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When Rebecca awoke &longs;he found her&longs;elf greatly
refre&longs;hed, and aro&longs;e with a heart deeply impressed
with gratitude to Mrs. Harris, who had thus
unexpectedly delivered her from the wor&longs;t of all evils.
She went down &longs;tairs, and as &longs;he was taking her breakfast
began to talk of what &longs;he mu&longs;t do in future. I had
&longs;ome intention of returning to my mother, (&longs;aid &longs;he)
but I think now I had rather endeavour to get a place.
I have but a tri&longs;le in my pur&longs;e, but by writing to Lincolnshire
I can have my trunks returned, and I have
&longs;ome money in them, and I will beg your acceptance
of part of it for the eminent &longs;ervice you have
rendered me; in the meantime I &longs;hall be much obliged
to you if you could recommend me to a place, if you
heard of any thing which you thought would &longs;uit me.”

Mrs. Harris and her friend gave our heroine a cordial
invitation to remain with them till &longs;he could hear
from her mother, and promi&longs;ed to inquire for a place
which might &longs;uit her abilities, as &longs;he &longs;eemed to wi&longs;h to
wait on a very young lady, or be companion to an elderly
one, as &longs;he was certain her con&longs;titution would not
&longs;uffer her to engage with a woman of fa&longs;hion, who kept
a great deal of company and late hours, of which &longs;he
had experienced a &longs;ufficient &longs;pecimen in Lady O&longs;&longs;iter.

Rebecca addre&longs;&longs;ed a letter to her mother, briefly informing
her &longs;he had left her Lady and was in que&longs;t of
another place. That &longs;he had at fir&longs;t intended to return
home, and to that end had forwarded her trunk,
which &longs;he reque&longs;ted might be &longs;ent to town again by the
fir&longs;t conveyance. In about four days &longs;he received the
following an&longs;wer.

“DEAR CHILD,

“I am &longs;orry to find you have left Lady O&longs;&longs;iter as I
imagine you mu&longs;t have gro&longs;sly offended her Lady&longs;hip

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before &longs;he could have parted with you, as you was &longs;uch
a favorite with her mother; however, Rebecca, you
cho&longs;e to leave your father's hou&longs;e, and to conduct yourself
by the advice of &longs;trangers, you therefore know be&longs;t
child, what you are about; I &longs;hall not take upon me to
advi&longs;e, where my advice will be di&longs;regarded. As to
coming into the country, I think it would be putting
your&longs;elf to a needle&longs;s expence, as I know you would never
be happy to &longs;tay here: and &longs;en&longs;ible as I was of
that, you cannot wonder I have cho&longs;en a companion
and protector for my&longs;elf, and by uniting with the worthy
Mr. Serle, have upon his daughter and family a claim
to tho&longs;e tenderne&longs;&longs;es and attentions I in vain expected
from my own child. Mr. Serle went to the inn and inquired
for your trunk, but we can hear nothing of it;
you mu&longs;t therefore inquire for it at the inn from whence
the coach &longs;ets out in London.

“As you always were, or pretended to be a little
philo&longs;opher, I have no doubt but you will get very
well through the world; and you have youth and a
good con&longs;titution on your &longs;ide. I &longs;hall always be glad
to hear of your welfare; above all things, Rebecca, be
mode&longs;t and virtuous, and mind your religious duties,
as your poor father and I always taught you; and never
forget that you have a mother who loves you, and to
whom all your duty and re&longs;pect is due. Mr. Serle and
Mi&longs;s Peggy de&longs;ire me to give their be&longs;t wi&longs;hes to you,
though they have no acquaintance with you.

Rebecca's &longs;en&longs;ations, on the receipt of this letter,
are better imagined than de&longs;cribed. Scarcely fix months
had elap&longs;ed &longs;ince the death of her father, and her mother
was married again—that mother, who, but a &longs;hort
time &longs;ince, had declared, that to be &longs;u&longs;pected capable of
admitting a &longs;econd partner, was an in&longs;ult that hurt her
feelings exce&longs;&longs;ively.

