She put a little bit to her mouth, but laid it down in her plate again: I cannot eat, said she; I cannot swallow, I'm sure. It will certainly choak me. He had forbid his menservants to come in, that they might not behold2 the scene he expected; and rose from table himself, and filled a glass of wine, her woman offering, and her kinsman3 rising, to do it. Mean-time, his seat between us being vacant, she turned to me: How now, confidence, said she, darest thou sit next me? Why dost thou not rise, and take the glass from thy property?
Sit still, my dear, said he; I'll help you both. But I arose; for I was afraid of a good cuff4; and said, Pray, sir, let me help my lady. So you shall, replied he, when she's in a humour to receive it as she ought. Sister, said he, with a glass in his hand, pray drink; you'll perhaps eat a little bit of something then. Is this to insult me? said she.—No, really, returned he: but to incite5 you to eat; for you'll be sick for want of it.
She took the glass, and said, God forgive you, wicked wretch6, for your usage of me this day!—This is a little as it used to be!—I once had your love;—and now it is changed; and for whom? that vexes8 me! And wept so, she was forced to set down the glass.
You don't do well, said he. You neither treat me like your brother nor a gentleman; and if you would suffer me, I would love you as well as ever.—But for a woman of sense and understanding, and a fine-bred woman, as I once thought my sister, you act quite a childish part. Come, added he, and held the glass to her lips, let your brother, that you once loved, prevail on you to drink this glass of wine.—She then drank it. He kissed her, and said, Oh! how passion deforms9 the noblest minds! You have lost a good deal of that loveliness that used to adorn10 my sister. And let me persuade you to compose yourself, and be my sister again!—For Lady Davers is, indeed, a fine woman; and has a presence as majestic11 for a lady, as her dear brother has for a gentleman.
He then sat down between us again, and said, when the second course came in, Let Abraham come in and wait. I touched his toe again; but he minded it not; and I saw he was right; for her ladyship began to recollect12 herself, and did not behave half so ill before the servants, as she had done; and helped herself with some little freedom; but she could not forbear a strong sigh and a sob14 now and then. She called for a glass of the same wine she had drank before. Said he, Shall I help you again, Lady Davers?—and rose, at the same time, and went to the sideboard, and filled her a glass. Indeed, said she, I love to be soothed15 by my brother!—Your health, sir!
Said my master to me, with great sweetness, My dear, now I'm up, I'll fill for you!—I must serve both sisters alike! She looked at the servant, as if he were a little check upon her, and said to my master, How now, sir!—Not that you know of. He whispered her, Don't shew any contempt before my servants to one I have so deservedly made their mistress. Consider, 'tis done.—Ay, said she, that's the thing that kills me.
He gave me a glass: My good lady's health, sir, said I.—That won't do, said she, leaning towards me, softly: and was going to say wench, or creature, or some such word. And my master, seeing Abraham look towards her, her eyes being red and swelled16, said, Indeed, sister, I would not vex7 myself about it, if I was you. About what? said she. Why, replied he, about your lord's not coming down, as he had promised. He sat down, and she tapped him on the shoulder: Ah! wicked one, said she, nor will that do neither!—Why, to be sure, added he, it would vex a lady of your sense and merit to be slighted, if it was so; but I am sure my lord loves you, as well as you love him; and you know not what may have happened.
She shook her head, and said, That's like your art!—This makes one amazed you should be so caught!—Who, my lord caught! said he: No, no! he'll have more wit than so! But I never heard you were jealous before. Nor, said he, have you any reason to think so now!—Honest friend, you need not wait, said she; my woman will help us to what we want. Yes, let him, replied he. Abraham, fill me a glass. Come, said my master, Lord Davers to you, madam: I hope he'll take care he is not found out!—You're very provoking, brother, said she. I wish you were as good as Lord Davers.—But don't carry your jest too far. Well, said he, 'tis a tender point, I own. I've done.
By these kind managements the dinner passed over better than I expected. And when the servants were withdrawn17, my master said, still keeping his place between us, I have a question to ask you, Lady Davers, and that is, If you'll bear me company to Bedfordshire? I was intending to set out thither18 to-morrow, but I'll tarry your pleasure, if you'll go with me.
Is thy wife, as thou callest her, to go along with thee, friend? said she. Yes, to be sure, answered he, my dear Quaker sister; and took her hand, and smiled. And would'st have me parade it with her on the road?—Hey?—And make one to grace her retinue19?—Hey? Tell me how thoud'st chalk it out, if I would do as thou would'st have me, honest friend?
He clasped his arms about her, and kissed her: You are a dear saucy20 sister, said he; but I must love you!—Why, I'll tell you how I'd have it. Here shall you, and my Pamela—Leave out my, I desire you, if you'd have me sit patiently. No, replied he, I can't do that. Here shall you, and my Pamela, go together in your chariot, if you please; and she will then appear as one of your retinue; and your nephew and I will sometimes ride, and sometimes go into my chariot, to your woman.
Should'st thou like this, creature? said she to me.—If your ladyship think it not too great an honour for me, madam, said I. Yes, replied she, but my ladyship does think it would be too great an honour.
Now I think of it, said he, this must not be neither; for, without you'd give her the hand in your own chariot, my wife would be thought your woman, and that must not be. Why, that would, may be, said she, be the only inducement for me to bear her near me, in my chariot.—But, how then?—Why then, when we came home, we'd get Lord Davers to come to us, and stay a month or two.
And what if he was to come?—Why I would have you, as I know you have a good fancy, give Pamela your judgment21 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 vile22 charges upon me!—I love you with such a true affection, that I ought to say something before this malicious23 accuser, that you may not think your consummate24 virtue25 linked to so black a villain26.
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 dueller27, and now as a profligate28, 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 conformity29 of my manners to your virtue, to shew every one the force your example has upon me. But this briefly30 is the case of the first.
I had a friend, who had been basely attempted to be assassinated31 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 disarm32 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 pacified33 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 yoked34 with a murderer. The other—Nay35, 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 malice36.
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 contrived37 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 ripened38, and so utterly40 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 vengeance41 by the like offences, in injury to my Pamela.
And now, my dear, you may withdraw; for this worthy42 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 devoted43 myself to so much virtue, to that of my death, my conduct shall be irreproachable44.
She was greatly moved at this, and the noble manner in which the dear gentleman owned and repented45 of his faults; and gushed47 out into tears, and said, No, don't yet go, Pamela, I beseech48 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 bosom49, 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 fret50; 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 exasperated52 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 tumult53, 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 follies54, and your violence. I have borne too much with you, and I will vow55 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 pacify56 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 intruded57 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, haughtily59, 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 consigned60 to penitence61 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 tumults62, 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 disposition64 to receive you there, than I am at parting with you here.
Had I not hoped, that this was partly put on to intimidate65 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 unreasonable66 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 hatred67. 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 to-morrow, 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 anger on myself, and to be reconciled to your good sister? Presuming Pamela! replied he, and made me start; Art thou then so hardy68, so well able to sustain a displeasure, which of all things, I expected from thy affection, and thy tenderness, thou would'st have wished to avoid?—Now, said he, and took my hand, and, as it were, tossed it from him, begone from my presence, and reflect upon what you have said to me!
I was so frightened, (for then I saw he took amiss what I said,) that I took hold of his knees, as he was turning from me; and I said, Forgive me, good sir! you see I am not so hardy! I cannot bear your displeasure! And was ready to sink.
His sister said, Only forgive Pamela; 'tis all I ask—You'll break her spirit quite!—You'll carry your passion as much too far as I have done!—I need not say, said he, how well I love her; but she must not intrude58 upon me at such times as these!—I had intended, as soon as I could have quelled69, by my reason, the tumults you had caused by your violence, to have come in, and taken such a leave of you both, as might become a husband, and a brother: But she has, unbidden, broke in upon me, and must take the consequence of a passion, which, when raised, is as uncontrollable as your own.
Said she, Did I not love you so well, as sister never loved a brother, I should not have given you all this trouble. And did I not, said he, love you better than you are resolved to deserve, I should be indifferent to all you say. But this last instance, after the duelling story (which you would not have mentioned, had you not known it is always matter of concern for me to think upon), of poor Sally Godfrey, is a piece of spite and meanness, that I can renounce70 you my blood for.
Well, said she, I am convinced it was wrong. I am ashamed of it myself. 'Twas poor, 'twas mean, 'twas unworthy of your sister: And 'tis for this reason I stoop to follow you, to beg your pardon, and even to procure71 one for my advocate, who I thought had some interest in you, if I might have believed your own professions to her; which now I shall begin to think made purposely to insult me.
I care not what you think!—After the meanness you have been guilty of, I can only look upon you with pity: For, indeed, you have fallen very low with me.
'Tis plain I have, said she. But I'll begone.—And so, brother, let me call you for this once! God bless you! And Pamela, said her ladyship, God bless you! and kissed me, and wept.
