It was then that Agnes for the first time began to understand and feel the nature of her own situation. Alone, utterly alone in lodgings in the midst of London, totally ignorant of the real state of her aunt's affairs, and, unhappily, so accustomed to hear her utter the most decided falsehoods upon all subjects, that nothing she had said on this gave her any confidence in the certainty either of her speedy return, or of her being immediately able to settle all claims upon her. What, then, was it her duty to do? During the first few moments of meditation on her desolate condition, she thought that the danger of being taken abroad could not have been greater than that which had now fallen upon her, and consequently that Lady Elizabeth would be ready to extend to her the temporary shelter she had told her to claim, in case of what then appeared the worst necessity. But a very little calmer reflection made her shrink from this; and the fact that Colonel Hubert was now with her, which, under other circumstances, would have made such an abode, if enjoyed only for a day or two, the dearest boon that Providence could grant her, now caused her to decide, with a swelling heart, that she would not accept it. The nature and degree of the disgrace which her aunt had now brought upon her was so much worse than all that either her vanity or her coquetry had hitherto achieved, that she felt herself incalculably more beneath him than ever, and felt during these dreadful moments that she would rather have begged her bread back to Empton, than have met the doubtful welcome of his eye upon seeing her under such circumstances. This thought of Empton recalled the idea of the person whose liberal kindness had for years bestowed on her this only home that she had ever loved. Was it possible, that if made acquainted with her present deplorable situation, she could refuse to extend some sort of protection to one whose claim upon her she had formerly acknowledged so freely, and who had never forfeited it by any act of her own?... "I will write to her!" said Agnes, suddenly rousing herself, as it occurred to her that she was now called upon to act for herself. "God knows," thought she, "what my unfortunate and most unwise aunt Barnaby may have written or said to provoke her; but now, at least, without either rebellion or deceit, I may myself address her." This idea generated a hope that seemed to give her new life, and with a rapid pen she wrote as follows: