At twelve o'clock, next morning, the lovely Rebecca,
habited in a plain white jacket, a strawhat,
and black tere&longs;a, &longs;at out for Audley Park.

Lady Mary was alone in the library when &longs;he arrived,
and, on the &longs;ervant's announcing her name, desired
her to be immediately &longs;hown up.

“Now this is really kind,” &longs;aid &longs;he, with the mo&longs;t
conde&longs;cending &longs;mile, advancing to the blu&longs;hing Rebecca,
and, taking her hand, led her to the &longs;ofa on which &longs;he
had been &longs;itting, and &longs;eating her&longs;elf by her &longs;ide: “I
flatter my&longs;elf you are come to &longs;pend the day with me.”

“Indeed, madam,” replied Rebecca, “I was not
&longs;o pre&longs;uming as to hope &longs;uch an honour: I came to request—
to entreat”— &longs;he faltered—the tears
&longs;tarted in her eyes—Lady Mary interrupted her.

“Speak out, my love; do not be alarmed, but re&longs;t
a&longs;&longs;ured, I am ready to grant you any favour within
the limits of my power.”

“You are very good, madam. I hope you will pardon
the liberty I have taken; but my father, madam

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—his income is very &longs;mall—we are a twelve-month
in arrears in our rent—if you will kindly
u&longs;e your intere&longs;t with Sir George in our behalf.—

“Surely, my dear, your agitation is unnece&longs;&longs;ary.
I dare &longs;ay my &longs;on has never thought of the rent.”

“No, madam, I do not &longs;uppo&longs;e he has, it is &longs;o
trifling; but Mr. Villars, his &longs;teward, a&longs;ked for it la&longs;t
night, and was very angry!”

“Indeed! &longs;aid her lady&longs;hip; was he angry?”

“I do not mean to complain of Mr. Villars, madam,
for he has been very good to us, and often has waited
a month or two for his money. You know, madam,
he is only doing his duty when he demands it; for was
he to be remi&longs;s in collecting the rents, Sir George
would certainly be offended with him.”

Lady Mary &longs;miled at the eager manner in which
Rebecca uttered this apology for Villars; but it was a
&longs;mile of the utmo&longs;t &longs;atisfaction, it convinced her of
the goodne&longs;s of her young vi&longs;itor's heart.

“I think,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “if &longs;ome friend could be found
who would advance this &longs;um for your father.”

“Alas! madam, how is it to be repaid, unle&longs;s, indeed,”—
he&longs;itating, blu&longs;hing, and ri&longs;ing from
her &longs;eat.

“Unle&longs;s what, my &longs;weet girl?”

“Your lady&longs;hip would generou&longs;ly lend me the money,
and take me into your &longs;ervice, that I might render
my&longs;elf u&longs;eful till it is repaid; or, if you think me
too pre&longs;uming, madam, perhaps, you could recommend
me to &longs;ome family where there are children. I am not,
it is true, accu&longs;tomed to &longs;ervitude, but I will exert my
poor abilities cheerfully, and hope my willingne&longs;s to
oblige will, in &longs;ome mea&longs;ure compen&longs;ate for my awkwardness.”

“You are too good, and too lovely,” &longs;aid Lady Mary,
“for a &longs;ervant; but you &longs;hall, if you plea&longs;e, come
and live with me. I will &longs;ettle this little difficulty of
your father's and &longs;hall think my&longs;elf obliged if you
will accept a trifle annually for your pocket expences.
She then drew forth her pur&longs;e, and pre&longs;ented the delighted
maid with a twenty pound bank note.”

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Greatful beyond the power of expre&longs;&longs;ion, Rebecca
could only &longs;ink on her knees, pre&longs;s the hand of her
benefactre&longs;s to her lips, and, &longs;miling through the tears
that gu&longs;hed from her eyes, looked tho&longs;e thanks &longs;he
found it impo&longs;&longs;ible to utter.

“Go, go, you are a &longs;imple girl I &longs;ee,” cried her
lady&longs;hip, rai&longs;ing and pu&longs;hing her gently from her. “Go,
make your father happy, and, if you can obtain his
a&longs;&longs;ent to my propo&longs;al, to-morrow I will come and fetch
you home; but I mu&longs;t have you mend that little heart
of your's, it is but a very poor one to go through the
world with.”

“It means well,” replied Rebecca, trembling and
confu&longs;ed, rai&longs;ing her timid eyes to the face of her benefactress.

“Aye, aye, I am &longs;ure of that, but it is too hone&longs;t
by half; be&longs;ides, your intelligent countenance betrays
its every emotion.”

“I hope, madam, it will never experience any, but
may be revealed with impunity.”

“Ah! my dear,” &longs;aid Lady Mary, &longs;haking her
head, “you will, no doubt, one day find that it will
be to your intere&longs;t to di&longs;gui&longs;e its feelings as much as
po&longs;&longs;ible.”

Rebecca, then took her leave, and as &longs;he returned
home, could not help thinking that it was very &longs;trange,
and very incon&longs;i&longs;tent too, that &longs;incerity &longs;hould be deemed
a virtue, and yet di&longs;gui&longs;e be thought nece&longs;&longs;ary to
tho&longs;e who have much commerce with the world.