I durst say no more: And my lady turning from him, he said, Your sex is the d—-l! how strangely can you discompose, calm, and turn, as you please, us poor weathercocks of men! Your last kind blessing73 to my Pamela I cannot stand! Kiss but each other again. And then he took both our hands, and joined them; and my lady saluting74 me again, with tears on both sides, he put his kind arms about each of our waists, and saluted76 us with great affection, saying, Now, God bless you both, the two dearest creatures I have in the world!
Well, said she, you will quite forget my fault about Miss—He stopt her before she could speak the name, and said, For ever forget it!—And, Pamela, I'll forgive you too, if you don't again make my displeasure so light a thing to you, as you did just now.
Said my lady, She did not make your displeasure a light thing to her; but the heavier it was, the higher compliment she made me, that she would bear it all, rather than not see you and me reconciled. No matter for that, said he: It was either an absence of thought, or a slight by implication, at least, that my niceness could not bear from her tenderness: For looked it not presuming, that she could stand my displeasure, or was sure of making her terms when she pleased? Which, fond as I am of her, I assure her, will not be always, in wilful77 faults, in her power.
Nay, said my lady, I can tell you, Pamela, you have a gentleman here in my brother; and you may expect such treatment from him, as that character, and his known good sense and breeding, will always oblige him to shew: But if you offend, the Lord have mercy upon you!—You see how it is by poor me!—And yet I never knew him to forgive so soon.
I am sure, said I, I will take care as much as I can; for I have been frightened out of my wits, and had offended, before I knew where I was.
When we came out of the garden, his chariot was ready; and he said, Well, sister, I had most assuredly gone away towards my other house, if things had not taken this happy turn; and, if you please, instead of it, you and I will take an airing: And pray, my dear, said he to me, bid Mrs. Jewkes order supper by eight o'clock, and we shall then join you.
Sir, added he, to her nephew, will you take your horse and escort us? I will, said he: and am glad, at my soul, to see you all so good friends.
So my dear lord and master handed my lady into his chariot, and her kinsman and his servants rode after them and I went up to my closet to ruminate79 on these things. And, foolish thing that I am, this poor Miss Sally Godfrey runs into my head!—How soon the name and quality of a wife gives one privileges, in one's own account!—Yet, methinks, I want to know more about her; for, is it not strange, that I, who lived years in the family, should have heard nothing of this? But I was so constantly with my lady, that I might the less hear of it; for she, I dare say, never knew it, or she would have told me.
But I dare not ask him about the poor lady.—Yet I wonder what became of her! Whether she be living? And whether any thing came of it?—May be I shall hear full soon enough!—But I hope not to any bad purpose.
As to the other unhappy case, I know it was talked of, that in his travels, before I was taken into the family long, he had one or two broils80; and, from a youth, he was always remarkable81 for courage, and is reckoned a great master of his sword. God grant he may never be put to use it! and that he may be always preserved in honour and safety!
About seven o'clock my master sent word, that he would have me not expect him to supper; for that he, and my lady his sister, and nephew, were prevailed upon to stay with Lady Jones; and that Lady Darnford, and Mr. Peters's family, had promised to meet them there. I was glad they did not send for me; and the rather, as I hoped those good families being my friends, would confirm my lady a little in my favour; and so I followed my writing closely.
About eleven o'clock they returned. I had but just come down, having tired myself with my pen, and was sitting talking with Mrs. Jewkes and Mrs. Worden, whom I would, though unwillingly82 on their sides, make sit down, which they did over against me. Mrs. Worden asked my pardon, in a good deal of confusion, for the part she had acted against me; saying, That things had been very differently represented to her; and that she little thought I was married, and that she was behaving so rudely to the lady of the house.
I said, I took nothing amiss; and very freely forgave her; and hoped my new condition would not make me forget how to behave properly to every one; but that I must endeavour to act not unworthy of it, for the honour of the gentleman who had so generously raised me to it.
Mrs. Jewkes said, that my situation gave me great opportunities of shewing the excellence83 of my nature, that I could forgive offences against me so readily, as she, for her own part, must always, she said, acknowledge, with confusion of face.
People, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't know how they shall act, when their wills are in the power of their superiors; and I always thought one should distinguish between acts of malice, and of implicit84 obedience85; though, at the same time, a person should know how to judge between lawful86 and unlawful. And even the great, though at present angry they are not obeyed, will afterwards have no ill opinion of a person for withstanding them in their unlawful commands.
Mrs. Jewkes seemed a little concerned at this; and I said, I spoke51 chiefly from my own experience: For that I might say, as they both knew my story, that I had not wanted both for menaces and temptations; and had I complied with the one, or been intimidated87 by the other, I should not have been what I was.
Ah, madam! replied Mrs. Jewkes, I never knew any body like you; and I think your temper sweeter, since the happy day, than before; and that, if possible, you take less upon you.
Why, a good reason, said I, may be assigned for that: I thought myself in danger: I looked upon every one as my enemy; and it was impossible that I should not be fretful, uneasy, jealous. But when my dearest friend had taken from me the ground of my uneasiness, and made me quite happy, I should have been very blamable, if I had not shewn a satisfied and easy mind, and a temper that should engage every one's respect and love at the same time, if possible: And so much the more, as it was but justifying89, in some sort, the honour I had received: For the fewer enemies I made myself, the more I engaged every one to think, that my good benefactor90 had been less to blame in descending91 as he has done.
This way of talking pleased them both very much; and they made me many compliments upon it, and wished me always to be happy, as, they said, I so well deserved.
We were thus engaged, when my master, and his sister and her nephew, came in: and they made me quite alive, in the happy humour in which they all returned. The two women would have withdrawn: but my master said, Don't go, Mrs. Worden: Mrs. Jewkes, pray stay; I shall speak to you presently. So he came to me, and, saluting me, said, Well, my dear love, I hope I have not trespassed92 upon your patience, by an absence longer than we designed. But it has not been to your disadvantage; for though we had not your company, we have talked of nobody else but you.
My lady came up to me, and said, Ay, child, you have been all our subject. I don't know how it is: but you have made two or three good families, in this neighbourhood, as much your admirers, as your friend here.
My sister, said he, has been hearing your praises, Pamela, from half a score mouths, with more pleasure than her heart will easily let her express.
My good Lady Davers's favour, said I, and the continuance of yours, sir, would give me more pride than that of all the rest of the world put together.
Well, child, said she, proud hearts don't come down all at once; though my brother, here, has this day set mine a good many pegs93 lower than I ever knew it: But I will say, I wish you joy with my brother; and so kissed me.
My dear lady, said I, you for ever oblige me!—I shall now believe myself quite happy. This was all I wanted to make me so!—And I hope I shall always, through my life, shew your ladyship, that I have the most grateful and respectful sense of your goodness.
But, child, said she, I shall not give you my company when you make your appearance. Let your own merit make all your Bedfordshire neighbours your friends, as it has done here, by your Lincolnshire ones; and you'll have no need of my countenance94, nor any body's else.
Now, said her nephew, 'tis my turn: I wish you joy with all my soul, madam; and, by what I have seen, and by what I have heard, 'fore13 Gad95, I think you have met with no more than you deserve; and so all the company says, where we have been: And pray forgive all my nonsense to you.
Sir, said I, I shall always, I hope, respect as I ought, so near a relation of my good Lord and Lady Davers; and I thank you for your kind compliment.
Gad, Beck, said he, I believe you've some forgiveness too to ask; for we were all to blame, to make madam, here, fly the pit, as she did. Little did we think we made her quit her own house.
Thou always, said my lady, sayest too much, or too little.
Mrs. Worden said, I have been treated with so much goodness and condescension96 since you went, that I have been beforehand, sir, in asking pardon myself.
So my lady sat down with me half an hour, and told me, that her brother had carried her a fine airing, and had quite charmed her with his kind treatment of her; and had much confirmed her in the good opinion she had begun to entertain of my discreet97 and obliging behaviour: But, continued she, when he would make me visit, without intending to stay, my old neighbours, (for, said she, Lady Jones being nearest, we visited her first; and she scraped all the rest of the company together,) they were all so full of your praises, that I was quite borne down; and, truly, it was Saul among the prophets!
You may believe how much I was delighted with this; and I spared not my due acknowledgments.
When her ladyship took leave, to go to bed, she said, Goodnight to you, heartily98, and to your good man. I kissed you when I came in, out of form; but I now kiss you out of more than form, I'll assure you.
Join with me, my dear parents, in my joy for this happy turn; the contrary of which I so much dreaded99, and was the only difficulty I had to labour with. This poor Miss Sally Godfrey, I wonder what's become of her, poor soul! I wish he would, of his own head, mention her again.—Not that I am very uneasy, neither.—You'll say, I must be a little saucy, if I was.
