door startled us all. I looked through the window, and saw the
World, the Flesh, and the Devil waiting before the house--as typified
in a carriage and horses, a powdered footman, and three of the most
audaciously dressed women I ever beheld in my life.

Rachel started, and composed herself. She crossed the room to her
mother.

"They have come to take me to the flower-show," she said. "One word,
mamma, before I go. I have not distressed you, have I?"

(Is the bluntness of moral feeling which could ask such a question as
that, after what had just happened, to be pitied or condemned? I like to
lean towards mercy. Let us pity it.)

The drops had produced their effect. My poor aunt's complexion was like
itself again. "No, no, my dear," she said. "Go with our friends, and
enjoy yourself."

Her daughter stooped, and kissed her. I had left the window, and was
near the door, when Rachel approached it to go out. Another change had
come over her--she was in tears. I looked with interest at the momentary
softening of that obdurate heart. I felt inclined to say a few earnest
words. Alas! my well-meant sympathy only gave offence. "What do you
mean by pitying me?" she asked in a bitter whisper, as she passed to
the door. "Don't you see how happy I am? I'm going to the flower-show,
Clack; and I've got the prettiest bonnet in London." She completed the
hollow mockery of that address by blowing me a kiss--and so left the
room.

I wish I could describe in words the compassion I felt for this
miserable and misguided girl. But I am almost as poorly provided with
words as with money. Permit me to say--my heart bled for her.

Returning to my aunt's chair, I observed dear Mr. Godfrey searching for
something softly, here and there, in different parts of the room. Before
I could offer to assist him he had found what he wanted. He came back to
my aunt and me, with his declaration of innocence in one hand, and with
a box of matches in the other.

"Dear aunt, a little conspiracy!" he said. "Dear Miss Clack, a pious
fraud which even your high moral rectitude will excuse! Will you leave
Rachel to suppose that I accept the generous self-sacrifice which has
signed this paper? And will you kindly bear witness that I destroy it
in your presence, before I leave the house?" He kindled a match, and,
lighting the paper, laid it to burn in a plate on the table. "Any
trifling inconvenience that I may suffer is as nothing," he remarked,
"compared with