.--O good sir, said I, spare
a poor girl that cannot look up to you, and speak. My heart is full;
and why should you wish to undo me?--Only oblige me, said he, to stay a
fortnight longer, and John shall carry word to your father, that I will
see him in the time, either here, or at the Swan in his village. O sir,
said I, my heart will burst; but, on my bended knees, I beg you to
let me go to-morrow, as I designed: and don't offer to tempt a poor
creature, whose whole will would be to do yours, if my virtue would
permit!--I shall permit it, said he; for I intend no injury to you, God
is my witness! Impossible! said I; I cannot, sir, believe you, after
what has passed: How many ways are there to undo poor creatures! Good
God, protect me this one time, and send me but to my dear father's
cot in safety!--Strange, d----d fate! said he, that when I speak so
solemnly, I can't be believed!--What should I believe, sir? said I, what
can I believe? What have you said, but that I am to stay a fortnight
longer? and what then is to become of me?--My pride of birth and fortune
(d--n them both! said he, since they cannot obtain credit with you, but
must add to your suspicions) will not let me descend all at once; and
I ask you but a fortnight's stay, that, after this declaration, I may
pacify those proud demands upon me.

O how my heart throbbed! and I began (for I did not know what I did) to
say the Lord's prayer. None of your beads to me Pamela! said he; thou
art a perfect nun, I think.

But I said aloud, with my eyes lifted up to heaven, Lead me not into
temptation: but deliver me from evil, O my good God! He hugged me in his
arms, and said, Well, my dear girl, then you stay this fortnight, and
you shall see what I will do for you--I'll leave you a moment, and walk
into the next room, to give you time to think of it, and to shew you I
have no design upon you. Well, this, I thought, did not look amiss.

He went out, and I was tortured with twenty different doubts in a
minute; sometimes I thought that to stay a week or fortnight longer in
this house to obey him, while Mrs. Jervis was with me, could do no great
harm: But then, thought I, how do I know what I may be able to do? I
have withstood his anger; but may I not relent at his kindness?--How
shall I stand that.--Well, I hope, thought I, by the same protecting
grace in which I will always confide!--But, then, what has he promised?
Why, he will make my poor father and mother's life