My dear master gave me an account, when we went up, of the pains he had taken with his beloved sister, as he himself styled her; and of all the kind things the good families had said in my behalf; and that he observed she was not so much displeased100 with hearing them, as she was at first; when she would not permit any body to speak of me as his wife: And that my health, as his spouse101, being put; when it came to her, she drank it; but said, Come, brother, here's your Pamela to you: But I shall not know how to stand this affair, when the Countess——, and the young ladies, come to visit me. One of these young ladies was the person she was so fond of promoting a match for, with her brother.—Lady Betty, I know, she said, will rally me smartly upon it; and you know, brother, she wants neither wit nor satire102. He said, I hope, Lady Betty, whenever she marries, will meet with a better husband than I should have made her; for, in my conscience, I think I should hardly have made a tolerable one to any but Pamela.
He told me that they rallied him on the stateliness of his temper; and said, They saw he would make an exceeding good husband where he was; but it must be owing to my meekness103, more than to his complaisance104; for, said Miss Darnford, I could see well enough, when your ladyship detained her, though he had but hinted his desire of finding her at our house, he was so out of humour at her supposed noncompliance, that mine and my sister's pity for her was much more engaged, than our envy.
Ay, said my lady, he is too lordly a creature, by much; and can't bear disappointment, nor ever could.
Said he, Well, Lady Davers, you should not, of all persons, find fault with me; for I bore a great deal from you, before I was at all angry.
Yes, replied she: but when I had gone a little too far, as I own I did, you made me pay for it severely106 enough! You know you did, sauce-box. And the poor thing too, added she, that I took with me for my advocate, so low had he brought me! he treated her in such a manner as made my heart ache for her: But part was art, I know, to make me think the better of her.
Indeed, sister, said he, there was very little of that; for, at that time, I cared not what you thought, nor had complaisance enough to have given a shilling for your good or bad opinion of her or me. And, I own, I was displeased to be broken in upon, after your provocations107, by either of you and she must learn that lesson, never to come near me, when I am in those humours; which shall be as little as possible: For, after a while, if let alone, I always come to myself, and am sorry for the violence of a temper, so like my dear sister's here: And, for this reason think it is no matter how few witnesses I have of its intemperance108, while it lasts; especially since every witness, whether they merit it or not, as you see in my Pamela's case, must be a sufferer by it, if, unsent for, they come in my way.
He repeated the same lesson to me again, and enforced it and owned, that he was angry with me in earnest, just then; though more with himself, afterwards, for being so: But when, Pamela, said he, you wanted to transfer all my displeasure upon yourself, it was so much braving me with your merit, as if I must soon end my anger, if placed there; or it was making it so light to you, that I was truly displeased: for, continued he, I cannot bear that you should wish, on any occasion whatever, to have me angry with you, or not to value my displeasure as the heaviest misfortune that could befall you.
But, sir, said I, you know, that what I did was to try to reconcile my lady; and, as she herself observed, it was paying her a high regard. It was so, replied he; but never think of making a compliment to her, or any body living, at my expense. Besides, she had behaved herself so intolerably, that I began to think you had stooped too much, and more than I ought to permit my wife to do; and acts of meanness are what I can't endure in any body, but especially where I love: and as she had been guilty of a very signal one, I had much rather have renounced109 her at that time, than have been reconciled to her.
Sir, said I, I hope I shall always comport110 myself so, as not wilfully111 to disoblige you for the future; and the rather do I hope this, as I am sure I shall want only to know your pleasure to obey it. But this instance shews me, that I may much offend, without designing it in the least.
Now, Pamela, replied he, don't be too serious: I hope I shan't be a very tyrannical husband to you: Yet do I not pretend to be perfect, or to be always governed by reason in my first transports; and I expect, from your affection, that you will bear with me when you find me wrong. I have no ungrateful spirit, and can, when cool, enter as impartially112 into myself as most men; and then I am always kind and acknowledging, in proportion as I have been out of the way.
But to convince you, my dear, continued he, of your fault, (I mean, with regard to the impetuosity of my temper; for there was no fault in your intention, that I acknowledge,) I'll observe only, that you met, when you came to me, while I was so out of humour, a reception you did not expect, and a harsh word or two that you did not deserve. Now, had you not broken in upon me while my anger lasted, but staid till I had come to you, or sent to desire your company, you'd have seen none of this; but that affectionate behaviour, which I doubt not you'll always merit, and I shall always take pleasure in expressing: and in this temper shall you always find a proper influence over me: But you must not suppose, whenever I am out of humour, that, in opposing yourself to my passion, you oppose a proper butt113 to it; but when you are so good, like the slender reed, to bend to the hurricane, rather than, like the sturdy oak, to resist it, you will always stand firm in my kind opinion, while a contrary conduct would uproot114 you, with all your excellencies, from my soul.
Sir, said I, I will endeavour to conform myself, in all things, to your will. I make no doubt but you will: and I'll endeavour to make my will as conformable to reason as I can. And let me tell you, that this belief of you is one of the inducements I have had to marry at all: for nobody was more averse115 to this state than myself; and, now we are upon this subject, I'll tell you why I was so averse.
We people of fortune, or such as are born to large expectations, of both sexes, are generally educated wrong. You have occasionally touched upon this, Pamela, several times in your journal, so justly, that I need say the less to you. We are usually so headstrong, so violent in our wills, that we very little bear control.
Humoured by our nurses, through the faults of our parents, we practise first upon them; and shew the gratitude116 of our dispositions117, in an insolence118 that ought rather to be checked and restrained, than encouraged.
Next, we are to be indulged in every thing at school; and our masters and mistresses are rewarded with further grateful instances of our boisterous119 behaviour.
But, in our wise parents' eyes, all looks well, all is forgiven and excused; and for no other reason, but because we are theirs.
Our next progression is, we exercise our spirits, when brought home, to the torment120 and regret of our parents themselves, and torture their hearts by our undutiful and perverse121 behaviour to them, which, however ungrateful in us, is but the natural consequence of their culpable122 indulgence to us, from infancy123 upwards124.
And then, next, after we have, perhaps, half broken their hearts, a wife is looked out for: convenience, or birth, or fortune, are the first motives126, affection the last (if it is at all consulted): and two people thus educated, thus trained up, in a course of unnatural127 ingratitude128, and who have been headstrong torments129 to every one who has had a share in their education, as well as to those to whom they owe their being, are brought together; and what can be expected, but that they should pursue, and carry on, the same comfortable conduct in matrimony, and join most heartily to plague one another? And, in some measure, indeed, this is right; because hereby they revenge the cause of all those who have been aggrieved130 and insulted by them, upon one another.
The gentleman has never been controlled: the lady has never been contradicted.
He cannot bear it from one whose new relation, he thinks, should oblige her to shew a quite contrary conduct.
She thinks it very barbarous, now, for the first time, to be opposed in her will, and that by a man from whom she expected nothing but tenderness.
So great is the difference between what they both expect from one another, and what they both find in each other, that no wonder misunderstandings happen; that these ripen39 to quarrels; that acts of unkindness pass, which, even had the first motive125 to their union been affection, as usually it is not, would have effaced131 all manner of tender impressions on both sides.
Appeals to parents or guardians132 often ensue. If, by mediation133 of friends, a reconciliation134 takes place, it hardly ever holds: for why? The fault is in the minds of both, and neither of them will think so; so that the wound (not permitted to be probed) is but skinned over, and rankles135 still at the bottom, and at last breaks out with more pain and anguish136 than before. Separate beds are often the consequence; perhaps elopements: if not, an unconquerable indifference137, possibly aversion. And whenever, for appearance-sake, they are obliged to be together, every one sees, that the yawning husband, and the vapourish wife, are truly insupportable to one another; but separate, have freer spirits, and can be tolerable company.
Now, my dear, I would have you think, and I hope you will have no other reason, that had I married the first lady in the land, I would not have treated her better than I will my Pamela. For my wife is my wife; and I was the longer in resolving on the state, because I knew its requisites138, and doubted my conduct in it.
I believe I am more nice than many gentlemen; but it is because I have been a close observer of the behaviour of wedded139 folks, and hardly ever have seen it to be such as I could like in my own case. I shall, possibly, give you instances of a more particular nature of this, as we are longer, and, perhaps, I might say, better acquainted.
Had I married with the views of many gentlemen, and with such as my good sister (supplying the place of my father and mother,) would have recommended, I had wedded a fine lady, brought up pretty much in my own manner, and used to have her will in every thing.
Some gentlemen can come into a compromise; and, after a few struggles, sit down tolerably contented140. But, had I married a princess, I could not have done so. I must have loved her exceedingly well, before I had consented to knit the knot with her, and preferred her to all her sex; for without this, Pamela, indifferences, if not disgusts, will arise in every wedded life, that could not have made me happy at home; and there are fewer instances, I believe, of men's loving better, after matrimony, than of women's; the reason of which 'tis not my present purpose to account for.
Then I must have been morally sure, that she preferred me to all men; and, to convince me of this, she must have lessened141, not aggravated142, my failings: She must have borne with my imperfections; she must have watched and studied my temper; and if ever she had any points to carry, any desire of overcoming, it must have been by sweetness and complaisance; and yet not such a slavish one, as should make her condescension seem to be rather the effect of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.
