Mrs. Howard's colour now rose, and with a mixture of indignation and anxiety she pressed both Mr. Supine and Mrs. Holloway to be explicit. "I hate mysteries!" said she. Mrs. Holloway still hung back, saying it was a tender point; and hinting, that it would lessen her esteem and confidence in one most dear to her, to hear the whole truth. "Do you mean Howard, ma'am?" exclaimed little Oliver: "oh, speak! speak! it's impossible Charles Howard can have done any thing wrong." "Go for him, my dear," said Mrs. Howard, resuming her composure; "let him be present. I hate mysteries." "But, my dear Mrs. Howard," whispered Mrs. Holloway, "you don't consider; you'll get your nephew into a shocking scrape; the story will infallibly go from Mrs. B. to Dr. B. You are warm, and don't consider consequences." "Charles," said Mrs. Howard to her nephew, the moment he appeared, "from the time you were five years old, till this instant, I have never known you tell a falsehood; I should, therefore, be very absurd, as well as very unjust, if I were to doubt your integrity. Tell me--have you got into any difficulties? I would rather hear of them from yourself, than from any body else. Is there any mystery about overturning a stage-coach, that you know of, and that you have concealed from me?" "There is a mystery, ma'am, about overturning a stage-coach," replied Howard, in a firm tone of voice; "but when I assure you that it is no mystery of mine--nothing in which I have myself any concern--I am sure that you will believe me, my dear aunt, and that you will press me no further." "Not a word further, not a frown further," said his aunt, with a smile of entire confidence; in which Mr. Russell joined, but which appeared incomprehensible to Mr. Supine. "Very satisfactory indeed!" said that gentleman, leaning back in the chair; "I never heard any thing more satisfactory to my mind!" "Perfectly satisfactory, upon my word!" echoed Mrs. Holloway; but no looks, no inuendoes, could now disturb Mrs. Howard's security, or disconcert the resolute simplicity which appeared in her nephew's countenance. Mrs. Holloway, internally devoured by curiosity, was compelled to submit in silence. This restraint soon became so irksome to her, that she shortened her visit as much as she decently could. In crossing the passage, to go to her carriage, she caught a glimpse of the mulatto woman, who was going into a parlour. Resolute, at all hazards, to satisfy herself, Mrs. Holloway called to the retreating Cuba--began by asking some civil questions about her health; then spoke of the accident she had lately met with; and, in short, by a skilful cross-examination, drew her whole story from her. The gratitude with which the poor woman spoke of Howard's humanity was by no means pleasing to Mr. Supine. "Then it was not he who overturned the coach?" said Mrs. Holloway.