Rebecca now felt that &longs;he was in reality a poor solitary
being, without a home, and almo&longs;t without a friend;

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to be &longs;ure Mrs. Harris had been very kind to her, but
could &longs;he expect that kindne&longs;s to la&longs;t when &longs;he had lo&longs;t
the power of making her any recompen&longs;e. However
&longs;he determined to make &longs;ome inquiry concerning her
trunk, and to that end reque&longs;ted Mrs. Harris to accompany
her; but all the tidings &longs;he could learn was,
that the coachman had left it in the country, and that
he had &longs;ince heard it had been taken away by a per&longs;on
who &longs;aid he came from Mi&longs;s Littleton her&longs;elf, with orders
to pay all nece&longs;&longs;ary expences.

“Was there any thing of much value in the trunk?”
&longs;aid Mrs. Harris.

“Alas!” cried Rebecca, “there was the greate&longs;t
part of my clothes, and a five hundred pound bank
note, which I had to keep for a per&longs;on who is gone
abroad.”

“Pray, child, what kind of a man is this father-in-law
of your's?”

“Indeed I can hardly tell you; he never vi&longs;ited my
father during his life, nor did I ever &longs;ee him above twice,
except at church; he has been a widower &longs;ome years,
and has one daughter; he is an attorney by profe&longs;&longs;ion,
but I believe he had never much practice.”

“Perhaps your mother's annuity was the object that
invited this marriage.”

“It may be &longs;o, but I can hardly think it, for at the
utmo&longs;t it is not more than forty pounds year. My
mother has an agreeable per&longs;on, and lively manner; I
do not think it improbable but he may have married
her for love.”

“I do not think it improbable but he has got your
trunk.”

“Dear, Mrs. Harris, how can you &longs;ugge&longs;t &longs;uch a
thing; you quite &longs;hock me.”

“Shock you or not, I think that is really the ca&longs;e,
and I would advi&longs;e you to pur&longs;ue legal methods to discover
it.”

“No,” cried Rebecca, re&longs;olutely, “never; I cannot
bring my&longs;elf to &longs;u&longs;pect that my mother would unite
her&longs;elf to a man capable of &longs;uch an action, and if that

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were really the ca&longs;e, I hope I have too high a &longs;en&longs;e of
&longs;ilial re&longs;pect to attempt expo&longs;ing her to the malicious
cen&longs;ures of a world, who would not fail to involve her,
however innocent, in her hu&longs;band's guilt. My own interest
&longs;hall ever give way to her peace of mind, for &longs;he
was the cho&longs;en companion, the bo&longs;om friend of the be&longs;t
of fathers, and though &longs;he &longs;eems to have forgot that I am
her child, I can never forget &longs;he is my mother.”

“All this may be very clever, for what I know,” &longs;aid
Mrs. Harris, “but I am &longs;ure, in my opinion, it is very
ridiculous. You will find, my poor &longs;imple child, your
&longs;ix guineas will go but a little way towards buying you
clothes fit for a decent place; however, we mu&longs;t not
meet troubles half way, it will be time enough when you
have got a place, to think about preparing to go to it;
but I have an acquaintance lives in this &longs;treet, who perhaps
may have it in her power to help you to &longs;omething.”

They called on the per&longs;on mentioned, who was lady's
woman in an opulent merchant's family. Mrs. Harris
mentioned Rebecca's intentions, and learnt that there
was a country lady, then on a vi&longs;it to this family, who had
parted with her maid, and was in want of one to &longs;upply
her place. Rebecca thought &longs;he could venture to take
&longs;uch a &longs;ituation in a regular quiet family. She was introduced
to the Lady, who, &longs;truck with her lovely person
and mode&longs;t demeanour, conceived an in&longs;tant prepossession
in her favour, and engaged her, upon liberal terms,
to enter her &longs;ervice on that day week.