She should not have given cause for any part of my conduct to her to wear the least aspect of compulsion or force. The word command, on my side, or obedience on hers, I would have blotted143 from my vocabulary. For this reason I should have thought it my duty to have desired nothing of her, that was not significant, reasonable, or just; and that then she should, on hers, have shewn no reluctance144, uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige me, even at half a word.
I would not have excused her to let me twice enjoin145 the same thing, while I took so much care to make her compliance105 with me reasonable, and such as should not destroy her own free agency, in points that ought to be allowed her: And if I was not always right, that yet she would bear with me, if she saw me set upon it; and expostulate with me on the right side of compliance; for that would shew me, (supposing small points in dispute, from which the greatest quarrels, among friends, generally arise,) that she differed from me, not for contradiction-sake, but desired to convince me for my own; and that I should, another time, take better resolutions.
This would be so obliging a conduct, that I should, in justice, have doubled my esteem146 for one, who, to humour me, could give up her own judgment; and I should see she could have no other view in her expostulations, after her compliance had passed, than to rectify147 my motions for the future; and it would have been impossible then, but I must have paid the greater deference148 to her opinion and advice in more momentous149 matters.
In all companies she must have shewn, that she had, whether I deserved it altogether or not, a high regard and opinion of me; and this the rather, as such a conduct in her would be a reputation and security to herself: For if we rakes attempt a married lady, our first encouragement, exclusive of our own vanity, arises from the indifferent opinion, slight, or contempt, she expresses of her husband.
I should expect, therefore, that she should draw a kind veil over my faults; that such as she could not hide, she would extenuate150; that she would place my better actions in an advantageous151 light, and shew that I had her good opinion, at least, whatever liberties the world took with my character.
She must have valued my friends for my sake; been cheerful and easy, whomsoever I had brought home with me; and, whatever faults she had observed in me, have never blamed me before company; at least, with such an air of superiority, as should have shewn she had a better opinion of her own judgment, than of mine.
Now, my Pamela, this is but a faint sketch152 of the conduct I must have expected from my wife, let her quality have been what it would; or have lived with her on bad terms. Judge then, if to me a lady of the modish153 taste could have been tolerable.
The perverseness154 and contradiction I have too often seen, in some of my visits, even among people of sense, as well as condition, had prejudiced me to the married state; and, as I knew I could not bear it, surely I was in the right to decline it: And you see, my dear, that I have not gone among this class of people for a wife; nor know I, indeed, where, in any class, I could have sought one, or had one suitable to my mind, if not you: For here is my misfortune; I could not have been contented to have been but moderately happy in a wife.
Judge you, from all this, if I could very well bear that you should think yourself so well secured of my affection, that you could take the faults of others upon yourself; and, by a supposed supererogatory merit, think your interposition sufficient to atone155 for the faults of others.
Yet am I not perfect myself: No, I am greatly imperfect. Yet will I not allow, that my imperfections shall excuse those of my wife, or make her think I ought to bear faults in her, that she can rectify, because she bears greater from me.
Upon the whole, I may expect, that you will bear with me, and study my temper, till, and only till, you see I am capable of returning insult for obligation; and till you think, that I shall be of a gentler deportment, if I am roughly used, than otherwise. One thing more I will add, That I should scorn myself, if there was one privilege of your sex, that a princess might expect, as my wife, to be indulged in, that I would not allow to my Pamela; for you are the wife of my affections: I never wished for one before you, nor ever do I hope to have another.
I hope, sir, said I, my future conduct—Pardon me, said he, my dear, for interrupting you; but it is to assure you, that I am so well convinced of your affectionate regard for me, that I know I might have spared the greatest part of what I have said: And, indeed, it must be very bad for both of us, if I should have reason to think it necessary to say so much. But one thing has brought on another; and I have rather spoken what my niceness has made me observe in other families, than what I fear in my own. And, therefore, let me assure you, I am thoroughly156 satisfied with your conduct hitherto. You shall have no occasion to repent46 it: And you shall find, though greatly imperfect, and passionate157, on particular provocations, (which yet I will try to overcome,) that you have not a brutal158 or ungenerous husband, who is capable of offering insult for condescension, or returning evil for good.
I thanked him for these kind rules, and generous assurances: and assured him, that they had made so much impression on my mind, that these, and his most agreeable injunctions before given me, and such as he should hereafter be pleased to give me, should be so many rules for my future behaviour.
And I am glad of the method I have taken of making a Journal of all that passes in these first stages of my happiness, because it will sink the impression still deeper; and I shall have recourse to them for my better regulation, as often as I shall mistrust my memory.
Let me see: What are the rules I am to observe from this awful lecture? Why these:
1. That I must not, when he is in great wrath159 with any body, break in upon him without his leave. Well, I'll remember it, I warrant. But yet I think this rule is almost peculiar160 to himself.
2. That I must think his displeasure the heaviest thing that can befall me. To be sure I shall.
4. That I must never make a compliment to any body at his expense.
5. That I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful meanness. There is a great deal meant in this; and I'll endeavour to observe it all. To be sure, the occasion on which he mentions this, explains it; that I must say nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful or malicious; that is disrespectful or undutiful, and such-like.
6. That I must bear with him, even when I find him in the wrong. This is a little hard, as the case may be!
I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or dead!
7. That I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable162, lest, by resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up by the roots. Well, I'll do the best I can!—There is no great likelihood, I hope, that I should be too perverse; yet sure, the tempest will not lay me quite level with the ground, neither.
8. That the education of young people of condition is generally wrong. Memorandum163; That if any part of children's education fall to my lot, I never indulge and humour them in things that they ought to be restrained in.
10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in their infancy.
11. Nor at school.
12. Nor spoil them when they come home.
13. For that children generally extend their perverseness from the nurse to the schoolmaster: from the schoolmaster to the parents:
14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for all, make their ownselves unhappy.
15. That undutiful and perverse children make bad husbands and wives: And, collaterally165, bad masters and mistresses.
16. That, not being subject to be controlled early, they cannot, when married, bear one another.
17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each other, neither will mend it.
18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals, ineffectual reconciliations166, separations, elopements; or, at best, indifference; perhaps, aversion.—Memorandum; A good image of unhappy wedlock167, in the words YAWNING HUSBAND, and VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: But separate, both quite alive.
20. Some gentlemen can compromise with their wives, for quietness sake; but he can't. Indeed I believe that's true; I don't desire he should.
21. That love before marriage is absolutely necessary.
22. That there are fewer instances of men's than women's loving better after marriage. But why so? I wish he had given his reasons for this! I fancy they would not have been to the advantage of his own sex.
23. That a woman give her husband reason to think she prefers him before all men. Well, to be sure this should be so.
24. That if she would overcome, it must be by sweetness and complaisance; that is, by yielding, he means, no doubt.
25. Yet not such a slavish one neither, as should rather seem the effect of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.
26. That the words COMMAND and OBEY shall be blotted out of the Vocabulary. Very good!
27. That a man should desire nothing of his wife, but what is significant, reasonable, just. To be sure, that is right.
28. But then, that she must not shew reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige him; and that too at half a word; and must not be bid twice to do one thing. But may not there be some occasions, where this may be a little dispensed169 with? But he says afterwards, indeed,
29. That this must be only while he took care to make her compliance reasonable, and consistent with her free agency, in points that ought to be allowed her. Come, this is pretty well, considering.
30. That if the husband be set upon a wrong thing, she must not dispute with him, but do it and, expostulate afterwards. Good sirs! I don't know what to say to this! It looks a little hard, methinks! This would bear a smart debate, I fancy, in a parliament of women. But then he says,
31. Supposing they are only small points that are in dispute. Well, this mends it a little. For small points, I think, should not be stood upon.
32. That the greatest quarrels among friends (and wives and husbands are, or should be, friends) arise from small matters. I believe this is very true; for I had like to have had anger here, when I intended very well.
33. That a wife should not desire to convince her husband for CONTRADICTION sake, but for HIS OWN. As both will find their account in this, if one does, I believe 'tis very just.
34. That in all companies a wife must shew respect and love to her husband.
35. And this for the sake of her own reputation and security; for,
36. That rakes cannot have a greater encouragement to attempt a married lady's virtue, than her slight opinion of her husband. To be sure this stands to reason, and is a fine lesson.
37. That a wife should therefore draw a kind veil over her husband's faults.
40. And shew the world, that he had HER good opinion at least.
41. That she must value his friends for his sake.
42. That she must be cheerful and easy in her behaviour, to whomsoever he brings home with him.
43. That whatever faults she sees in him, she never blame him before company.
44. At least, with such an air of superiority, as if she had a less opinion of his judgment than her own.
45. That a man of nice observation cannot be contented to be only moderately happy in a wife.
46. That a wife take care how she ascribe supererogatory merit to herself; so as to take the faults of others upon her.
Indeed, I think it is well if we can bear our own! This is of the same nature with the third; and touches upon me, on the present occasion, for this wholesome172 lecture.
