characters, and yet correspond so openly, must it not look to me, that you value not your honour in the world's eye, nor my lady hers? I told you, sir, the answer she made to her uncle.

You told me, my dear, as you were told. Be tender of a lady's reputation-for your own sake. No one is exempted from calumny; and even words said, and the occasion of saying them not known, may bear a very different construction from what they would have done, had the occasion been told.

This may be all true, sir: I wish the lady would be as tender of her reputation, as I would be, let her injure me in your affections as she will. But can you say, sir, that there is nothing between you, that should not be, according to my own notions of virtue and honour, and according to your own, which I took pride in before that fatal masquerade?

You answer me not, continued I; and may I not fairly presume you are not able to answer me as I wish to be answered? But come, dear est sir, (and I put my arms round his neck,) let me not urge you too boldly. I will never forget your benefits and your past kindness to me. I have been a happy creature! No one, till within these few weeks, was ever so happy as I. I will love you still with a passion as ardent as ever I loved you. Absence cannot lessen such a love as mine: I am sure it cannot.

I see your difficulties. You have gone too far to recede. If you can make it easy to your conscience, I will wait with patience my happier destiny; and I will wish to live, (if I can be convinced you wish me not to die,) in order to pray for you, and to be a directress to the first education of my dearest baby.

You sigh, dear sir; repose your beloved face next to my fond heart. 'Tis all your own: and ever shall be, let it, or let it not, be worthy of the honour in your estimation.

But yet, my dear Mr B, if one could as easily, in the prime of sensual youth, look twenty years forward, as one can twenty years back

ward, what an empty vanity, what a mere nothing, will be all those grosser satisfactions, that now give wings of desire to our debased appetites!

Motives of religion will have their due force upon your mind one day, I hope; as, blessed be God! they have enabled me to talk to you on such a touching point, (after infinite struggles, I own,) with so much temper and resignation; and then, my dearest Mr B! when we come to that last bed, from which the piety of our friends shall lift us, but from which we shall ne ver be able to raise ourselves: for, dear sir, your Countess, and you, and your poor Pamela, must all come to this!—we shall find what it is will give us the true joy, and enable us to support the pangs of the dying hour.-Think you, my dearest sir, (and I pressed my lips to his forehead, as his head was reclined on my throbbing bosom,) that then, in that important moment, what now gives us the greatest pleasure, will have any part in our consideration, but as it may give us woe or comfort in the reflection ?

But I will not, I will not, O best beloved of my soul! afflict you farther.-Why should I thus sadden all your gaudy prospects? I have said enough to such a heart as yours, if divine grace touches it. And if not, all I can say will be of no avail!-I will leave you, therefore, to that, and to your own reflections. And, after giving you ten thousand thanks for your kind, your indulgent patience with me, I will only beg, that I may set out in a week for Kent, with my dear Billy; that you will receive one letter, at least, from me, of gratitude and blessings ; it shall not be of upbraidings and exclamations.

But my child you must not deny me; for I shall haunt, like his shadow, every place wherein you shall put my Billy, if you should be so unkind to deny him to me!—And if, moreover, you will permit me to have the dear Miss Goodwin with me, as you had almost given me room to hope, I will read over all the books of edu cation, and digest them as well as I am able, in order to send you my scheme, and to shew you how fit I hope your indulgence, at least, will make you think me, of having two such precious trusts reposed in me!

I was silent, waiting in tears his answer. But his generous heart was touched, and seemed to labour within him for expression.

He came round to me at last, and took me in his arms: Exalted creature! said he: Nobleminded Pamela! Let no bar be put between us henceforth! No wonder, when one looks back to your first promising dawn of excellence, that your fuller day should thus irresistibly dazzle such weak eyes as mine. Whatever it costs me, and I have been inconsiderately led on by blind passion for an object too charming, but which I never thought equal to my Pamela, I will (for it is yet, I bless God, in my power) restore to your virtue a husband all your own.

O sir! sir! (and I should have sunk down with joy, had not his kind arms supported me,) what have you said?-Can I be so happy as to behold you innocent as to deed? God, of his infinite goodness, continue you both so!-And oh! that the dear lady would make me as truly love her for the graces of her mind, as I admire her for the advantages of her person!

