[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

When Colonel Abthorpe retired to re&longs;t, he revolved
in his mind what Mr. Littleton had &longs;aid
concerning an exchange of pri&longs;oners. His wife's declining
health had long made him unea&longs;y. He flattered
him&longs;elf was he once removed from captivity, and enabled
to obtain &longs;ub&longs;i&longs;tence for his family, her mind would
be more at ea&longs;e, and &longs;he would of con&longs;equence recover
her health and &longs;pirits. The&longs;e reflections occupied
him all night, and totally bani&longs;hed &longs;leep. At dawn of
day he aro&longs;e, and &longs;at down to draw up a petition, praying
to be, with his family, included in the intended
exchange.—This petition he pre&longs;ented to the &longs;elect-men
of the place, to be by them tran&longs;mitted to the general
court. The an&longs;wer he received was a repetition of the
offers of employment in the American army, enforced
with promi&longs;es of the mo&longs;t beneficial and lucrative rewards
for his &longs;ervices. The&longs;e he &longs;trenuou&longs;ly rejected,
declaring a re&longs;olution to die rather than for&longs;ake the
cau&longs;e of loyalty.

They found it was in vain to increa&longs;e either their offers
of affluence, or their ill treatment; he was alike
unmoved by either, at lea&longs;t he did not &longs;uffer them to
perceive the effect his mi&longs;eries had on his mind. If he
&longs;ighed it was in &longs;ecret, and he waited with an a&longs;&longs;umed
patience the end of his misfortunes, while the mo&longs;t afflictive
&longs;en&longs;ations corroded in his bo&longs;om: But when he
had almo&longs;t bidden adieu to hope, when de&longs;pair &longs;eemed
to have taken po&longs;&longs;e&longs;&longs;ion of his mind, then was deliverence
neare&longs;t at hand, and he received a letter, informing
him he was to be exchanged with his family by
the very next cartel. They were accordingly removed
to Bo&longs;ton, and, in company with Mr. Littleton, put on
board a &longs;mall ve&longs;&longs;el, bearing a flag of truce, in which
they arrived, after a ten days pa&longs;&longs;age, &longs;afe at Hallifax.

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

Here Mr. Littleton was immediately employed,
and drew on his agent for money to provide him&longs;elf
and Rebecca with nece&longs;&longs;aries; nor did he withhold
part of his little &longs;tore from Colonel Abthorpe, who
was really in nece&longs;&longs;itous circum&longs;tances. Mrs. Abthorpe's
malady had gained too much ground on her delicate
con&longs;titution ever to be repelled. She continued to decline,
and, in a few weeks after their arrival in Nova-Scotia,
&longs;he &longs;unk to eternal re&longs;t! Rebecca exerted herself
to comfort poor Sophia; but it was now become
ab&longs;olutely nece&longs;&longs;ary for them to part. Colonel Abthorpe
had not the means even of &longs;upporting him&longs;elf and daughter,
much le&longs;s an extra per&longs;on: Be&longs;ides, Rebecca was
eager to revi&longs;it England, and &longs;ee her mother; he therefore
furni&longs;hed her with recommendatory letters to several
Ladies in London. Her uncle provided her a passage,
and gave her an order on his agent for the &longs;mall remainder
of all his worldly wealth. She took an affectionate
leave of her dear Mi&longs;s Abthorpe, and embarked
for her native land. It &longs;eemed as though the elements
were as eager to convey our heroine in &longs;afety home, as
they had been perver&longs;e and tardy in bearing her from
thence; for on the twenty-eighth day from her leaving
Halifax, at the clo&longs;e of the evening, &longs;he found her&longs;elf
&longs;et down at the door of the Cro&longs;s-Keys Inn, in Gracechurch
&longs;treet, London. She had landed with a widow
lady and her maiden &longs;i&longs;ter (who came in the &longs;hip with
her) at Deal, and they had proceeded to town in a postchaise.
She remained at the inn with them that night,
and the next morning took a coach to &longs;eek the benevolent
friend of Mrs. Harris in the Borough. She was
removed, but Mrs. Harris her&longs;elf occupied the hou&longs;e:
Rebecca therefore, met a hearty welcome, and determined
to take up her abode with her till &longs;he could hear
from her mother, to whom &longs;he immediately wrote.

Anxiou&longs;ly did &longs;he count the time till &longs;he thought it
po&longs;&longs;ible to receive an an&longs;wer. At length the welcome
&longs;ound of a po&longs;tman's rap &longs;aluted her ears. She almo&longs;t
flew to the door. The letter required double po&longs;tage;
&longs;he paid it without he&longs;itation, and ha&longs;tily returned to

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

the parlour to examine its contents; but as &longs;he approached
the candle, what were her feelings to di&longs;cover
it was her own letter returned, with the&longs;e words written
on the out&longs;ide:—

“Removed to London two years ago!”

