For sometime, however, the object of my search eluded me; at last I perceived him sitting in a nook so concealed, that it serves the gardener for his rollers, &c. He resembled a statue rather than a living creature; and was so lost in thought, that he neither heard my steps nor saw me when I stood before him. He was speaking, however, and I heard him say, “Are there no remedies? Is she dead? Will not Heaven spare her? Destruction must have monsters for its work!”—I took his hand and he started. “I come to seek you,” said I, in a cheerful tone; “Miss Howard is recovered, and gone home with her uncle. I want you to give me some coffee.” He looked at me.—“Angel of peace!” said he, in a low voice, “art thou still near me?”—I again spoke. “Your daughter, your adopted daughter, my dear Sir Murdock, is near you,” observed I, “but you do not heed her. It is cold here, and she begs you to enter the house.” I gently took him by the arm; he again started as from a dream.—“My dear Miss Cowley,” said he, rising, “is it you that I see here!”—I repeated my entreaties, and he instantly took the way to the house and inquired whether Miss Howard had seen his wife before she left the hall. “Lady Maclairn has been with Miss Flint,” replied I, “who is ill; but we shall all rejoice at the events of this day when more composed. Mary Howard shall never want the protection of her aunt.”—“Your purpose is worthy of you, Miss Cowley,” replied the baronet, with collected dignity and energy, “and in your intentions of goodness, as these relate to this injured girl, your path is not only easy but pleasant. But what can you do or say for Sir Murdock Maclairn and his wife, under whose ostensible roof innocence has been oppressed and ill-used? My supposed infirmity of mind,—would to God it were only supposition!—may screen me from ignominy with the charitable. But can generosity or candour find an apology for my wife? Will it not be said, and with truth, that she was a daily witness of the improper treatment which Miss Howard received from her aunt? Will it not be said, that she knew of the outrage committed recently; and that, in order to spare the offender, she concealed it from the poor suffering girl’s friends? Will censure stop here? Oh, no! it will be alledged that lady Maclairn encouraged this woman in her cruelty!”—“The most confirmed rancour would refuse to credit such a tale of Lady Maclairn, if told,” answered I, with seriousness. “There is not a menial in her family would not refute it, and bear witness to her gentleness and humanity. Every one has seen her unremitting attentions to Miss Howard’s comfort, and her endeavours to render her aunt kinder to her. She trusted that Mary’s assiduities would, in time, soften down the asperities of Miss Flint’s temper. She knew that her interference would be liable to misconstructions; and though she has suffered but little less than Miss Howard, since her residence here, yet she has not