business done, and come to my new old
lot again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my
master has turned me off: and as I shall come to you an honest daughter,
what pleasure it is to what I should have had, if I could not have seen
you but as a guilty one. Well, my writing-time will soon be over, and so
I will make use of it now, and tell you all that has happened since my
last letter.

I wondered Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and feared she
was angry; and when I had finished my letter, I longed for her coming
to bed. At last she came up, but seemed shy and reserved; and I said,
My dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I
hope. She said she was sorry things had gone so far; and that she had
a great deal of talk with my master, after I was gone; that he seemed
moved at what I said, and at my falling on my knees to him, and my
prayer for him, at my going away. He said I was a strange girl; he knew
not what to make of me. And is she gone? said he: I intended to say
something else to her; but she behaved so oddly, that I had not power
to stop her. She asked, if she should call me again? He said, Yes; and
then, No, let her go; it is best for her and me too; and she shall go,
now I have given her warning. Where she had it, I can't tell; but I
never met with the fellow of her in any life, at any age. She said,
he had ordered her not to tell me all: but she believed he would never
offer any thing to me again; and I might stay, she fancied, if I would
beg it as a favour; though she was not sure neither.

I stay! dear Mrs. Jervis; said I; why it is the best news that could
have come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go
back again to my poverty and distress, as he threatened I should; for
though I am sure of the poverty, I shall not have half the distress I
have had for some months past, I'll assure you.

Mrs. Jervis, dear good soul! wept over me, and said, Well, well, Pamela,
I did not think I had shewn so little love to you, as that you should
express so much joy upon leaving me. I am sure I never had a child half
so dear to me as you are.

I went to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been, and
said, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to
my own father and mother, and to leave you is the chief concern I have
at quitting this place; but I am sure it is certain ruin if I stay.
After such offers, and