Pray, Lucy, by what enchantment has it happened that Captain Flint, with the loss of his idolized niece, has also lost his care-worn face? How has it happened that in a mail-coach, and exposed to cold and fatigue, he has contrived to leave behind him his rheumatic pains and nervous head-achs? But our first interview gave me a nervous head-ach, and a nervous tremor into the bargain! for, after having, with the patience of Job _himself_, listened to his rhapsodies in praise of all his ravished eyes had beheld at Heathcot; giving him his full swing in the history of the _concerts_ at Worcester, and the _feasts_ at the baron's, and the Chudleighs, &c. I did contrive to edge in; "and what did you hear them say of Horace?"--"Mr. Hardcastle," replied he, "walks every morning in the little plantation"--he shewed me the _children's oaks_--"raised from acorns of your setting. His son's have got the start of yours and Miss Hardcastle's?"--"Well, I know all this," answered I pettishly; "but did his father never speak of him to you?"--"He talks of him perpetually," replied he, "as every one does, and Miss Hardcastle appears to be quite reconciled to his absence, for she assured me, that he would be happier than he had been."--"Good God!" exclaimed I, "what could she mean!" Something in my _too honest_ face betrayed me. "Be composed, my dear Miss Cowley," said the terrified captain, "I am certain there is no cause for alarm, when Miss Hardcastle says '_all will be well_:' these were her words, in speaking of her brother." Judge, Lucy, of the effect of such ambiguous information on my irritable mind. "_All will be well_"--yes, _all will be well_ when I am in my grave, if I am deserted and forgotten! Write to me; write only these three words, "Horace loves you," then _all will be well_ with R. Cowley. * * * * * A short letter from Miss Hardcastle indicating the success of Mr. Freeman's interference, without any mention of his apprehension on the subject of Horace's health, reached Miss Cowley by return of post. The subjoined letter will, speak for itself. LETTER XXVI. _Horace Hardcastle to his Sister._ Cintra, Sept. 20th. MY DEAR LUCY,