47. That his imperfections must not be a plea for hers. To be sure, 'tis no matter how good the women are; but 'tis to be hoped men will allow a little. But, indeed, he says,
48. That a husband, who expects all this, is to be incapable173 of returning insult for obligation, or evil for good; and ought not to abridge174 her of any privilege of her sex.
Well, my dear parents, I think this last rule crowns the rest, and makes them all very tolerable; and a generous man, and a man of sense, cannot be too much obliged. And, as I have this happiness, I shall be very unworthy, if I do not always so think, and so act.
Yet, after all, you'll see I have not the easiest task in the world. But I know my own intentions, that I shall not wilfully err63; and so fear the less.
Not one hint did he give, that I durst lay hold of, about poor Miss Sally Godfrey. I wish my lady had not spoken of it: for it has given me a curiosity that is not quite so pretty in me; especially so early in my nuptials175, and in a case so long ago past. Yet he intimated too, to his sister, that he had had other faults, (of this sort, I suppose,) that had not come to her knowledge!—But I make no doubt he has seen his error, and will be very good for the future. I wish it, and pray it may be so, for his own dear sake!
Wednesday, the seventh.
When I arose in the morning, I went to wait on Lady Davers, seeing her door open; and she was in bed, but awake, and talking to her woman. I said, I hope I don't disturb your ladyship. Not at all, said she; I am glad to see you. How do you do? Well, added she, when do you set out for Bedfordshire?—I said, I can't tell, madam; it was designed as to-day, but I have heard no more of it.
Sit down, said she, on the bed-side.—I find, by the talk we had yesterday and last night, you have had but a poor time of it, Pamela, (I must call you so yet, said she,) since you were brought to this house, till within these few days. And Mrs. Jewkes too has given Beck such an account, as makes me pity you.
Indeed, madam, said I, if your ladyship knew all, you would pity me; for never poor creature was so hard put to it. But I ought to forget it all now, and be thankful.
Why, said she, as far as I can find, 'tis a mercy you are here now. I was sadly moved with some part of your story and you have really made a noble defence, and deserve the praises of all our sex.
It was God enabled me, madam, replied I. Why, said she, 'tis the more extraordinary, because I believe, if the truth was known, you loved the wretch not a little. While my trials lasted, madam, said I, I had not a thought of any thing, but to preserve my innocence176, much less of love.
But, tell me truly, said she, did you not love him all the time? I had always, madam, answered I, a great reverence177 for my master, and thought all his good actions doubly good and for his naughty ones, though I abhorred178 his attempts upon me, yet I could not hate him; and always wished him well; but I did not know that it was love. Indeed I had not the presumption179.
Sweet girl! said she; that's prettily180 said: But when he found he could not gain his ends, and began to be sorry for your sufferings, and to admire your virtue, and to profess72 honourable181 love to you, what did you think?
Think! Indeed, madam, I did not know what to think! could neither hope nor believe so great an honour would fall to my lot, and feared more from his kindness, for some time, than I had done from his unkindness: And, having had a private intimation, from a kind friend, of a sham1 marriage, intended by means of a man who was to personate a minister, it kept my mind in too much suspense182, to be greatly overjoyed at his kind declaration.
Said she, I think he did make two or three attempts upon you in Bedfordshire? Yes, madam, said I; he was very naughty, to be sure.
And here he proposed articles to you, I understand? Yes, madam, replied I; but I abhorred so much the thoughts of being a kept creature, that I rejected them with great boldness; and was resolved to die before I would consent to them.
He afterwards attempted you, I think: Did he not? O yes, madam, said I, a most sad attempt he made! and I had like to have been lost; for Mrs. Jewkes was not so good as she should have been. And so I told her ladyship that sad affair, and how I fell into fits; and that they believing me dying, forbore.—Any attempts after this base one? she said.
He was not so good as he should have been, returned I, once in the garden, afterwards; but I was so watchful183, and so ready to take the alarm!
But, said she, did he not threaten you, at times, and put on his stern airs, every now and then?—Threaten, madam, replied I; yes, I had enough of that! I thought I should have died for fear several times.—How could you bear that? said she: for he is a most daring and majestic mortal! He has none of your puny184 hearts, but is as courageous185 as a lion; and, boy and man, never feared any thing. I myself, said she, have a pretty good spirit; but, when I have made him truly angry, I have always been forced to make it up with him, as well as I could: for, child, he is not one that is easily reconciled, I assure you.
But, after he had professed186 honourable love to you, did he never attempt you again?—No, indeed, madam, he did not. But he was a good while struggling with himself, and with his pride, as he was pleased to call it, before he could stoop so low; and considered, and considered again: and once, upon my saying but two or three words, that displeased him, when he was very kind to me, he turned me out of doors, in a manner, at an hour's warning; for he sent me above a day's journey towards my father's; and then sent a man and horse, post-haste, to fetch me back again; and has been exceedingly kind and gracious to me ever since, and made me happy.
That sending you away, said she, one hour, and sending after you the next, is exactly like my brother; and 'tis well if he don't turn you off twice or thrice before a year comes about, if you vex him: and he would have done the same by the first lady in the land, if he had been married to her. Yet has he his virtues, as well as his faults; for he is generous; nay, he is noble in his spirit; hates little dirty actions: he delights in doing good; but does not pass over a wilful fault easily. He is wise, prudent187, sober, and magnanimous, and will not tell a lie, nor disguise his faults; but you must not expect to have him all to yourself, I doubt.
But I'll no more harp188 upon this string: You see how he was exasperated at me; and he seemed to be angry at you too; though something of it was art, I believe.
Indeed, madam, said I, he has been pleased to give me a most noble lecture; and I find he was angry with me in earnest, and that it will not be an easy task to behave unexceptionably to him: for he is very nice and delicate in his notions, I perceive; but yet, as your ladyship says, exceeding generous.
Well, said she, I'm glad thou hadst a little bit of his anger; else I should have thought it art; and I don't love to be treated with low art, any more than he; and I should have been vexed189 if he had done it by me.
But I understand, child, said she, that you keep a journal of all matters that pass, and he has several times found means to get at it: Should you care I should see it? It could not be to your disadvantage; for I find it had no small weight with him in your favour; and I should take great pleasure to read all his stratagems190, attempts, contrivances, menaces, and offers to you, on one hand, and all your pretty counter-plottings, which he much praises; your resolute191 resistance, and the noble stand you have made to preserve your virtue; and the steps by which his pride was subdued, and his mind induced to honourable love, till you were made what you now are: for it must be a rare and uncommon192 story; and will not only give me great pleasure in reading, but will entirely193 reconcile me to the step he has taken: and that, let me tell you, is what I never thought to be; for I had gone a great way in bringing about a match with him and Lady Betty—; and had said so much of it, that the earl, her father, approved of it: and so did the Duke of ——, her uncle; and Lady Betty herself was not averse: and now I shall be hunted to death about it; and this has made me so outrageous194 as you have seen me upon the matter. But when I can find, by your writings, that your virtue is but suitably rewarded, it will be not only a good excuse for me, but for him, and make me love you. There is nothing that I would not do, said I, to oblige your ladyship; but my poor father and mother (who would rather have seen me buried quick in the earth, than to be seduced195 by the greatest of princes) have them in their hands at present; and your dear brother has bespoken196 them, when they have done reading them: but, if he gives me leave, I will shew them to your ladyship, with all my heart; not doubting your generous allowances, as I have had his; though I have treated him very freely all the way, while he had naughty views; and that your ladyship would consider them as the naked sentiments of my heart, from time to time delivered to those, whose indulgence I was sure of; and for whose sight only they were written.
Give me a kiss now, said her ladyship, for your cheerful compliance: for I make no doubt my brother will consent I shall see them, because they must needs make for your honour; and I see he loves you better than any one in the world.
I have heard, continued her ladyship, a mighty197 good character of your parents, as industrious198, honest, sensible, good folks, who know the world; and, as I doubt not my brother's generosity199, I am glad they will make no ill figure in the world's eye.
Madam, said I, they are the honestest, the lovingest, and the most conscientious200 couple breathing. They once lived creditably; and brought up a great family, of which I am the youngest; but had misfortunes, through their doing beyond their power for two unhappy brothers, who are both dead, and whose debts they stood bound for; and so became reduced, and, by harsh creditors201, (where most of the debts were, not of their own contracting,) turned out of all; and having, without success, tried to set up a little country-school; (for my father understood a little of accounts, and wrote a pretty good hand;) forced to take to hard labour; but honest all the time; contented; never repining; and loving to one another; and, in the midst of their poverty and disappointments, above all temptation; and all their fear was, that I should be wicked, and yield to temptation for the sake of worldly riches and to God's grace, and their good lessons, and those I imbibed202 from my dear good lady, your ladyship's mother, it is that I owe the preservation203 of my innocence,—and the happy station I am exalted204 to.