Rebecca &longs;elt extremely happy that &longs;he &longs;hould no longer
be a burden upon the kind Mrs. Harris, and eagerly
&longs;et about preparing as well as the narrow &longs;tate of her finances
would allow, to take po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of her new place.

Mrs. Barton (the name of Rebecca's mi&longs;tre&longs;s) was a
plea&longs;ing lively brunette, about twenty years old. She
had married, when very young, contrary to the advice
of her friends, a young man of &longs;mall fortune and rather
flightly character, but &longs;he had twenty thou&longs;and pounds
at her own di&longs;po&longs;al, and her motto was, “All for love.”

Barton was really attached to her in the fir&longs;t years of
their marriage, but his temper was too ver&longs;atile to belong

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con&longs;tant to any thing, he in time grew cool, and often
played her fal&longs;e, but &longs;he was of &longs;uch an even, cheerful,
un&longs;u&longs;pecting temper, &longs;o unaffectedly tender, &longs;o attentive
to his intere&longs;t, and &longs;tudious of his peace, that he found
it impo&longs;&longs;ible to treat her with unkindne&longs;s, &longs;o that there
was always an appearance of much cordiality between
them, for though &longs;he could not &longs;hut her eyes and ears
upon his infidelities, &longs;he wi&longs;ely concluded it was prudent
&longs;ometimes to be wilfully deaf and blind, and that if good
humour would not reclaim him, ill humour would certainly
make him wor&longs;e.

With this couple Rebecca went into Shrop&longs;hire, a few
weeks after &longs;he entered Mrs. Barton's &longs;ervice. Their
hou&longs;e was a venerable gothic building, &longs;ituated in the
mid&longs;t of a beautiful park, and had fallen to Mrs. Barton
on the death of her godfather, from whom al&longs;o &longs;he
inherited her independent fortune. Rebecca found herself
much at her ea&longs;e, Mrs. Barton was very kind to her,
and finding &longs;he po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ed an intelligent mind, often made
her the companion of her rambles about the grounds and
adjacent country. Mr. Barton troubled his lady but little
with his company, except at meals, and &longs;ometimes not
then: nay, he even went &longs;o far as to &longs;leep from home several
nights in the week; and this being a liberty he had
never before taken, without his wife being informed of
the cau&longs;e, &longs;he felt her&longs;elf really unca&longs;y, and, though
when he was pre&longs;ent &longs;he a&longs;&longs;umed her u&longs;ual cheerfulne&longs;s,
it was impo&longs;&longs;ible to conquer her feelings, &longs;o as not to
let her chagrin and mortification appear to Rebecca,
who &longs;incerely pitied, and by every affiduity in her power,
endeavoured to amu&longs;e and entertain her. Mrs. Barton
kept but little company; &longs;he was fond of reading,
drawing, mu&longs;ic, and fancy works; in the&longs;e &longs;he discovered
Rebecca's ta&longs;te and knowledge, and many was the
heavy hour &longs;he beguiled in joining the labours of her lady,
improving her judgment, and with the &longs;weete&longs;t diffidence
and humility correcting her errors.

In the mean time Lord O&longs;&longs;iter provoked beyond
mea&longs;ure, that a &longs;cheme he had imagined infallible,
&longs;hould have proved totally abortive, di&longs;patched his

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faithful valet off to Lincoln&longs;hire, in hopes to find the fair
fugitive there, and get her once more into his power;
but here he was again foiled; for though Rebecca had
wrote to her mother, that &longs;he had engaged with a Mrs.
Barton, yet &longs;he had not mentioned in what part of the
country the family u&longs;ually re&longs;ided, &longs;o that the faithful
amba&longs;&longs;ador returned to his di&longs;appointed Lord without
the lea&longs;t conciliatory intelligence.