You are virtue itself, my dearest life; and from this moment I will reverence you as my tutelary angel. I shall behold you with awe, and implicitly give up myself to all your dictates; for what you say, and what you do, must be ever right. But I will not, my dearest life, too lavishly promise, lest you should think it the sudden effect of passions thus movingly touched, and which may subside again when the soul, as you observed in your own case, sinks to its former level: But this I promise you, (and I hope you believe me, and will pardon the pain I have given you, which made me fear, more than once, that your head was affected, so uncommon, yet so like yourself, has been the manner of your acting,) that I will break off a correspondence that has given you so much uneasiness: And my Pamela may believe, that, if I can be as good as my word in this point, she will never more be in danger of any rival whatever.

But say, my dear love, (added he,) say you forgive me; and resume but your former cheerfulness, and affectionate regards to me; else I shall suspect the sincerity of your forgiveness: And you shall indeed go to Kent; but not without me, nor your boy neither; and, if you insist upon it, the poor child, you have wished so often and so generously to have, shall be given up absolutely to your disposal.

Do you think, madam, I could speak any one distinct sentence? No, indeed I could not-Pardon, pardon you, dear sir!—and I sunk down on my knees from his arms-All I beg-all I hope-Your pardon-my thankfulness. O spare me spare me but words-And indeed I was just choked with my joy; I never was so in my whole life before. And my eyes were in a manner fixed, as the dear man told me afterwards; and that he was a little startled, seeing nothing but the whites; for the sight was out of its orbits, in a manner lifted up to heaven-in ecstasy for a turn so sudden, and so unexpected!

We were forced to separate soon after; for there was no bearing each other, 'so excessive was my joy, and his goodness. He left me, and went down to his own closet.

Judge my employment you will, I am sure, my dear lady. I had new ecstasy to be blest with, in a thankfulness so exalted, that it left me all light and pleasant, as if I had shook off body and trod in air; so much heaviness had I lost, and so much joy had I received!-From two such extremes, how was it possible I could presently hit the medium!-For when I had given up my beloved husband as lost to me, and had dreaded

the consequences to his future state; to find him not only untainted as to deed, but, in all probability, mine upon better and surer terms than ever-O, madam! must not this give a joy beyond all joy, and surpassing all expression!

About eight o'clock Mr B- sent me up these lines from his closet, which will explain what I meant, as to the papers I must beg your ladyship to return me.

"MY DEAR PAMELA,

"I HAVE SO much real concern at the anguish I have given you, and am so much affected with the recollection of the uncommon scenes which passed between us just now, that I write, because I know not how to look so excellent a creature in the face.-You must therefore sup without me, and take your Mrs Jervis to bed with you; who, I doubt not, knows all this affair; and you may tell her the happy event.

"You must not interfere with me just now, my dear, while I am writing upon a subject which takes up all my attention; and which requiring great delicacy, I may, possibly, be all night before I can please myself in it.

"I am determined, absolutely, to make good my promise to you. But if you have written to your mother, to Miss Darnford, or to Lady Davers, any thing of this affair, you must shew me the copies of your letters, and let me into every tittle how you came by your information.-I solemnly promise you, on my honour, (that has not yet been violated to you, and I hope never will,) that not a soul shall know or suffer by the communication, not even Turner; for I am confident he has had some hand in it. This request you must comply with, if you can confide in me; for I shall make some use of it, (as prudent an one as I am able,) for the sake of every one concerned, in the conclusion of the correspondence between the lady and myself. Whatever you have said, in the bitterness of your heart, in the letters I require to see, or whatever any of those, to whom they are directed, shall say, on the bad prospect, shall be forgiven, and looked upon as deserved, by

"Your ever-obliged and faithful, &c."

