Obedience in most cases is the best test of love; and as you _command_ me, my Lucy, to continue faithfully to detail all the _minutiæ_ of my domestic comforts, till you are certain I want only you, I will continue to please you. In time you will, I presume, wish for other subjects; and I beg you will point out to me the means of attaining any more important than my present one. What think you of my studying heraldry, for the purpose of amusing you? I should have a good preceptor in Sir Murdock; he frequently descants very learnedly on armorial bearings, and with much philosophical precision traces the influence of “_blude_,” from the father to the son, for centuries past. According to Sir Murdock’s favourite hypothesis, every cardinal virtue depends on having “_gude blude_” in our veins; but a truce with nonsense. I believe the good people I am with will please me in all essential points. They have already forgotten that I am a _stranger_. Miss Flint has put aside her damask gown and laced suit, and I saw her this morning walking in the garden, in a _dishabille_ not far removed from dirty negligence. By the way, the baronet now exhibits a new wrapping gown with Morocco slippers; and as we walk before breakfast, he usually continues to take that repast in the parlour with us. This hour is gradually becoming useful to him, and his wife also, for she appears to enjoy it as much as he does. I am now convinced that I have innocently occasioned to Miss Howard the privation of her morning exercise. I caught a glimpse of her to-day in the garden, and instantly availing myself of the opportunity, took a direction which led me to her. When remote from the windows, I at once entered upon the subject of my fears, and told her that I had been vexed and disappointed by not seeing her in the avenue. “I must not abridge you of liberty,” added I, “and unless your aunt becomes more reasonable, I shall lose my temper. What can be the humour she gratifies by opposing my wish to enjoy your society?” The poor girl was confused—“You are very kind, Madam,” replied she, “but my situation here does not admit of the honour you wish to confer on me. I have to learn many things, and my time is necessarily engaged by my duties. I have unfortunately been reared with too much tenderness for the station of life to which Providence has destined me, and it is sometimes difficult for me to forget.”—She could not proceed.—“Say rather,” observed I with indignation, “that it is difficult for you to bear, unmoved, a cruelty which disgraces your aunt, and will destroy you.”—“Indeed,” answered she, with an alarm which surprised me, “your generous nature and sympathising temper have misled you. My aunt is not cruel: she thinks I want a discipline to fit me for the world and a low condition of fortune. Perhaps she judges right. In the mean time, I would not, on any account, give her room to imagine that I am discontented or ungrateful for the shelter she affords my helpless youth.