“So, Madam, cried Lappett, as &longs;he was a&longs;&longs;i&longs;ting her
Lady to ri&longs;e the next morning; “&longs;o, Madam,
though Mrs. Rebecca was &longs;o delicate as to refu&longs;e conveying
a letter to his Grace, &longs;he has no objection to private
interviews with my Lord. Oh, I could have torn the
creature's eyes out, an impertinent minx.”

“What are you talking of, Lappett,” &longs;aid her Ladyship,
with the greate&longs;t compo&longs;ure, “I prote&longs;t you &longs;eem
out of your &longs;en&longs;es.”

“I am, my Lady, almo&longs;t, for when I reflect on &longs;o
kind, &longs;o good a Lady as your&longs;elf being treated in &longs;uch a
barbarous manner: why, Madam, after you were gone
la&longs;t night, I went up to &longs;ee if Rebecca was doing the
dre&longs;s your Lady&longs;hip &longs;aid you would wear on Thur&longs;day,
and I could not find her; however, as I knew &longs;he sometimes
went to the library when you were not at home,
and &longs;taid and read for two or three hours, I &longs;at down and
began a little of it my&longs;elf, but, after working till pa&longs;t
twelve o'clock, I thought it was very odd where &longs;he could
be, &longs;o I went down the back &longs;tairs, thinking perhaps
I &longs;hould find her in the hou&longs;ekeeper's room, but as I
pa&longs;t the little mu&longs;ic parlour, I heard the &longs;ound of voice
and opening the door, what does your Lady&longs;hip think,

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

I di&longs;covered, I thought I &longs;hould have &longs;wooned away, for
there &longs;at Rebecca, fa&longs;t locked in my Lord's arms, and
her head leaned on his &longs;houlders.”

“Very well,” cried Lady O&longs;&longs;iter, peevi&longs;hly, the crimson
of re&longs;entment ru&longs;hing over her face and neck, “why
am I plagued with this long &longs;tory: one would think you
were jealous of the creature, by the pa&longs;&longs;ion you are in.”

“I jealous, my Lady, does your Lady&longs;hip think?”—

“Oh, no! I don't think about it; I &longs;uppo&longs;e my Lord
is not wor&longs;e than other men of his rank, and while he is not
wanting in re&longs;pect to me, I &longs;hall not trouble my&longs;elf about
his amu&longs;ements; to be &longs;ure, it is rather mortifying to have
a little in&longs;ignificant hu&longs;&longs;y preferred in one's own hou&longs;e.”

“That is what I &longs;ay, Madam.”

“You have no right to &longs;ay or think about it; if I am
&longs;atisfied with my Lord's conduct, I de&longs;ire I may hear
none of your &longs;lippant impertinence upon a &longs;ubject that
don't concern you.”

done, Ma'am, but I hope you'll di&longs;charge—”

“I certainly &longs;hall di&longs;charge every &longs;ervant of mine, who&longs;e
conduct di&longs;plea&longs;es me, therefore, Lappett, read that impudent
&longs;crawl, and then let me know what wages are due
to you.”

Lappett took the letter, and trembled as &longs;he took it,
for &longs;he knew it to be one which &longs;he had written to her
&longs;i&longs;ter, and having intru&longs;ted it to the hou&longs;e maid to put it
in the po&longs;t, the girl's curio&longs;ity led her to open it, but,
being &longs;urpri&longs;ed by the entrance of her lady whil&longs;t in the
act of reading it, &longs;he had, in her hurry to put it in her
pocket, dropped it, and while the officious Lappett was
contriving to introduce the Duke unperceived to her Lady,
this unfortunate letter di&longs;covered her criminal intercourse
with her Lord. But though Lady O&longs;&longs;iter had thus
bridled her pa&longs;&longs;ion while talking to her infamous confidante,
&longs;he no &longs;ooner &longs;aw the innocent Rebecca, than &longs;he
vented on her that torrent of abu&longs;e fear had prevented
her from pouring on the other.

Artful infamous &longs;trumpet, were her elegant expre&longs;&longs;ions,
to pretend to &longs;uch re&longs;inement of &longs;entiment, and yet be
guilty of &longs;uch glaring faults.

In vain Rebecca wept, and called on heaven to witne&longs;s
her innocence; even when kneeling, &longs;he reque&longs;ted not to

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

be bereaved of her only refuge, an unblemi&longs;hed character.
The haughty Lady O&longs;&longs;iter &longs;purned her from her, and bid
her in&longs;tantly leave her hou&longs;e, and get her bread without,
for &longs;he was well convinced &longs;he did not de&longs;erve one.

Lord O&longs;&longs;iter, prepared as he was to meet her anger,
was unable to bear the illiberal abu&longs;e with which &longs;he loaded
him; he therefore &longs;atisfied him&longs;elf with telling her, when
&longs;he practi&longs;ed the duties of a wife, he would begin to &longs;tudy
tho&longs;e of a hu&longs;band; till then, &longs;he had no right to complain,
and left her to compo&longs;e her &longs;pirits, as &longs;he could, while he
inquired of his valet what he knew concerning Rebecca.

