But I must leave you,” added she, whilst her eyes swam in tears. “I have walked an hour, and my aunt likes to see me exact.” You will believe that this short interview was not the _exact_ preparation I needed for the scene I witnessed at dinner. Her aunt actually sent her from table with the soup and beef, neither of which she had tasted, because she had not done her allotted task. God, I hope, will forgive me for the thought that half choaked me, and which would have finally choaked Miss Lucretia, had it been successful. I was so angry with Lady Maclairn, that I believe she perceived it; for nothing escapes her observation. After dinner we were by ourselves; and, in the most unqualified terms, I noticed Miss Flint’s want of humanity and good manners to a girl whom she was bound to treat as a daughter. “I am astonished at your forbearance,” added I; “for these instances of her unfeeling temper put me into a fever.”—“You are mistaken,” answered she with seriousness, “if you suppose I suffer the less for being patient. I am as sensible as you can be of the improper treatment Miss Howard has to support: but I know I am more effectually serving her by being silent, than I could be by opposing her aunt. You know not this woman so well as I do; nor the necessity which forces me to witness her harshness and severity to this sweet and innocent girl. I must be passive, Miss Cowley. Yet there is a fault in Mary. She has been taught to dread Miss Flint. She is too much under the impressions given to her mind when with her uncle, to perceive that there is in Lucretia’s temper a jealousy in regard to the affections of those about her. With less timidity, and more apparent contentment, she would remove from her aunt’s mind the suspicion which interposes between her niece and every act of kindness her natural generosity would prompt. She believes Mary detests her.”—“Good Heaven!” cried I, “she must so believe, for her conscience accuses her of deserving to be hated!—But, you say, Mary has been taught to dread this aunt. Are Miss Flint’s _tender mercies_ calculated to rectify her opinions? And would you wish to see a girl at _her age_ practise an address which would contaminate the rectitude of a mind at _any age_, in order to gain favour, and to sleep and eat in peace? I should see this girl trampled upon without pity, were I to see her for one moment smile and _lick_ the hand which oppresses her!”—“Ah, my dear Miss Cowley,” replied the agitated Lady Maclairn, “in this sentiment are contained the genuine feelings of nature, and the language of an untried spirit. May you never know the pressure of those circumstances in life which leave the principle vigorous, and fetter down the power of exerting it!”