close, and Mrs. Patty said that Miss Howard kept her bed. I do not love mischief; therefore, to amuse my good baronet, who appeared somewhat discomfited by the sudden change in the weather, and his lady’s frequent desertion of him in order to attend the sick, I engaged him to settle us in our winter quarters, and to make shelves for the books lately sent me from town. Two days incessant rain were thus passed; and we learned that the valetudinarians were recovering.—On Sunday, Mrs. Allen and myself went to church in the morning; and I was requested to say to Captain Flint, that Mary had been indisposed with a _cold_. “He will find her altered,” added her ladyship with one of her unlucky blushes; “she has been very ill.” I asked her whether there had been any appearance of danger in the case. “No,” replied she, “but her aunt has been much distressed on her account. They mean to dine below to-day, lest the captain should be uneasy.” I delivered my commission with the same precaution it was given me, and whilst I was satisfying Mary’s friends on the subject, Mr. Snughead passed me with a supercilious bow, without taking off his hat. On entering the parlour we found it heated by a large fire; it was really suffocating. Miss Flint, huddled up in wrappers, had taken possession of the great chair on one side of it. Mary, with a face as pale as death, in a close morning cap, a muslin cravat, and a shawl closely pinned up, had her appointed station on the other side. Her cheek glowed however on seeing us; but she appeared fluttered and weak. Our congratulations followed, whilst the captain looking with much seriousness at her, said, “My dear child, why was I not informed of your being ill?”—“It was only a cold, Sir,” answered Mary with a faint blush. “And a cold she has to thank you for,” said the sister. “Night walks in October do not suit Mary. It is well it was no worse, I expected only a putrid fever.” The servants, for we are old fashioned people on a Sunday, had by this time covered the table; and a smoaking sirloin graced the bottom of it. Mary rose from her seat in visible disorder, oppressed, as I thought, by the heat of the room, and the savoury steams of the dinner; but as she tottered to the door, she burst into hysterical sobbings, and Malcolm and myself prevented her falling, for she fainted in our arms. Malcolm placed her in a chair in the vestibule. All was hurry and alarm. Whilst others were searching for remedies, and her uncle was supporting her head, I hazarded to open the door into the garden, observing that the air was mild, and would restore her. It evidently was useful, for she gave signs of returning consciousness, but again relapsed. “Take off that cravat,” said I, “and let her have more air.” I opened the sash, which was nearer to her than the door. Whilst giving this direction, the captain obeyed. Judge of our sensations! Her throat was black and bruised by a violent grasp, and her bosom lacerated by what appeared to