A summons to the party below prevented more on this subject. But tell me, Lucy, what is your opinion of this mother? I thought whilst I listened to her, that I was with _ours_! I found Mrs. Wilson presiding at the head of Captain Flint's table. The _feast_, for such it was, was in her parlour. A noble room, with a dark wainscoat, and a profusion of carving, gave dignity to the repast, and also a contrast peculiarly striking to the appearance of the guests; for we ought to have been dressed in farthingales and Queen Bess's ruffs; and the donor of the feast, as we suspect, to have had pages and gentlemen ushers. Simplicity, gaiety, and ease, supplied the place of ancient ceremonials; and I could not help recalling, in remarking the modest but independent farmer Wilson, the times of vassalage, when pride and abject submission bound the human race in the fetters of ignorance. Mrs. Allen, who appeared to be particularly Mrs. Wilson's favourite of the day, assures me, that I am forgiven for my wickedness in sending Mary from the Abbey. Miss Hardcastle's character has effected this lenity on Mrs. Wilson's part. "Her gentleness is exactly the thing; for to Mary Howard, _gentleness_ is meat, drink, and clothing. She hopes Miss Hardcastle will attend to the _little cough_, which from time to time alarms her fears, Mary's dear parents having died of consumptions; but then indeed these were brought on by sorrow and the barbarity of the wicked. Miss Howard will have no such troubles; yet she has given her the recipe for the cough, which was always useful. How so tender a creature got through her hardship at the hall is beyond her conception! It appears to her a miracle! She who never went to bed or rose without a fire in her room, and who was reared like a _cot-lamb_!" Mrs. Allen received these hints with due attention, and with good-natured seriousness told her, that she had only one fear to combat with, namely, that Mary would be still too much the _cotted-lamb at Heathcot_. She smiled, and nodding her honest and contented head, answered, "That is well: she will never be spoiled by nursing, as they are, poor fools!" Malcolm waits for my letter. He sleeps at the Abbey in order to accompany the travellers one stage. I have written a note to Mary, in which I have inclosed a bank note of fifty pounds, and in the most dictatorial language of an _elder sister_, recommended to her care the escort which Providence has given her to her new abode. I could not take leave of this dear girl; it is better as I have managed matters; nor shall I go to the Abbey to-morrow. Malcolm shall have the triumph of consoling the simpletons there; I have enough to do, to make reasonable your Rachel Cowley. CHAP VIII. LETTER XXIV. _From Rachel Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._