eighborhood himself at a day's notice; and you are at the mercy of his
interference the moment he hears that the squire is committing himself
with a neighbor's governess. If I can do nothing else, I can keep this
additional difficulty out of your way. And oh, Lydia, with what alacrity
I shall exert myself, after the manner in which the old wretch insulted
me when I told him that pitiable story in the street! I declare I tingle
with pleasure at this new prospect of making a fool of Mr. Brock.

"And how is it to be done? Just as we have done it already, to be sure.
He has lost 'Miss Gwilt' (otherwise my house-maid), hasn't he? Very
well. He shall find her again, wherever he is now, suddenly settled
within easy reach of him. As long as _she_ stops in the place, _he_ will
stop in it; and as we know he is not at Thorpe Ambrose, there you are
free of him! The old gentleman's suspicions have given us a great deal
of trouble so far. Let us turn them to some profitable account at last;
let us tie him, by his suspicions, to my house-maid's apron-string. Most
refreshing. Quite a moral retribution, isn't it?

"The only help I need trouble you for is help you can easily give.
Find out from Mr. Midwinter where the parson is now, and let me know
by return of post. If he is in London, I will personally assist my
housemaid in the necessary mystification of him. If he is anywhere else,
I will send her after him, accompanied by a person on whose discretion I
can implicitly rely.

"You shall have the sleeping drops to-morrow. In the meantime, I say at
the end what I said at the beginning--no recklessness. Don't encourage
poetical feelings by looking at the stars; and don't talk about the
night being awfully quiet. There are people (in observatories) paid to
look at the stars for you; leave it to them. And as for the night,
do what Providence intended you to do with the night when Providence
provided you with eyelids--go to sleep in it. Affectionately yours,

"MARIA OLDERSHAW."

4. _From the Reverend Decimus Brock to Ozias Midwinter_.

"Bascombe Rectory, West Somerset, Thursday, July 8.

"MY DEAR MIDWINTER--One line before the post goes out, to relieve you of
all sense of responsibility at Thorpe Ambrose, and to make my apologies
to the lady who lives as governess in Major Milroy's family.

"_The_ Miss Gwilt--or perhaps I ought to say, the woman calling herself
by that name--has, to my unspeakable astonishment, openly made
her appea