Passing near her house one morning, just before you left London with your friends, the Hatchways, a dray-man so completely bespattered me, that, in order to shun the laughter of the diverted witnesses of this mischance, I took refuge at Mrs. Keith’s: knowing that I could there change my linen, &c. During her kind offices about me, I observed, that she had been weeping; and, whilst waiting for my coat to dry, her dejection led me to ask her what had disturbed her. “Only the old story,” answered she, weeping anew, “I am weary of my life; my husband was never good; but of late he is a brute, and beats me, because I cannot go to market without money. God help me, I am too honest for Patrick!” “He ought to husband his money better,” replied I, “he is in constant employment with Mr. Flamall I find, and he is a good copier.” “He will never find that any thing he gains from that quarter will thrive,” answered she, colouring with resentment; “the good old proverb is against him. What is got by the devil’s means will go as it came.” “You ought not to blame Mr. Flamall,” observed I, prolonging my toilet, “that he cannot teach your husband to take care of the money he earns: Flamall is not a spendthrift.” “He is too cunning for you to understand,” replied she, nodding her head significantly, “but he will soon show the cloven foot; what is to become of you, when your wife wants a cradle for her poor babe? Patrick swears that I shall not take her in: the Lord help you both; there will be such doings, and no Mrs. Duncan to stand by you with her purse!” “I defy Mr. Flamall,” answered I, “and will soon let him know that I can protect my wife; in less than four months I shall be master of my dear mother’s little provision, and with that, and industry, my Harriet shall have a cradle for our infant.” She shook her head despondingly, “Poor soul!” said she; “it is perhaps happy for her that she is removed, she loved you better than many _real_ mothers do their children; it would have grieved her to see you set fast so young.” “How came you to know this secret?” asked I, without betraying my emotions. “Because I heard Mrs. Duncan say, that she was not your mother,” answered she, “when she gave her dying instructions to your _honest guardian_ with the pocket book for you, in case you outlived her: besides this, I could say more if I pleased; but I do not wish to bring Patrick to the gallows, he will find the road without my help! see his tender marks,” added she, weeping, and uncovering her bosom. It was bruised. My compassion soothed her; but she became more guarded; and only confessed that I had not been well used, adding, “I have said enough to you, and should my husband know it, he would murder me. But the time may come, when you will be able to take care of me. I have not forgotten the black pocket book, nor the letters on it, studded with silver, nor what is more, the bank notes it contained. I know that _ten hundred make a thousand_, as well as the lawyer.