'I have not heard from her since,' hesitatingly replied Mrs Pemberton. 'But can't you write to her?' 'Yes;--but in her last letter she said she was going to change her lodgings, and would write again when settled in a new habitation.' Again Mrs Mowbray paced the room in wild and violent distress: but her sorrows at length yielded to the gentle admonitions and soothings of Mrs Pemberton, who bade her remember, that when she rose in the morning she had not expected the happiness and consolation which she had met with that day; and that a short time might bring forth still greater comfort. 'For,' said Mrs Pemberton, 'I can write to the house where she formerly lodged, and perhaps the person who keeps it can give us intelligence of her.' On hearing this, Mrs Mowbray became more composed, and diverted her sorrow by a thousand fond inquiries concerning Adeline, which none but a mother could make, and none but a mother could listen to with patience. While this conversation was going on, a knock at the door was heard, and Miss Woodville entered the room in great emotion; for she had heard, on the road, that a mad bullock had attacked a lady; and also that Mrs Mowbray, scarcely able to walk, had been led into the white house in the field by the road side. Miss Woodville was certainly as much alarmed as she pretended to be: but there was a somewhat in the expression of her alarm which, though it gratified Mrs Mowbray, was displeasing to the more penetrating Mrs Pemberton. She could not indeed guess that Miss Woodville's alarm sprung merely from apprehension lest Mrs Mowbray should die before she had provided for her in her will: yet, notwithstanding, she felt that her expressions of concern and anxiety had no resemblance to those of real affection; and in spite of her habitual candour, she beheld Miss Woodville with distrust. But this feeling was considerably increased on observing, that when Mrs Mowbray exultingly introduced her, not only as the lady whose life she had been the means of preserving, but as the friend and correspondent of her daughter, she evidently changed colour; and, in spite of her habitual plausibility, could not utter a single coherent sentence of pleasure or congratulation:--and it was also evident, that, being conscious of Mrs Pemberton's regarding her with a scrutinizing eye, she was not easy till, on pretence of Mrs Mowbray's requiring rest after her alarm, she had prevailed on her to return home. But she could not prevent the new friends from parting with eager assurances of meeting again and again; and it was agreed between them, that Mrs Pemberton should spend the next day at the Lawn. Mrs Pemberton, who is thus again introduced to the notice of my readers, had been, as well as Mrs Mowbray, the pupil of adversity. She had been born and educated in fashionable life; and she united to a very lovely face and elegant form, every feminine grace and accomplishment.