worshippers still; so she must bend the knee: but poor Mary has no such hopes, and she is a simpleton not to shew more spirit.”—This woman is well-intentioned to Miss Howard, and, I believe, contributes to her comforts; for she asked Mrs. Allen to lend her Evelina to read to Mary whilst she worked. She usually sits with her in a little parlour appropriated to Warner: Miss Flint preferring being alone in her _lair_. I shall not finish this letter till I have seen my friends at the farm, having to write to Mr. Steadman. _Saturday Evening, Nine O’clock._ Not chusing to part with the serenity I have brought home with me, I have left my friends in the parlour in order to finish the day happily with you. Perhaps there was also a little discretion at the bottom of this intention when first suggested. I wished to avoid Mary’s first greeting from her aunt, whose orders she had disobeyed; but on inquiry, the lady had retired for the night before we reached the hall. Miss Flint’s sleeping draught is sometimes potent, I suspect; and Mrs. Patty, our maid, never fails to say on these sudden drowsy fits, “Ah, poor lady, she is much to be pitied! for there is nothing like the sleep God sends.” Leaving, however, Miss Lucretia to enjoy any repose she can purchase, I will prepare for mine by an hour’s chit-chat with my Lucy. We sallied forth this morning for our visit to the Abbey. Never did summer bequeath to her boisterous brother October a more delicious one! Mary was of the party; but she was not in spirits. Jonathan, Miss Flint’s footman, followed our steps. I had my project in my head; for I had determined that this exertion of Miss Flint’s power should not pass unnoticed. We had not proceeded more than half our road to the Abbey, before we were met by the captain and the Heartleys. Mary’s philosophy forsook her on perceiving them. “How unpardonable I am,” said she, “now I have no pretence for going farther with you! I must return with the servant.” You may conclude that this observation was conveyed to the captain’s ear. He coloured, and with some quickness in his manner turned to the servant, saying, “You need go no farther. I shall take care of Miss Howard.” The man bowed, and retreating, seemed yet to hesitate. “Inform your lady, Sir,” added the captain with dignity, “that my niece passes the day with me and her _friends_, and that I shall call on her soon.” Jonathan, with a lower bow, quickened his pace. “Indeed! indeed!” cried Mary, “I must not disobey orders, my aunt will be disobliged!”—“I will be answerable for that,” replied the captain with gravity; “but in your attention to your _aunt_, Mary, do not forget your _uncle_, nor what is due to yourself.” It was some time before this little cloud passed; but it was dissipated by the time we reached the farm, and Mary’s welcome from Mrs. Wilson apparently banished Miss Flint and her _orders_ from her thoughts.