I returned the following:

"DEAREST, DEAR SIR,

"I WILL not break in upon you while you are so importantly employed. Mrs Jervis has indeed seen my concern for some time past, and has heard rumours, as I know by hints she has, from time to time, given me ; but her prudence, and my reserves, have kept us from saying any thing to one another of it. Neither my mother nor Miss Darnford know a tittle of it from me. I have received a letter of civility from miss, and have answered it, taking and giving thanks

for the pleasure of each other's company, and best respects from her, and the Lincolnshire families, to your dear self. These, my copy, and her original, you shall see when you please. But, in truth, all that has passed is between Lady Davers and me, and I have not kept copies of mine; but I will despatch a messenger to her ladyship for them, if you please, in the morning, before it is light; not doubting your kind promise of excusing every thing, and every body. "I beg, dear sir, you will take care your health suffers not by your sitting up; for the nights are cold and damp.

"I will, now you have given me the liberty, let Mrs Jervis know how happy you have made me, by dissipating my fears, and the idle rumours, as I shall call them to her, of calumni

ators.

"God bless you, dear sir! for your goodness and favour to

"Your ever-dutiful

"P. B."

He was pleased to return me this:

"MY DEAREST LIFE, "You need not be in such haste to send. If you write to Lady Davers how the matter has ended, let me see the copy of it: and be very particular in your, or rather my trial. It shall be a standing lesson to me for my future instruction; as it will be a fresh demonstration of your excellence, which every hour I more and more admire. I am glad Lady Davers only knows the matter. I think I ought to avoid seeing you, till I can assure you that every thing is accommodated to your desire. Longman has sent me some advices, which will make it proper for me to meet him at Bedford or Gloucester. I will not go to Tunbridge till I have all your papers; and so you'll have three days' time to procure them. Your boy, and your penmanship, will find you no disagreeable employment till I return. Nevertheless, on second thoughts, I will do myself the pleasure of breakfasting with you in the morning, to reassure you of my unalterable purpose to approve myself,

'My dearest life,

"Ever faithfully yours."

Thus, I hope, is happily ended this dreadful affair. My next shall inform your ladyship of the particulars of our breakfast conversation. But I would not slip this post without acquainting you with this blessed turn; and to beg the favour of you to send me back my letters; which will lay a new obligation upon,

Dear madam,

Your obliged sister, and humble servant, P. B

LETTER LXXV.

MRS B TO LADY DAVERS.

MY DEAREST LADY,

YOUR joyful correspondent has obtained leave to get every thing ready to quit London by Friday next, when your kind brother promises to carry me down to Kent, and allows me to take my charmer with me. There's happiness for you, madam! To see, as I hope I shall see, upon one blessed spot, a dear faithful husband, a beloved child, and a father and mother, whom I so much love and honour!

Mr B- told me this voluntarily this morning at breakfast; and then, in the kindest manner, took leave of me, and set out for Bedfordshire.

But I should, according to my promise, give your ladyship a few particulars of our breakfast conference.

I bid Polly withdraw when her master came up to breakfast; and I ran to the door to meet him, and threw myself on my knees: O forgive me, dearest, dear sir, all my boldness of yester day!-My heart was strangely affected-or I could not have acted as I did. But never fear, my dearest Mr B, that my future conduct shall be different from what it used to be, or that I shall keep up to a spirit, which you hardly thought had place in the heart of your dutiful Pamela, till she was thus severely tried. I have weighed well your conduct, my dear life, raising me to his bosom ; and I find an uniformity in it that is surprisingly just.

There is in your composition, indeed, the strangest mixture of meekness and high spirit, that ever I met with. Never was a saucier dear girl than you, in your maiden days, when you thought your honour in danger; never a more condescending goodness, when your fears were at an end. Now again, when you had reason, as you believed, to apprehend a conduct in me, unworthy of my obligations to you, and of your purity, you rise in your spirit, with a dignity that becomes an injured person; and yet you forget not, in the height of your resentments, that angelic sweetness of temper, and readiness to forgive, which so well become a lady who lives as you live, and practises what you prac tise. My dearest Pamela, I see, continued he, serves not God for nought. In a better sense I speak it, than the maligner spoke it of Job; since in every action of yours, the heavenly direction you so constantly invoke, shews itself thus beautifully.

And now again, this charming condescension, the moment you are made easy, is an assurance, that your affectionate sweetness is returned; and I cannot fear any thing, but that I shall

never be able to deserve it.