He &longs;oon learnt, by inquiries being made among the servants,
that Rebecca was di&longs;mi&longs;&longs;ed, and that &longs;he had taken
a place in the Lincoln&longs;hire &longs;tage, in order to return to her
mother. This was &longs;ufficient intelligence for his Lord&longs;hip,
and he began to plan &longs;chemes for getting her in his power.

When Rebecca came to take leave of the children, her
feelings were unde&longs;cribable. Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter hung about her
neck; even Charles and James begged her not to
they would be good boys and never vex her by behaving
ill again. She embraced them all tenderly, and with a
heart almo&longs;t broken, got into a hackney-coach, which
took her to the inn from whence the &longs;tage &longs;et out. She
a&longs;ked to be &longs;hown to an apartment, and ordered &longs;ome
trifle for her &longs;upper, then &longs;itting down by a little &longs;olitary
fire, began to reflect on her vexations, nor did &longs;he con&longs;ider
it as the lea&longs;t, that &longs;he was obliged to return to her mother
who had written to her but twice during her residence
in London, and even tho&longs;e letters were &longs;hort and
cold.

The five hundred pounds Mrs. Harley had given her,
&longs;he did not con&longs;ider as her own property, and be&longs;ides that,
&longs;he was po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed of but ten guineas in the world; to be &longs;ure
&longs;he had a few valuable trinkets, pre&longs;ents from Lady Mary,
and a good &longs;tock of clothes; but what was that, when
&longs;he wanted &longs;upport it would &longs;oon be gone. In the mid&longs;t
of the&longs;e painful reflexions &longs;he drew the picture of her
benefactre&longs;s from her bo&longs;om, and contemplated it as her
chief, her almo&longs;t only comfort. But, examining it more
minutely than &longs;he had ever before done, &longs;he thought &longs;he
di&longs;covered &longs;omething like a &longs;pring on the edge of the setting,
and pre&longs;&longs;ing her finger on it, the back flew off and

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

di&longs;covered to her the portrait of Sir George, fixed behind
that of his mother.

Spite of her&longs;elf &longs;he could not help gazing on it with
plea&longs;ure, and when &longs;he con&longs;idered the delicacy with which
he had managed to pre&longs;ent it to her, he ro&longs;e higher
than ever in her e&longs;teem.

“Ah,” &longs;aid &longs;he, “he certainly loves me, and is worthy
my e&longs;teem. Why are we not born for each other, for &longs;ure
I am, I could be content with Sir George, though in
the humble&longs;t &longs;tation: more—far more happy than in an
elevated &longs;phere; for in the humbler walks of life the felicity
we experience mu&longs;t proceed from a mutual de&longs;ire to
plea&longs;e, but in an exalted &longs;tation we live not for our&longs;elves
but others, at lea&longs;t if we have not fortitude to &longs;corn and
de&longs;pi&longs;e the &longs;neers of the fa&longs;hionable world.”

Rebecca could not help con&longs;idering the po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of this
portrait, at this period, as an invaluable trea&longs;ure, and in
her own brea&longs;t &longs;olemnly vowed never to part from it. She
indulged her&longs;elf in gazing on it while &longs;he &longs;at up, and
&longs;he retired to bed, laid it on her pillow, and fell
into a compo&longs;ed &longs;lumber, which la&longs;ted till called at four
o'clock to join the pa&longs;&longs;engers in the coach. Refre&longs;hed
and comforted by the re&longs;t &longs;he had taken, Rebecca aro&longs;e
with alacrity to pur&longs;ue her journey, and nothing material
occurred till they had proceeded upwards of fifty miles
from town, when the coach was overtaken by a po&longs;t-chai&longs;e
and four, in which was a man, who &longs;topped the coachman
and a&longs;ked if there was not a young per&longs;on within &longs;ide
of the name of Littleton. “Yes,” cried Rebecca, innocently
looking out of the window, “my name is Littleton.”

“Ah, Ma'am,” cried the man, “I am commanded to
entreat you to return. Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter was la&longs;t night taken
extremely ill, and cries continually for you; my Lady
therefore begs you will forget what is pa&longs;t, and come and
take your u&longs;ual &longs;tation in the family. She is convinced of
your innocence, but if di&longs;agreeable to your&longs;elf, &longs;he will
only de&longs;ire you to remain till Mi&longs;s O&longs;&longs;iter is better.”

Rebecca's heart, formed for the warme&longs;t affection, beat
high when &longs;he heard of her little favourite's illne&longs;s. The
ill treatment &longs;he had experienced from Lady O&longs;&longs;iter was
in&longs;tantly forgot, and &longs;he thought only of returning as
quick as po&longs;&longs;ible to attend the dear little girl. She &longs;prang

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

ha&longs;tily from the coach, and only taking with her a &longs;mall
portmanteau, containing a nece&longs;&longs;ary change of linen, got
into the chai&longs;e, and though drawn as quick as four hor&longs;es
could carry her, &longs;he thought every moment an hour, &longs;o
anxious was &longs;he to arrive in Bedford-Square.