But I am convinced, and you must sing again.” I instantly concluded that Mr. Snughead had not dined _en famille_: retreating therefore from his impatient horse, I observed with good humour, that it did not appear that his horse had heard of the convention—“no song, no supper,” and was not disposed to loiter on his road. “I am already too late,” added I, “but at your next visit at the hall, I will sing.” This prudence on my part was rewarded; he recollected himself, bowed to the captain, and wishing me good night, spurred his horse. Poor Miss Howard on losing sight of her uncle, felt all her terrors return. “What would her aunt say to her? and what was she to say to her aunt? She would not believe her.” Mrs. Allen engaged to stand as witness; and Malcolm encouraged her by saying, “My mother will plead your cause, never fear.” But I verily believe the poor girl felt it, as a respite from violence when Warner told her that Miss Flint was asleep. Mrs. Allen sends her blessing, and your Rachel Cowley remains your affectionate Sister and Friend. LETTER XII. _Rachel Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._ You will, my dear Lucy, when you have read this letter, commend me for my caution. “I am well, and all here are well, thank God for it!” Do not however fancy that I have not had an escape, although the curricle has not been overset, nor have I had a cold and sore throat in consequence of my night walk. In my last I mentioned that poor Mary had suffered from being out so late; but that her aunt wisely recollecting that Sunday was the captain’s visiting day, graciously admitted Mrs. Allen’s evidence in favour of the poor culprit; and that our Sabbath was a day of peace as well as rest. I heard nothing of colds or rheums that day.—On Monday, Mary was kept hard at work upon the odious carpet. I rode out with Sir Murdock in the morning of the following day, and on our return found your dear letter. All was peace, in consequence, in your Rachel’s bosom. But at dinner no counterfeiting could conceal from me the disorder which Lady Maclairn took such pains to hide. It is incredible to conceive, what a command of features this woman has acquired! But I detest her when she dares not speak with frankness. There is a tremulous play of the muscles round her mouth, and a slowness in her utterance that mark the struggle within. On enquiring for Miss Flint and Mary, who did not appear, we were told that Miss Flint had a most oppressive nervous head-ach, and that Miss Howard had gotten a sore throat.—On Wednesday, both the invalids were worse; for the aunt was uneasy on Mary’s account who was feverish. “Sir Murdock was, however, to be amused.” He might fancy it would turn to a putrid sore throat and be alarmed. It is a pity, thought I, whilst Lady Maclairn made all these excuses for imposition, that nature had not given you a different complexion! I was certain, Lucy, that there was some mystery in this business. Warner kept