He led me to the tea-table, and sat down close by me. Polly came in. If every thing, said he, be here, that your lady wants, you may withdraw; and let Colbrand and Abraham know I shall be with them presently.-Nobody shall wait upon me but you, my dear.

Polly withdrew.

You are all goodness, sir; and how generously, how kindly do you account for that mixture in my temper you speak of! Depend upon it, dear sir, that I will never grow upon this your indulgence.

I always loved you, my dearest, said he; and that with a passionate fondness, which has not, I dare say, many examples in the married life; but I revere you now. And so great is my reverence for your virtue, that I chose to sit up all night, as I now do to leave you for a few days, until, by disengaging myself from all intercourses that have given you uneasiness, I can convince you, that I have rendered myself as worthy as I can be of such an angel, even upon your own terms. I will account to you, continued he, for every step I shall take, and will reveal to you every step I have taken; for this I can do, because the lady's honour is untainted, and wicked rumour has treated her worse than she could deserve.

I told him, that since he had been pleased to name the lady, I would take the liberty to say, I was glad, for her own sake, to hear that. Changing the subject a little precipitately, as if it gave him pain, he told me, as above, that I might prepare on Friday for Kent; and I parted with him with greater pleasure than ever I did in my life. So necessary sometimes are afflictions, not only to teach one how to subdue one's passions, and to make us, in our happiest states, know we are still on earth, but even, when they are overblown, to augment and redouble our joys!

I am now giving orders for my journey, and quitting this undelightful town, as it has been, and is, to me. My next will be from Kent, I hope; and perhaps I shall then have an opportunity to acquaint your ladyship with the particulars, and (if God answer my prayers) the conclusion of the affair, which has given me so much uneasiness.

Meantime I am, with the greatest gratitude for the kind share you have taken in my past afflictions, my good lady, Your ladyship's

Most obliged sister, and servant,
P. B-

LETTER LXXVI.

LADY DAVERS TO MRS B

MY DEAREST PAMELA, ENCLOSED are all the letters you send for. I

rejoice with you upon the turn this afflicting affair has taken, through your inimitable prudence, and a courage I thought not in you. A wretch! to give you so much discomposure!— But I will not, if he be good now, rave against him, as I was going to do-I am impatient to hear what account he gives of the matter. I hope he will be able to abandon this-I won't call her names; for she loves the wretch; and that, if he be just to you, will be her punishment.

What care ought these young widows to take of their reputation! And how watchful ought they to be over themselves! She was hardly out of her weeds, and yet must go to a masquerade, and tempt her fate, with all her passions about her, with an independence, and an affluence of fortune, that made her able to think of nothing but gratifying them.

Then her lord and she had been married but barely two years; and one of them she was forced, with the gayest temper in the world, to be his nurse; for, always inclined to a consumptive indisposition, he languished, without hope, a twelvemonth, and then died.

She has good qualities-is generous-noblebut has strong passions, and is thoughtless and precipitant.

My lord came home to me last Tuesday, with a long story of my brother and her; for I had kept the matter as secret as I could, for his sake and yours. It seems he had it from Sir John uncle to the young Lord C-——, who is very earnest to bring on a treaty of marriage between her and his nephew, who is in love with her, and is a fine young gentleman; but has held back, on the liberties she has lately given herself with my brother.

I hope she is innocent as to fact; but I know not what to say to it. He ought to be hanged, if he did not say she was. Yet I have a great opinion of his veracity; and yet he is so bold a wretch! And her inconsideration is so great

But lest I should alarm your fears, I will wait till I have the account he gives you of this dark affair; till when, I congratulate you upon the leave you have obtained to quit the town, and on your setting out for a place so much nearer to Tunbridge. Forgive me, Pamela ; but he is an intriguing wretch! and I would not have you to be too secure, lest the disappointment should be worse for you than what you knew before. But assure yourself, that I am, in all cases and events,

Your affectionate sister and admirer, B. DAVERS. P. S. Your bar, and some other parts of your conduct in your trial, as you call it, make me (as, by your account, it seemed to do him) apprehensive, that you would hardly have been able to have kept your intellect so untouched as were to be wished, had this affair proceeded. And this, as it would have been

the most deplorable misfortune that could have befallen us, who love and admire you so justly, redoubles my joy, that it is likely to end so happily. God send it may!

