MY fainting was not of any duration. I opened my eyes and found my father supporting me—but the idea of _Harriot_ was still engraven deeply in my heart.—I inquired for my sister—the tear rolled down his cheek—it was a sufficient answer to my inquiry.—He said nothing—there was no necessity of his saying a word. COULD I ask him to explain your letter? No—my heart anticipated his feelings—the impropriety struck me at once. “_You have a tale to unfold._” Do not delay to unfold it. Adieu! LETTER XXXIX. Mrs. _Holmes_ to _Myra_. _Belleview._ I READILY undertake to give you a sketch of the history of _Harriot_. Her mother’s name was _Maria Fawcet_; her person I yet recollect, and forgive me if I drop a tear of pity at the recital of her misfortunes. MY mother and Mrs. _Holmes_ were remarkable friends, and the intimacy, you know, was maintained between the two families. I was on a visit with my mother when the destiny of _Maria_ led her to _Belleview_. I was frequently there during her illness—and was with her in her last moments. IT was the custom of Mrs. _Holmes_ to walk in the garden towards the close of the day. She was once indulging her usual walk, when she was alarmed by the complaints of a woman which came from the road. Pity and humanity were ever peculiar characteristicks of my amiable parent—She hastened to the place whence the sound issued, and beheld a young woman, bathed in tears sitting on the ground. She inquired the cause of her distress, with that eager solicitude to relieve, which a sight so uncommon would naturally occasion. It was sometime before the distressed woman could return an intelligible answer, and then she with difficulty proceeded: “Your goodness, Madam, is unmerited—you behold a stranger, without home—without friends—and whose misery bears her down to an untimely grave—Life is a blessing—but my life is become burthensome, and were the Almighty this moment to command me to the world of spirits, methinks I could gladly obey the summons, and rejoice in the stroke which bade me depart from sorrow and the world.” Moderate your grief, my dear woman, repine not at the will of Providence, nor suffer yourself to despair, however severe your misfortunes. THE unfortunate woman was at length prevailed on to accompany Mrs. _Holmes_ into the house, she partook of some refreshment and retired to sleep. In a few days she appeared to be better; but it was a temporary recovery; she then told her story, with frequent interruptions, in substance as follows:— =History of Maria.=