'MY DEAR PAMELA, 'I begin to repent already, that I have bound myself, by promise, not to
see you till you give me leave; for I think the time very tedious.
Can you place so much confidence in me, as to invite me down? Assure
yourself, that your generosity shall not be thrown away upon me. I the
rather would press this, as I am uneasy for your uneasiness; for Mrs.
Jewkes acquaints me, that you take your restraint very heavily; and
neither eat, drink, nor rest well; and I have too great interest in your
health, not to wish to shorten the time of this trial; which will be
the consequence of my coming down to you. John, too, has intimated to me
your concern, with a grief that hardly gave him leave for utterance; a
grief that a little alarmed my tenderness for you. Not that I fear any
thing, but that your disregard to me, which yet my proud heart will
hardly permit me to own, may throw you upon some rashness, that might
encourage a daring hope: But how poorly do I descend, to be anxious
about such a menial as he!--I will only say one thing, that if you
will give me leave to attend you at the Hall, (consider who it is that
requests this from you as a favour,) I solemnly declare, that you shall
have cause to be pleased with this obliging mark of your confidence in
me, and consideration for me; and if I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved
to you with the respect due to one I so dearly love, I will put it
entirely into your power to discharge her the house, if you think
proper; and Mrs. Jervis, or who else you please, shall attend you in her
place. This I say on a hint John gave me, as if you resented something
from that quarter. Dearest Pamela, answer favourably this earnest
request of one that cannot live without you, and on whose honour to
you, you may absolutely depend; and so much the more, as you place a
confidence in it. I am, and assuredly ever will be, 'Your faithful and affectionate, etc.'
'You will be glad, I know, to hear your father and mother are well, and
easy upon your last letter. That gave me a pleasure that I am resolved
you shall not repent. Mrs. Jewkes will convey to me your answer.' I but slightly read this letter for the present, to give way to one I
had hopes of finding by this time from Mr. Williams. I took an evening
turn, as I called it, in Mrs. Jewkes's company: and walking by the
place, I said, Do you think, Mrs. Jewkes, any of my beans can have
struck since yesterday? She laughed, and said, You are a poor gardener:
but I love to see you divert yourself. She passing on, I found my good
friend had provided for me; and, slipping it in my bosom, (for her back
was towards me,) Here, said I, (having a bean in my hand,) is one of
them; but it has not stirred. No, to be sure, said she, and turned upon
me a most wicked jest, unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about planting,
etc. When I came in, I hied to my closet, and read as follows: