I stayed there about a fortnight, and in all that time I heard no more
of her, or of my Quaker about her; but after about two days more, I had
a letter from my Quaker, intimating that she had something of moment to
say, that she could not communicate by letter, but wished I would give
myself the trouble to come up, directing me to come with the coach into
Goodman's Fields, and then walk to her back-door on foot, which being
left open on purpose, the watchful lady, if she had any spies, could not
well see me.

My thoughts had for so long time been kept, as it were, waking, that
almost everything gave me the alarm, and this especially, so that I was
very uneasy; but I could not bring matters to bear to make my coming to
London so clear to my husband as I would have done; for he liked the
place, and had a mind, he said, to stay a little longer, if it was not
against my inclination; so I wrote my friend the Quaker word that I
could not come to town yet; and that, besides, I could not think of
being there under spies, and afraid to look out of doors; and so, in
short, I put off going for near a fortnight more.

At the end of that time she wrote again, in which she told me that she
had not lately seen the impertinent visitor which had been so
troublesome; but that she had seen my trusty agent Amy, who told her
she had cried for six weeks without intermission; that Amy had given her
an account how troublesome the creature had been, and to what straits
and perplexities I was driven by her hunting after and following me from
place to place; upon which Amy had said, that, notwithstanding I was
angry with her, and had used her so hardly for saying something about
her of the same kind, yet there was an absolute necessity of securing
her, and removing her out of the way; and that, in short, without asking
my leave, or anybody's leave, she should take care she should trouble
her mistress (meaning me) no more; and that after Amy had said so, she
had indeed never heard any more of the girl; so that she supposed Amy
had managed it so well as to put an end to it.

The innocent, well-meaning creature, my Quaker, who was all kindness and
goodness in herself, and particularly to me, saw nothing in this; but
she thought Amy had found some way to persuade her to be quiet and easy,
and to give over teasing and following me, and rejoiced in it for my
sake; as she thought nothing of any evil herself, so she suspected none
in anybody else, and