She was pleased to kiss me again, and said, There is such a noble simplicity205 in thy story, such an honest artlessness in thy mind, and such a sweet humility206 in thy deportment, notwithstanding thy present station, that I believe I shall be forced to love thee, whether I will or not: and the sight of your papers, I dare say, will crown the work; will disarm my pride, banish207 my resentment208 on Lady Betty's account, and justify88 my brother's conduct; and, at the same time, redound209 to your own everlasting210 honour, as well as to the credit of our sex: and so I make no doubt but my brother will let me see them.
Worden, said my lady, I can say any thing before you; and you will take no notice of our conversation; but I see you are much touched with it: Did you ever hear any thing prettier, more unaffected, sincere, free, easy?—No, never, madam, answered she, in my life; and it is a great pleasure to see so happy a reconciliation taking place, where there is so much merit.
I said, I have discovered so much prudence212 in Mrs. Worden, that, as well for that, as for the confidence your ladyship places in her, I have made no scruple213 of speaking my mind freely before her; and of blaming my dear master while he was blameworthy, as well as acknowledging his transcendent goodness to me since; which, I am sure, exceeds all I can ever deserve. May be not, said my lady; I hope you'll be very happy in one another; and I'll now rise, and tell him my thoughts, and ask him to let me have the reading of your papers; for I promise myself much pleasure in them; and shall not grudge214 a journey and a visit to you, to the other house, to fetch them.
Your ladyship's favour, said I, was all I had to wish for; and if I have that, and the continuance of your dear brother's goodness to me, I shall be easy under whatever else may happen.
And so I took my leave, and withdrew; and she let me hear her say to Mrs. Worden, 'Tis a charming creature, Worden!—I know not which excels; her person, or her mind!—And so young a creature too!—Well may my brother love her!
I am afraid, my dear father and mother, I shall now be too proud indeed.
I had once a good mind to have asked her ladyship about Miss Sally Godfrey; but I thought it was better let alone, since she did not mention It herself. May be I shall hear it too soon. But I hope not. I wonder, though, whether she be living or dead.
We breakfasted together with great good temper; and my lady was very kind, and, asking my good master, he gave leave very readily, she should see all my papers, when you returned them to me; and he said, He was sure, when she came to read them, she would say, that I had well deserved the fortune I had met with: and would be of opinion, that all the kindness of his future life would hardly be a sufficient reward for my virtue, and make me amends215 for my sufferings.
My lady resolving to set out the next morning to return to her lord, my master ordered every thing to be made ready for his doing the like to Bedfordshire; and this evening our good neighbours will sup with us, to take leave of my lady and us.
Wednesday night.
Nothing particular having passed at dinner or supper, but the most condescending216 goodness, on my lady's side, to me; and the highest civilities from Mr. Peters's family, from Lady Jones, from Sir Simon's family, etc. and reciprocal good wishes all around; and a promise obtained from my benefactor, that he would endeavour to pass a fortnight or three weeks in these parts, before the winter set in; I shall conclude this day with observing, that I disposed of the money my master was so good to put into my hands, in the manner he was pleased to direct; and I gave Mrs. Jewkes hers in such a manner as highly pleased her; and she wished me, with tears, all kinds of happiness; and prayed me to forgive her all her wickedness to me, as she herself called it. I begged leave of my master to present Mrs. Worden with five guineas for a pair of gloves; which he said was well thought of.
I should have mentioned, that Miss Darnford and I agreed upon a correspondence, which will be no small pleasure to me; for she is an admirable young lady, whom I prefer to every one I have seen; and I shall, I make no doubt, improve by her letters; for she is said to have a happy talent in writing, and is well read, for so young a lady.
Saturday.
On Thursday morning my lady set out for her own seat; and my best friend and I, attended by Mr. Colbrand, Abraham, and Thomas, for this dear house. Her ladyship parted with her brother and me with great tenderness, and made me promise to send her my papers; which I find she intends to entertain Lady Betty with, and another lady or two, her intimates, as also her lord; and hopes to find, as I believe, in the reading of them, some excuse for her brother's choice.
My dearest master has been all love and tenderness on the road, as he is in every place, and on every occasion. And oh, what a delightful217 change was this journey, to that which, so contrary to all my wishes, and so much to my apprehensions218, carried me hence to the Lincolnshire house! And how did I bless God at every turn, and at every stage!
We did not arrive here till yesterday noon. Abraham rode before, to let them know we were coming: and I had the satisfaction to find every body there I wished to see.
When the chariot entered the court-yard, I was so strongly impressed with the favour and mercies of God Almighty219, on remembering how I was sent away the last time I saw this house; the leave I took; the dangers I had encountered; a poor cast-off servant girl; and now returning a joyful220 wife, and the mistress, through his favour, of the noble house I was turned out of; that I was hardly able to support the joy I felt in my mind on the occasion. He saw how much I was moved, and tenderly asked me, Why I seemed so affected211? I told him, and lifted his dear hand to my lips, and said, O sir! God's mercies, and your goodness to me on entering this dear, dear place, are above my expression; I can hardly bear the thoughts of them!—He said, Welcome, thrice welcome, joy of my life! to your own house; and kissed my hand in return. All the common servants stood at the windows, as unseen as they could, to observe us. He took my hand, with the most condescending goodness in the world; and, with great complaisance, led me into the parlour, and kissed me with the greatest ardour. Welcome again, my dearest life! said he, a thousand times welcome to the possession of a house that is not more mine than yours!
I threw myself at his feet: Permit me, dear sir, thus to bless God, and thank you, for all his mercies and your goodness. O may I so behave, as not to be utterly unworthy; and then how happy shall I be! God give me, my dearest, said he, life and health to reward all your sweetness! and no man can be so blest as I.
Where (said he to Abraham, who passed by the door), where is Mrs. Jervis?—She bolted in: Here, good sir! said she; here, good madam! am I, waiting impatiently, till called for, to congratulate you both.—I ran to her, and clasped my arms about her neck, and kissed her; O my dear Mrs. Jervis! said I, my other dear mother! receive your happy, happy Pamela; and join with me to bless God, and bless our master, for all these great things!—I was ready to sink in her arms through excess of joy, to see the dear good woman, who had been so often a mournful witness of my distress221, as now of my triumph.—Dearest madam, said she, you do me too much honour. Let my whole life shew the joy I take in your deserved good fortune, and in my duty to you, for the early instance I received of your goodness in your kind letter. O Mrs. Jervis! replied I, there all thanks are due, both from you and me: for our dear master granted me this blessing, as I may justly call it, the very first moment I begged it of him. Your goodness, sir, said she, I will for ever acknowledge; and I beg pardon for the wrong step I made in applying to my Lady Davers.—He was so good as to salute75 her, and said, All is over now, Mrs. Jervis; and I shall not remember you ever disobliged me. I always respected you, and shall now more and more value you, for the sake of that dear good creature, whom, with joy unfeigned, I can call my wife. God bless your honour for ever! said she; and many many happy years may ye live together, the envy and wonder of all who know you!
But where, said my dear master, is honest Longman? and where is Jonathan?—Come, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you shall shew me them, and all the good folks, presently; and let me go up with you to behold the dear apartments, which I have seen before with such different emotions to what I shall now do.
We went up; and in every room, the chamber222 I took refuge in, when my master pursued me, my lady's chamber, her dressing-room, Mrs. Jervis's room, not forgetting her closet, my own little bed-chamber, the green-room, and in each of the others, I blessed God for my past escapes, and present happiness; and the good woman was quite affected with the zeal223 and pleasure with which I made my thankful acknowledgments to the divine goodness. O my excellent lady! said she, you are still the same good, pious224, humble225 soul I knew you; and your marriage has added to your graces, as I hope it will to your blessings226.
Dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, you know not what I have gone through! You know not what God has done for me! You know not what a happy creature I am now! I have a thousand thousand things to tell you; and a whole week will be too little, every moment of it spent in relating to you what has befallen me, to make you acquainted with it all. We shall be sweetly happy together, I make no doubt. But I charge you, my dear Mrs. Jervis, whatever you call me before strangers, that when we are by ourselves you call me nothing but your Pamela. For what an ungrateful creature should I be, who have received so many mercies, if I attributed them not to the divine goodness, but assumed to myself insolent227 airs upon them! No, I hope I shall be, more and more thankful, as I am more and more blest! and more humble, as God, the author of all my happiness, shall more distinguish me.
We went down again to the parlour, to my dear master. Said he, Call Longman in again; he longs to see you, my dear. He came in: God bless you, my sweet lady, said he; as now, Heaven be praised, I may call you! Did I not tell you, madam, that Providence228 would find you out? O, Mr. Longman, said I, God be praised for all his mercies! I am rejoiced to see you; and I laid my hand on his, and said, Good Mr. Longman, how do you do?—I must always value you; and you don't know how much of my present happiness I owe to the sheets of paper, and pens and ink, you furnished me with. I hope my dear sir and you are quite reconciled.—O, madam, said he, how good you are! Why, I cannot contain myself for joy! and then he wiped his eyes; good man!
