I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly, mean degrees, exposed his wicked views, but somebody stole my letter, and I know not what is become of it.  I am watched very narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, the housekeeper, “This girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employed.”  And yet I work very hard with my needle upon his linen and the fine linen of the family; and am, besides, about flowering him a waistcoat.  But, oh, my heart’s almost broken; for what am I likely to have for any reward but shame and disgrace, or else ill words and hard treatment!

As I can’t find my letter, I’ll try to recollect it all.  All went well enough in the main, for some time.  But one day he came to me as I was in the summer-house in the little garden at work with my needle, and Mrs. Jervis was just gone from me, and I would have gone out, but he said, “Don’t go, Pamela, I have something to say to you, and you always fly me when I come near you, as if you were afraid of me.”

I was much out of countenance you may well think, and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the hand, for no soul was near us.

“You are a little fool,” he said hastily, “and know not what’s good for yourself.  I tell you I will make a gentlewoman of you if you are obliging, and don’t stand in your own light.”  And so saying, he put his arm about me and kiss’d me.

Now, you will say, all his wickedness appear’d plainly.  I burst from him, and was getting out of the summer-house, but he held me back, and shut the door.

I would have given my life for a farthing.  And he said, “I’ll do you no harm, Pamela; don’t be afraid of me.”

I sobb’d and cry’d most sadly.  “What a foolish hussy you are!” said he.  “Have I done you any harm?” “Yes, sir,” said I, “the greatest harm in the world; you have taught me to forget myself, and have lessen’d the distance that fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself to be so free to a poor servant.  I am honest, though poor; and if you were a prince I would not be otherwise than honest.”

He was angry, and said, “Who, little fool, would have you otherwise?  Cease your blubbering.  I own I have undervalued myself; but it was only to try you.  If you can keep this matter secret, you’ll give me the better opinion of your prudence.  And here’s something,” added he, putting some gold in my hand, “to make you amends for the fright I put you in.  Go, take a walk in the garden, and don’t go in till your blubbering is over.”

“I won’t take the money, indeed, sir,” said I, and so I put it upon the bench.  And as he seemed vexed and confounded at what he had done, I took the opportunity to hurry out of the summer-house.

He called to me, and said, “Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don’t go in yet.”

O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little they must make the best of gentlemen look, when they put it into the power of their inferiors to be greater than they!