“My dear Mrs. Wyburn, as I have often told you, bad as your case is, there are thousands who would deem your situation a state of bliss compared with what they suffer. Here, for instance, is this poor woman, forty years of age at least, weak enough to come to me with paint on her cheeks, and dressed in blue and brimstone, but with acute feelings, notwithstanding her folly, who marries a man for love, and, in a few days after the ceremony, is deserted and robbed by him of what should have supported her in old age.” “Wretched woman! like me, then, she is a beggar, I suppose!” said Mrs. Wyburn. “I fear the poor creature is almost penniless, indeed:--her business with me was to receive a small sum, which my friend, from whom she brought the letter I hold, had confided to me three years ago, to invest for her. I placed it in the hands of your late lamented father; and she holds his note for the amount: but we can't pay her. If she had not told me she had a husband in whom the title now vested, having had no notice from him of the marriage, she must, of course, have had her money:--but now it's impossible. And the woman implored me so not to let her starve, that, in order to pacify and get rid of her, I have been compelled to request her to call again; for which I am now most heartily sorry. I feel ashamed to have her seen go out of my office. But, odso! my dear madam! how is it that I see you alone?--Where is your husband?” “In prison!” “At whose suit?” “In truth, I cannot tell: it is enough for me to know that he is a prisoner, and that I do not possess the means of setting him at liberty. Kind Mr. Burdock, will you still listen to me?--Will you give me your counsel?” “I am grieved--heartily grieved,” said Burdock; “but I really feel at a loss how to advise--how to benefit you.” “Oh! you can--you can, indeed; or, if you cannot, there is none on earth who will. You know not half of my distresses. I am a thousand-fold more wretched than you imagine. Pity me, sir;--pity me, and I will pray for you.” “I do pity you, most sincerely,” said Burdock, considerably affected; “but let me implore you to be calm.” “I will be calm as marble, sir. I have told you my husband is in prison, without shedding a tear;--and now, without a sigh, I will tell you, that my sorrows are of such a nature that I cannot--dare not--must not breathe a hint to him of what I suffer.” “You positively alarm me, my dear madam. I cannot imagine you to have been guilty of any imprudence: and if not, what is there that a wife devotedly attached, as I know you are, to her husband, cannot confide to his bosom?” “Oh! much, much, Mr. Burdock. I have no friend,--none in the world, to whom I can tell my afflictions, but you; and I have no claim on you to hear them: you have endured too many vexations, in your struggles for my welfare, already.”