Said my master, Yes, I have been telling Longman that I am obliged to him for his ready return to me; and that I will entirely forget his appeal to Lady Davers; and I hope he'll find himself quite as easy and happy as he wishes. My dear partner here, Mr. Longman, I dare promise you, will do all she can to make you so.—Heaven bless you both together! said he. 'Tis the pride of my heart to see this! I returned with double delight, when I heard the blessed news; and I am sure, sir, said he, (mark old Longman's words,) God will bless you for this every year more and more! You don't know how many hearts you have made happy by this generous deed!—I am glad of it, said my dear master; I am sure I have made my own happy: and, Longman, though I must think you SOMEBODY, yet, as you are not a young man, and so won't make me jealous, I can allow you to wish my dear wife joy in the tenderest manner. Adad! sir, said he, I am sure you rejoice me with your favour: 'Tis what I longed for, but durst not presume. My dear, said my master, receive the compliment of one of the honestest hearts in England, that always revered229 your virtues!—and the good man saluted me with great respect, and said, God in Heaven bless you both! and kneeled on one knee. I must quit your presence! Indeed I must!—And away he went.
Your goodness, sir, said I, knows no bounds: O may my gratitude never find any!—I saw, said my master, when the good man approached you, that he did it with so much awe and love mingled230 together, that I fancied he longed to salute my angel; and I could not but indulge his honest heart. How blessed am I! said I, and kissed his hand.—And indeed I make nothing now of kissing his dear hand, as if it was my own!
When honest old Mr. Jonathan come in to attend at dinner, so clean, so sleek231, and so neat, as he always is, with his silver hair, I said, Well, Mr. Jonathan, how do you do? I am glad to see you.—You look as well as ever, thank God! O, dear madam! said he, better than ever, to have such a blessed sight! God bless you and my good master!—and I hope, sir, said he, you'll excuse all my past failings. Ay, that I will, Jonathan, said he; because you never had any, but what your regard for my dear wife here was the occasion of. And now I can tell you, you can never err, because you cannot respect her too much. O sir, said he, your honour is exceeding good! I'm sure I shall always pray for you both.
After dinner, Mr. Longman coming in, and talking of some affairs under his care, he said afterwards, All your honour's servants are now happy; for Robert, who left you, had a pretty little fortune fallen to him, or he never would have quitted your service. He was here but yesterday, to inquire when you and my lady returned hither; and hoped he might have leave to pay his duty to you both. Ay, said my master, I shall be glad to see honest Robert; for that's another of your favourites, Pamela. It was high time, I think, I should marry you, were it but to engage the respects of all my family to myself.—There are, sir, said I, ten thousand reasons why I should rejoice in your goodness.
But I was going to say, said Mr. Longman, That all your honour's old servants are now happy, but one. You mean John Arnold? said my master. I do, indeed, said he, if you'll excuse me, sir. O, said I, I have had my prayer for poor John answered, as favourably232 as I could wish.—Why, said Mr. Longman, to be sure poor John has acted no very good part, take it altogether; but he so much honoured you, sir, and so much respected you, madam, that he would have been glad to have been obedient to both; and so was faithful to neither. But, indeed, the poor fellow's heart is almost broke, and he won't look out for any other place; and says, he must live in your honour's service, or he must die wretched very shortly. Mrs. Jervis was there when this was said: Indeed, said she, the poor man has been here every day since he heard the tidings, that have rejoiced us all; and he says, he hopes he shall yet be forgiven. Is he in the house now? said my master. He is, sir; and was here when your honour came in, and played at hide and seek to have one look at you both when you alighted; and was ready to go out of his wits for joy, when we saw your honour hand my lady in. Pamela, said my dear master, you're to do with John as you please. You have full power. Then pray, sir, said I, let poor John come in.
The poor fellow came in, with so much confusion, that I have never seen a countenance that expressed so lively a consciousness of his faults, and mingled joy and shame. How do you do, John? said I; I hope you are very well!—The poor fellow could hardly speak, and looked with awe upon my master, and pleasure upon me. Said my master, Well, John, there is no room to say any thing to a man that has so much concern already: I am told you will serve me whether I will or not; but I turn you over altogether to my spouse here: and she is to do by you as she pleases. You see, John, said I, your good master's indulgence. Well may I forgive, that have so generous an example. I was always persuaded of your honest intentions, if you had known how to distinguish between your duty to your master, and your good-will to me: You will now have no more puzzles on that account, from the goodness of your dear master. I shall be but too happy I said the poor man. God bless your honour! God bless you, madam!—I now have the joy of my soul, in serving you both; and I will make the best of servants, to my power. Well, then, John, said I, your wages will go on, as if you had not left your master: May I not say so, sir? said I. Yes, surely, my dear, replied he; and augment233 them too, if you find his duty to you deserves it. A thousand millions of thanks, said the poor man: I am very well satisfied, and desire no augmentation. And so he withdrew, overjoyed; and Mrs. Jervis and Mr. Longman were highly pleased; for though they were incensed234 against him for his fault to me, when matters looked badly for me, yet they, and all his fellow-servants, always loved John.
When Mr. Longman and Mrs. Jervis had dined, they came in again, to know if he had any commands; and my dear master, filling a glass of wine, said, Longman, I am going to toast the happiest and honestest couple in England, my dear Pamela's father and mother.—Thank you, dear sir, said I.
I think, continued he, that little Kentish purchase wants a manager; and as it is a little out of your way, Longman, I have been purposing, if I thought Mr. Andrews would accept it, that he should enter upon Hodge's farm that was, and so manage for me that whole little affair; and we will well stock the farm for him, and make it comfortable; and I think, if he will take that trouble upon him, it will be an ease to you, and a favour to me.
Your honour, said he, cannot do a better thing; and I have had some inkling given me, that you may, if you please, augment that estate, by a purchase, of equal amount, contiguous to it; and as you have so much money to spare, I can't see your honour can do better. Well, said he, let me have the particulars another time, and we will consider about it. But, my dear, added he, you'll mention this to your father, if you please.
I have too much money, Longman, continued he, lies useless; though, upon this occasion, I shall not grudge laying out as much in liveries and other things, as if I had married a lady of a fortune equal, if possible, to my Pamela's merit; and I reckon you have a good deal in hand. Yes, sir, said he, more than I wish I had. But I have a mortgage in view, if you don't buy that Kentish thing, that I believe will answer very well; and when matters are riper, will mention it to your honour.
I took with me, to Lincolnshire, said my master, upwards of six hundred guineas, and thought to have laid most of them out there: (Thank God, thought I, you did not! for he offered me five hundred of them, you know:) but I have not laid out above two hundred and fifty of them; so two hundred I left there in my escritoire; because I shall go again for a fortnight or so, before winter; and two hundred I have brought with me: and I have money, I know not what, in three places here, the account of which is in my pocket-book, in my library.
You have made some little presents, Pamela, to my servants there, on our nuptials; and these two hundred that I have brought up, I will put into your disposal, that, with some of them, you shall do here as you did there.
I am ashamed, good sir, said I, to be so costly235, and so worthless! Pray, my dear, replied he, say not a word of that. Said Mr. Longman, Why, madam, with money in stocks, and one thing or another, his honour could buy half the gentlemen around him. He wants not money, and lays up every year. And it would have been pity but his honour should have wedded just as he has. Very true, Longman, said my master; and, pulling out his purse, said, Tell out, my dear, two hundred guineas, and give me the rest.—I did so. Now, said he, take them yourself, for the purposes I mentioned. But, Mr. Longman, do you, before sunset, bring my dear girl fifty pounds, which is due to her this day, by my promise; and every three months, from this day, pay her fifty pounds; which will be two hundred pounds per annum; and this is for her to lay out at her own discretion236, and without account, in such a way as shall derive237 a blessing upon us all: for she was my mother's almoner, and shall be mine, and her own too.—I'll go for it this instant, said Mr. Longman.
When he was done, I looked upon my dear generous master, and on Mrs. Jervis, and he gave me a nod of assent238; and I took twenty guineas, and said, Dear Mrs. Jervis, accept of this, which is no more than my generous master ordered me to present to Mrs. Jewkes, for a pair of gloves, on my happy nuptials; and so you, who are much better entitled to them by the love I bear you, must not refuse them.
Said she, Mrs. Jewkes was on the spot, madam, at the happy time. Yes, said my master; but Pamela would have rejoiced to have had you there instead of her. That I should, sir, replied I, or instead of any body, except my own mother. She gratefully accepted them, and thanked us both: But I don't know what she should thank me for; for I was not worth a fourth of them myself.
I'd have you, my dear, said he, in some handsome manner, as you know how, oblige Longman to accept of the like present.
