Misery, my Harriet, does not harden the heart. It produced in mine an interest for this unhappy creature’s _recovery_ and comfort; and insensibly he became my consolation, for, with a fertility of invention, he suggested so many ways of reaching Gibraltar, and from thence the object of my wishes, that hope was renewed. His communications from time to time gratified my curiosity; although the subject of it was diverted to a less interesting concern than you, my beloved wife. Simons spoke of you, in terms of kindness and pity. “Then again,” said he, “I was a rascal; for I knew that her worthy father died in good circumstances, though without having secured to her a provision; yet I held my tongue; and was continued in my office with an advanced stipend. Flamall was certain, as he told me, that her beauty would be her fortune, and his advantage; and with this scheme in his head, she was treated with kindness under his roof, to the great disappointment of his wife, who had hoped to see herself acknowledged as Mrs. Flamall.” “And wherefore does he keep his marriage a secret, even from his sister?” asked I. “He has solid reasons,” replied he, “for keeping the lady in the back ground; her alliance is not the most honourable. Some business in which she and her uncle were useful to Mr. Flamall, obliged him to purchase her uncle’s evidence, and to silence hers as being his wife; but in return Flamall can any day he pleases hang old Peachley.” I was now, my Harriet, circumstantially informed of a transaction which I shall spare my pen the task of going over with you. But it opened such a scene of wickedness as to leave no doubts on my mind, that your brother was fully qualified to impose upon your innocence; and my soul sickened in reflecting that you were in the power of a man, who, to use Simons’s words, “wrote more hands than any man in the profession; and with an exactness so unrivalled, that he could impose on the Devil himself.”