“What means all this parade, my dear?  Let me perish,” that was his word, “if I know how to account for you, or your humour.”

“You will, presently.  Sir.  But give me all my ways—­I pray you do—­This one time only!”

“Well, so, this is your bar, is it?  There’s an elbow-chair, I see; take your place in it, Pamela, and here I’ll stand to answer all your questions.”

“No, Sir, that must not be.”  So I boldly led him to the elbow-chair.  “You are the judge, Sir; it is I that am to be tried.  Yet I will not say I am a criminal.  I know I am not.  But that must be proved, Sir, you know.”

“Well, take your way; but I fear for your head, my dear, in all this.”

“I fear only my heart, Sir, that’s all! but there you must sit—­So here,” (retiring to the three chairs, and leaning on the backs,) “here I stand.”

“And now, my dearest Mr. B., you must begin first; you must be my accuser, as well as my judge.”

“I have nothing to accuse you of, my dear, if I must give in to your moving whimsy.  You are everything I wish you to be.  But for the last month you have seemed to be uneasy, and have not done me the justice to acquaint me with your reasons for it.”

“I was in hopes my reasons might have proved to be no reasons; and I would not trouble you with my ungrounded apprehensions.  But now, Sir, we are come directly to the point; and methinks I stand here as Paul did before Felix; and like that poor prisoner, if I, Sir, reason of righteousness, temperance, and judgment to come, even to make you, as the great Felix did, tremble, don’t put me off to another day, to a more convenient season, as that governor did Paul; for you must bear patiently with all that I have to say.”

“Strange, uncommon girl I how unaccountable is all this!—­Pr’ythee, my dear,” and he pulled a chair by him, “come and sit down by me, and without these romantic airs let me hear all you have to say; and teaze me not with this parade.”

“No, Sir, let me stand, if you please, while I can stand; when weary I will sit down at my bar.

“Now, Sir, since you are so good as to say, you have nothing but change of temper to accuse me of, I am to answer to that, and assign a cause; and I will do it without evasion or reserve; but I beseech you say not one word but Yes or No, to my questions, till I have said all I have to say, and then you shall find me all silence and resignation.”

“Well, my strange dear!—­But sure your head is a little turned!—­What is your question?”

“Whether, Sir, the Nun—­I speak boldly; the cause requires it—­who followed you at the Masquerade every where, is not the Countess of—?”

“What then, my dear:”  (speaking with quickness,)—­“I thought the occasion of your sullenness and reserve was this!—­But, Pamela—­”

“Nay, Sir,” interrupted I, “only Yes, or No, if you please:  I will be all silence by-and-by.”