Well, but God’s will must be done, and so comes the comfort, that I shall not be obliged to return back to be a burden to my dear parents!  For my master said, “I will take care of you all, my good maidens; and for you, Pamela (and took me by the hand before them all), for my dear mother’s sake I will be a friend to you, and you shall take care of my linen.”  God bless him! and pray with me, my dear father and mother, for a blessing upon him, for he has given mourning and a year’s wages to all my lady’s servants; and I, having no wages as yet, my lady having said she would do for me as I deserv’d, ordered the housekeeper to give me mourning with the rest, and gave me with his own hand four guineas and some silver, which were in my lady’s pocket when she died; and said if I was a good girl, and faithful and diligent, he would be a friend to me, for his mother’s sake.  And so I send you these four guineas for your comfort.  I send them by John, our footman, who goes your way; but he does not know what he carries; because I seal them up in one of the little pill-boxes which my lady had, wrapp’d close in paper, that they may not chink, and be sure don’t open it before him.

Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be—­

Your dutiful Daughter.

I have been scared out of my senses, for just now, as I was folding up this letter in my lady’s dressing-room, in comes my young master!  Good sirs, how I was frightened!  I went to hide the letter in my bosom, and he, seeing me tremble, said smiling, “To whom have you been writing, Pamela?” I said, in my confusion, “Pray your honour, forgive me!  Only to my father and mother.”  “Well, then, let me see what a hand you write.”  He took it without saying more, and read it quite through, and then gave it me again.  He was not angry, for he took me by the hand and said, “You are a good girl to be kind to your aged father and mother; tho’ you ought to be wary what tales you send out of a family.”  And then he said, “Why, Pamela, you write a pretty hand, and spell very well, too.  You may look into any of my mother’s books to improve yourself, so you take care of them.”

But I am making another long letter, so will only add to it, that I shall ever be your dutiful daughter.

PAMELA ANDREWS

II.—­Twelve Months Later

MY DEAR MOTHER,—­You and my good father may wonder you have not had a letter from me in so many weeks; but a sad, sad scene has been the occasion of it.  But yet, don’t be frightened, I am honest, and I hope God, in his goodness, will keep me so.

O this angel of a master! this fine gentleman! this gracious benefactor to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the prayer of his good, dying mother!  This very gentleman (yes, I must call him gentleman, though he has fallen from the merit of that title) has degraded himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant; he has now showed himself in his true colours, and, to me, nothing appears so black and so frightful.