“To London!” &longs;aid Rebecca; “but what part of
London? Good heavens! that I &longs;hould be in the &longs;ame
place with my mother, and yet unable to find her! But,
perhaps, I have no mother now,” continued &longs;he, mournfully:—
“She has been removed two years; alas! sorrow
may have levelled her with the du&longs;t long &longs;ince.”

She then endeavoured to recollect &longs;ome per&longs;on in her
native village, to whom &longs;he could addre&longs;s her&longs;elf, in
hopes of gaining information whether her mother had
mentioned what part of the town &longs;he intended to re&longs;ide
in. At length &longs;he recollected the parents of Ruth, who
had lived &longs;everal years &longs;ervant in the family, and was
with them when her father died. To them &longs;he immediately
wrote, and, as early as &longs;he could po&longs;&longs;ibly expect,
received the following an&longs;wer:

TO
MRS. REBECCA LITTLETON.
“My dear young mi&longs;tre&longs;s,

“This comes with father and mother's kind love to
you, letting you know that we are all main glad to hear
you are alive, and come home again to old England, for,
certain &longs;ure, we all thought you had been dead a long
while ago; &longs;o when father put on his &longs;pectacles, and
began to read your letter, I thought as how I &longs;hould
have &longs;ounded for joy; for indeed, and for &longs;arten, Mi&longs;s
Becky, I would walk a many long miles to &longs;ee your
&longs;weet face. Oh! dear, if you was but as rich, and as
happy as you are good, and as we all wi&longs;h you.—

“As to your mother, we are deadly afraid &longs;he has
made but a poor hand of marrying again, for old Serl
was but a &longs;habby kind of body, though he pretended to

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

be &longs;o grand, and tried to make folks believe he was a
gentleman.

“To be &longs;ure they did fla&longs;h away about a month or
two after they were married, and Peg Serl had a mortal
fight of new cloaths, but for all &longs;he never looked
like a lady. Father &longs;aid as how you looked more like
one in a linen gown, and your nice curling hair without
powder, than &longs;he did in her &longs;ilks and &longs;attins, and her
hair pla&longs;tered up with grea&longs;e and flour; but after all
they did not hold out long. Serl did not u&longs;e your poor
fooli&longs;h mother well; he kept an impudent hu&longs;&longs;y almo&longs;t
under her no&longs;e, and u&longs;ed to be always a drinking and
&longs;otting, and &longs;o the &longs;inery all went away by littles and littles,
and then they got &longs;adly in debt, and at la&longs;t went off
to London, without letting any body know about it;
but cou&longs;in Dick was in London la&longs;t Martinmas twelve
months, and he &longs;aid he &longs;aw Mrs. Serl go into a hou&longs;e in
We&longs;tmin&longs;ter, but &longs;he looked main &longs;habby, and we never
&longs;ince heard nothing about her.

“Father bid me tell you, that he read in the newspaper
how that Sir George Worthy was married to a
great Lady; but father &longs;ays he could not have found a
more better Lady than your own &longs;weet &longs;elf, be the other
who &longs;he may, and we all thought as how, when Lady
Mary (ble&longs;s her dear name)! took you to live with her,
that we &longs;hould one day &longs;ee you come back to the village,
Lady of the Manor; but it can't be helped, marrying
and hanging they &longs;ay goes by fate. Mother and father
&longs;end their kind love and duty to you, wi&longs;hing you a
good rich hu&longs;band, and &longs;oon; and &longs;o no more at present
from your's to &longs;erve till death.

When Rebecca had fini&longs;hed reading this letter her
mind was in a &longs;tate of anarchy, better imagined than
de&longs;cribed. She &longs;at with the letter open on the table before
her—her hands folded in each other—her eyes fixed
on vacancy.

“Well, what news, my dear,” &longs;aid Mrs. Harris, as
&longs;he came into the room, and, without particularly

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

observing Rebecca, very lei&longs;urely &longs;tirred the fire as &longs;he &longs;poke
to her.”

“He is married,” replied Rebecca unconsciously.—

“Well, child, you knew that before, I thought.”

“No, indeed; this is the fir&longs;t I ever heard of it.”

“Why, how you talk!” &longs;aid Mrs. Harris, &longs;taring
at her; “to my certain knowledge &longs;he wrote you word
of it her&longs;elf.”

“Who wrote me word of it?”

“Why, your mother, child.”

“Oh! my mother,” cried Rebecca, endeavouring
to rally her &longs;cattered thoughts; then, pau&longs;ing for a
moment, “my poor mother,” continued &longs;he, bur&longs;ting
into tears, I fear I &longs;hall never &longs;ee her more.”

There was a wildne&longs;s in her looks, an incoherence in
her manner, that alarmed the compa&longs;&longs;ionate Mrs. Harris.
She drew a chair, and &longs;at down be&longs;ide her, took
both her hands in her's, pre&longs;&longs;ed them tenderly, but remained
&longs;ilent. This was a conduct more congenial to
the mind of Rebecca than the mo&longs;t eloquent harangue
could have been. She re&longs;ted her head on the bo&longs;om of
her friend, gave a free vent to her tears, and, by degrees,
regained a tolerable degree of compo&longs;ure.