What, my Lucy, could occasion the deep blush which suffused Lady Maclairn’s countenance when I said this, merely with a view to finish a conversation I was weary of, and which detained me from going to Mrs. Allen? I had risen from my seat whilst speaking, and saw a tear escape from her eye. Would a mind unacquainted with guilt have felt so random a dart? I know what will be your answer. However, it was evident I had touched a sensitive plant; and my retreat was necessary. I reminded the baronet of his promise to assist me in arranging our books, without any diminution of my gaiety. “Do with me what you please,” replied he, “so that I am not in your way: but shall I not surprise Mrs. Allen by my appearance?” He glanced his eyes to his tattered gown, “We will run the hazard,” said I, passing my arm through his, “for it is ten to one but she is in her night-cap, and chiding my idleness.” He smiled. “Lucy, I would you could see this man’s countenance when thus lightened up! Surely, never did Heaven more graciously decorate the face of woe! It is with an expression, which not only awakens compassion, but which also produces reverence.” As I had foreseen, Mrs. Allen had made our task light. It was well she had; for to say the truth, the baronet was so entirely engaged by Humphrey Clinker as to forget his office altogether. Lady Maclairn soon after found Mrs. Allen and myself busily engaged in our work. She with alacrity assisted us, and, with a look of sweet and composed tranquillity directed to her husband, she said, in a half whisper, “Are you aware, my dear Miss Cowley, that I am incurring a debt which I can never pay? Heaven, who appears to have commissioned you to heal the broken-in-spirit, can alone recompense you. But you will know more of the being you will save; and you will understand that my gratitude must need language, for I have not words that can express my feelings.” She pressed my hand with fervour. “What will you say,” continued she, “when I tell you that he has been inquiring after his turning-wheel, and talking to me of renewing an employment in which he formerly delighted! You are the spring of his activity; he means to make you a reading-desk. Are not these blessed indications of his amendment?” I found no difficulty, Lucy, in translating Lady Maclairn’s language or expression while she was thus speaking. She loves her husband. _Time_, your grand specific, will settle my opinions as they relate to this lady; in the meanwhile, I cannot well account for her secret in making me like and dislike her by turns. Sometimes she appears the most artless and ingenuous of her sex; her conversation becomes animated, and her thoughts flow with a frankness as unpremeditated as your giddy Rachel’s. The next hour I see her, she is silent and ceremonious, conceding to all that is done, tremblingly alive to all that is said. To-day she offended me at dinner. Miss Flint sharply reprimanded her niece, for not being in