for, said she, you know you are all innocence!--Insolent creature! said
I, I am sure you are all guilt!--And so you must do your worst; for now I
can't help myself, and I see there is no mercy to be expected from you.

Just now, my master being come up, she went to him upon the stairs, and
gave him my papers. There, sir, said she; you always said Mrs. Pamela
was a great writer; but I never could get at any thing of hers before.
He took them; and, without coming to me, went down to the parlour again.
And what with the gipsy affair, and what with this, I could not think of
going down to dinner; and she told him that too; and so I suppose I shall
have him up stairs, as soon as his company is gone.


Saturday, six o'clock.

My master came up, and, in a pleasanter manner than I expected, said, So,
Pamela, we have seized, it seems, your treasonable papers? Treasonable!
said I, very sullenly. Ay, said he, I suppose so; for you are a great
plotter: but I have not read them yet.

Then, sir, said I, very gravely, it will be truly honourable in you not
to read them; but to give them to me again. To whom, says he, are they
written?--To my father, sir; but I suppose you see to whom.--Indeed,
returned he, I have not read three lines yet. Then, pray, sir, don't
read them; but give them to me again. That I will not, said he, till I
have read them. Sir, said I, you served me not well in the letters I
used to write formerly: I think it was not worthy your character to
contrive to get them in your hands, by that false John Arnold! for should
such a gentleman as you mind what your poor servant writes?--Yes, said
he, by all means, mind what such a servant as my Pamela writes.