LETTER LXXVII.

MRS B TO LADY DAVERS.

MY DEAREST LADY,

MR B- came back from Bedfordshire to his time. Every thing being in readiness, we set out with my baby, and his nurse. Mrs Jervis, when every thing in London is settled by her direction, goes to Bedfordshire.

We were met by my father and mother in a chaise and pair, which your kind brother had presented to them unknown to me, that they might often take the air together, and go to church in it (which is at some distance from them) on Sundays. The driver is clothed in a good brown cloth suit, but no livery; for that my parents could not have borne, as Mr B's goodness made him consider.

Your ladyship must needs think how we were all overjoyed at this meeting. For my own part, I cannot express how much I was transported, when we arrived at the farm-house, to see all I delighted in, upon one happy spot together!

Mr B is much pleased with the alterations made here ;* and it is a sweet, rural, and convenient place.

We were welcomed into these parts by the bells, and by the minister, and people of most note; and were at church together on Sunday. Mr B is to set out on Tuesday for Tunbridge, with my papers. A happy issue attend that affair, I pray God! He has given me the following particulars of it, to the time of my trial, beginning at the masquerade.

He says, that at the masquerade, when, pleased with the fair nun's shape, air, and voice, he had followed her to a corner most unobserved, she said in Italian, Why are my retirements invaded, audacious Spaniard?

Because, my dear nun, I hope you would

have it so.

I can no otherwise, returned she, strike dead thy bold presumption, than to shew thee my scorn and anger thus-And unmasking, she surprised me, said Mr B, with a face as beautiful, but not so soft, as my Pamela's.—And I, said Mr B- to shew I can defy your resentment, will shew you a countenance as intrepid, as yours is lovely. And so he drew aside his mask too.

He says, he observed his fair nun to be fol

lowed, wherever she went, by a mask habited like Testimony in Sir Courtly Nice, whose attention was fixed upon her and him; and he doubted not that it was Mr Turner. So he and the fair nun took different ways, and he joined me and Miss Darnford, and found me engaged in the manner I related to your ladyship in a former letter; and his nun at his elbow, unexpected.

That afterwards, as he was engaged in French with a lady who had the dress of an Indian princess, and the mask of an Ethiopian, his fair nun said, in broken Spanish, Art thou at all complexions? By St Ignatius, I believe thou'rt a rover!

I am trying, replied he, in Italian, whether I can meet with any lady comparable to my lovely nun.

And what is the result?
Not one; no, not one.

I wish you could not help being in earnest, said she; and slid from him.

He engaged her next at the sideboard, drinking under her veil a glass of champaign. You know, Pamela, said he, there never was a sweeter mouth in the world than the Countess's, except your own. She drew away the glass, as if, unobserved by any body, to shew me the lower part of her face.

I cannot say, continued he, but I was struck with her charming manner, and an unreservedness of air and behaviour, that I had not before seen so becoming. The place, and the freedom of conversation and deportment allowed there, gave her great advantages in my eye, although her habit required, as I thought, continued he, a little more gravity and circumspection; and I could not tell how to resist a secret pride and vanity, which is but too natural to both sexes, when they are taken notice of by persons so worthy of regard.

Naturally fond of every thing that carried the face of an intrigue, I longed to know who this charming nun was. And next time I engaged her, My good sister, said I, how happy should I be, if I might be admitted to a conversation with you at your grate!

Answer me, said she, thou bold Spaniard, (for that was a name she seemed fond to call me by, which gave me to imagine, that boldness was a qualification with which she was not displeased; 'tis not unusual with our vain sex, observed he, to construe even reproaches to our advantage, Is the lady here, whose shackles thou wearest

Do I look like a man shackled, my fairest nun?

No-no! not much like such an one. But I fancy thy wife is either a widow, or a quaker? Neither, replied I, taking, by equivocation, her question literally.