ected she would be very impertinent, and concluded that I
did not care how coldly she received her.

But she was not to be put off so. She said if the Lady ---- was not to
be spoken with, she desired to speak two or three words with her,
meaning my friend the Quaker. Upon that the Quaker civilly but coldly
asked her to walk in, which was what she wanted. Note.--She did not
carry her into her best parlour, as formerly, but into a little outer
room, where the servants usually waited.

By the first of her discourse she did not stick to insinuate as if she
believed I was in the house, but was unwilling to be seen; and pressed
earnestly that she might speak but two words with me; to which she added
earnest entreaties, and at last tears.

"I am sorry," says my good creature the Quaker, "thou hast so ill an
opinion of me as to think I would tell thee an untruth, and say that the
Lady ---- was gone from my house if she was not! I assure thee I do not
use any such method; nor does the Lady ---- desire any such kind of
service from me, as I know of. If she had been in the house, I should
have told thee so."

She said little to that, but said it was business of the utmost
importance that she desired to speak with me about, and then cried again
very much.

"Thou seem'st to be sorely afflicted," says the Quaker, "I wish I could
give thee any relief; but if nothing will comfort thee but seeing the
Lady ----, it is not in my power."

"I hope it is," says she again; "to be sure it is of great consequence
to me, so much that I am undone without it."

"Thou troublest me very much to hear thee say so," says the Quaker; "but
why, then, didst thou not speak to her apart when thou wast here
before?"

"I had no opportunity," says she, "to speak to her alone, and I could
not do it in company; if I could have spoken but two words to her alone,
I would have thrown myself at her foot, and asked her blessing."

"I am surprised at thee; I do not understand thee," says the Quaker.

"Oh!" says she, "stand my friend if you have any charity, or if you have
any compassion for the miserable; for I am utterly undone!"

"Thou terrifiest me," says the Quaker, "with such passionate
expressions, for verily I cannot comprehend thee!"

"Oh!" says she, "she is my mother! she is my mother! and she does not
own me!"

"Thy mother!" says the Quaker, and began to be greatly moved indeed. "I
am astonished at thee: what dost thou mean?"

"I mean nothi