Mr. Longman returned from his office, and brought me the fifty pounds, saying, I have entered this new article with great pleasure: 'To my Lady fifty pounds: to be paid the same sum quarterly.' O sir! said I, what will become of me, to be so poor in myself, and so rich in your bounty239!—It is a shame to take all that your profuse240 goodness would heap upon me thus: But indeed it shall not be without account.—Make no words, my dear, said he: Are you not my wife? And have I not endowed you with my goods; and, hitherto, this is a very small part.
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sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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cuff
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| n.袖口；手铐；护腕；vt.用手铐铐；上袖口 | |
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incite
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| v.引起，激动，煽动 | |
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wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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vex
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| vt.使烦恼，使苦恼 | |
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vexes
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| v.使烦恼( vex的第三人称单数 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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deforms
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| 使变形，使残废，丑化( deform的第三人称单数 ) | |
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adorn
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| vt.使美化，装饰 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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swelled
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| 增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 )； 肿胀； （使）凸出； 充满（激情） | |
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withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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retinue
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| n.侍从；随员 | |
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saucy
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| adj.无礼的；俊俏的；活泼的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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consummate
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| adj.完美的；v.成婚；使完美 [反]baffle | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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villain
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dueller
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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conformity
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| n.一致，遵从，顺从 | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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disarm
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| v.解除武装，回复平常的编制，缓和 | |
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pacified
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| 使（某人）安静( pacify的过去式和过去分词 )； 息怒； 抚慰； 在（有战争的地区、国家等）实现和平 | |
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yoked
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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36
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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37
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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38
ripened
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
ripen
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| vt.使成熟；vi.成熟 | |
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40
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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41
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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42
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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43
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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44
irreproachable
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| adj.不可指责的，无过失的 | |
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45
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
repent
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| v.悔悟，悔改，忏悔，后悔 | |
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47
gushed
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| v.喷，涌( gush的过去式和过去分词 )；滔滔不绝地说话 | |
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48
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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49
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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50
fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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51
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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52
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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53
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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54
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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55
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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56
pacify
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| vt.使(某人)平静(或息怒)；抚慰 | |
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57
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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58
intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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59
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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60
consigned
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| v.把…置于（令人不快的境地）( consign的过去式和过去分词 )；把…托付给；把…托人代售；丟弃 | |
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61
penitence
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| n.忏悔，赎罪；悔过 | |
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62
tumults
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| 吵闹( tumult的名词复数 )； 喧哗； 激动的吵闹声； 心烦意乱 | |
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63
err
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| vi.犯错误，出差错 | |
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64
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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65
intimidate
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| vt.恐吓，威胁 | |
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66
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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67
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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68
hardy
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| adj.勇敢的，果断的，吃苦的；耐寒的 | |
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69
quelled
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| v.（用武力）制止，结束，镇压( quell的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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70
renounce
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| v.放弃；拒绝承认，宣布与…断绝关系 | |
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71
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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72
profess
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| v.声称，冒称，以...为业，正式接受入教，表明信仰 | |
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73
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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74
saluting
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的现在分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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75
salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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76
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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77
wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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78
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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79
ruminate
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| v.反刍；沉思 | |
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80
broils
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| v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的第三人称单数 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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81
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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82
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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83
excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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84
implicit
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| a.暗示的，含蓄的，不明晰的，绝对的 | |
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85
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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86
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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87
intimidated
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| v.恐吓；威胁adj.害怕的；受到威胁的 | |
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88
justify
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|
| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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89
justifying
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|
| 证明…有理( justify的现在分词 )； 为…辩护； 对…作出解释； 为…辩解（或辩护） | |
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90
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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91
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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92
trespassed
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| （trespass的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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93
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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94
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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95
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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96
condescension
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| n.自以为高人一等，贬低(别人) | |
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97
discreet
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| adj.(言行)谨慎的；慎重的；有判断力的 | |
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98
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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99
dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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100
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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101
spouse
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| n.配偶(指夫或妻) | |
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102
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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103
meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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104
complaisance
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| n.彬彬有礼，殷勤，柔顺 | |
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105
compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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106
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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107
provocations
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| n.挑衅( provocation的名词复数 )；激怒；刺激；愤怒的原因 | |
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108
intemperance
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| n.放纵 | |
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109
renounced
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| v.声明放弃( renounce的过去式和过去分词 )；宣布放弃；宣布与…决裂；宣布摒弃 | |
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110
comport
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| vi.相称，适合 | |
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111
wilfully
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| adv.任性固执地；蓄意地 | |
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112
impartially
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| adv.公平地，无私地 | |
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113
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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114
uproot
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| v.连根拔起，拔除；根除，灭绝；赶出家园，被迫移开 | |
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115
averse
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| adj.厌恶的；反对的，不乐意的 | |
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116
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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117
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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118
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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119
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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120
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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121
perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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122
culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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123
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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124
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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125
motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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126
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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127
unnatural
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| adj.不自然的；反常的 | |
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128
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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129
torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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130
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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131
effaced
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| v.擦掉( efface的过去式和过去分词 )；抹去；超越；使黯然失色 | |
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132
guardians
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| 监护人( guardian的名词复数 )； 保护者，维护者 | |
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133
mediation
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| n.调解 | |
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134
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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135
rankles
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| v.（使）痛苦不已，（使）怨恨不已( rankle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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136
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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137
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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138
requisites
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| n.必要的事物( requisite的名词复数 ) | |
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139
wedded
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| adj.正式结婚的；渴望…的，执著于…的v.嫁，娶，（与…）结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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140
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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141
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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142
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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143
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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144
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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145
enjoin
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| v.命令；吩咐；禁止 | |
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146
esteem
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| n.尊敬，尊重；vt.尊重，敬重；把…看作 | |
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147
rectify
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| v.订正，矫正，改正 | |
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148
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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149
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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150
extenuate
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| v.减轻，使人原谅 | |
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151
advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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152
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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153
modish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的 | |
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154
perverseness
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| n. 乖张, 倔强, 顽固 | |
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155
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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156
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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157
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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158
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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159
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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160
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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161
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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162
fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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163
memorandum
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| n.备忘录，便笺 | |
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164
accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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165
collaterally
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| 担保物； 旁系亲属 | |
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166
reconciliations
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| 和解( reconciliation的名词复数 )； 一致； 勉强接受； （争吵等的）止息 | |
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167
wedlock
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| n.婚姻，已婚状态 | |
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168
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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169
dispensed
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| v.分配( dispense的过去式和过去分词 )；施与；配（药） | |
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170
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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171
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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172
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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173
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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174
abridge
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| v.删减，删节，节略，缩短 | |
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175
nuptials
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| n.婚礼；婚礼( nuptial的名词复数 ) | |
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176
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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177
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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178
abhorred
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| v.憎恶( abhor的过去式和过去分词 )；（厌恶地）回避；拒绝；淘汰 | |
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179
presumption
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| n.推测，可能性，冒昧，放肆，[法律]推定 | |
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180
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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181
honourable
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| adj.可敬的；荣誉的，光荣的 | |
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182
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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183
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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184
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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185
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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186
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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187
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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188
harp
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| n.竖琴；天琴座 | |
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189
vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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190
stratagems
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| n.诡计，计谋( stratagem的名词复数 )；花招 | |
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191
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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192
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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193
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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194
outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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195
seduced
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| 诱奸( seduce的过去式和过去分词 )； 勾引； 诱使堕落； 使入迷 | |
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196
bespoken
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| v.预定( bespeak的过去分词 )；订（货）；证明；预先请求 | |
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197
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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198
industrious
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| adj.勤劳的，刻苦的，奋发的 | |
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199
generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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200
conscientious
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| adj.审慎正直的，认真的，本着良心的 | |
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201
creditors
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| n.债权人，债主( creditor的名词复数 ) | |
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202
imbibed
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| v.吸收( imbibe的过去式和过去分词 )；喝；吸取；吸气 | |
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203
preservation
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| n.保护，维护，保存，保留，保持 | |
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204
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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205
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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206
humility
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| n.谦逊，谦恭 | |
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207
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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208
resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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209
redound
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| v.有助于；提；报应 | |
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210
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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211
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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212
prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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213
scruple
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| n./v.顾忌，迟疑 | |
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214
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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215
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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216
condescending
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| adj.谦逊的,故意屈尊的 | |
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217
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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218
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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219
almighty
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| adj.全能的，万能的；很大的，很强的 | |
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220
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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221
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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222
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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223
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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224
pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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225
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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226
blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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227
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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228
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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229
revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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230
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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231
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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232
favourably
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| adv. 善意地，赞成地 =favorably | |
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233
augment
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| vt.(使)增大，增加，增长，扩张 | |
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234
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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235
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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236
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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237
derive
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| v.取得；导出；引申；来自；源自；出自 | |
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238
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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239
bounty
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| n.慷慨的赠予物，奖金；慷慨，大方；施与 | |
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240
profuse
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| adj.很多的，大量的，极其丰富的 | |
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