I delivered my commission with the same precaution it was given me, and whilst I was satisfying Mary’s friends on the subject, Mr. Snughead passed me with a supercilious bow, without taking off his hat. On entering the parlour we found it heated by a large fire; it was really suffocating. Miss Flint, huddled up in wrappers, had taken possession of the great chair on one side of it. Mary, with a face as pale as death, in a close morning cap, a muslin cravat, and a shawl closely pinned up, had her appointed station on the other side. Her cheek glowed however on seeing us; but she appeared fluttered and weak. Our congratulations followed, whilst the captain looking with much seriousness at her, said, “My dear child, why was I not informed of your being ill?”—“It was only a cold, Sir,” answered Mary with a faint blush. “And a cold she has to thank you for,” said the sister. “Night walks in October do not suit Mary. It is well it was no worse, I expected only a putrid fever.” The servants, for we are old fashioned people on a Sunday, had by this time covered the table; and a smoaking sirloin graced the bottom of it. Mary rose from her seat in visible disorder, oppressed, as I thought, by the heat of the room, and the savoury steams of the dinner; but as she tottered to the door, she burst into hysterical sobbings, and Malcolm and myself prevented her falling, for she fainted in our arms. Malcolm placed her in a chair in the vestibule. All was hurry and alarm. Whilst others were searching for remedies, and her uncle was supporting her head, I hazarded to open the door into the garden, observing that the air was mild, and would restore her. It evidently was useful, for she gave signs of returning consciousness, but again relapsed. “Take off that cravat,” said I, “and let her have more air.” I opened the sash, which was nearer to her than the door. Whilst giving this direction, the captain obeyed. Judge of our sensations! Her throat was black and bruised by a violent grasp, and her bosom lacerated by what appeared to be the strokes of a cane or horse-whip. “God of Heaven and of earth!” groaned out the captain, “what means all this? To what am I doomed!”—“My dear captain,” said the almost breathless Lady Maclairn, who now approached with some remedy, “have patience, all shall be explained. Your sister has been to blame; she is sensible of it: she bitterly repents of her violence: she has suffered, severely suffered for it; all will still be well, only have patience.” He heeded her not, but with a look of horror and apparent calmness, he surveyed for some moments the marks of the outrage which had been committed; then wrapping the shawl round the still insensible girl, he attempted to raise her in his arms; but they refused the office. Miss Flint now ventured to open the door, to order the servants to be summoned, and to carry Mary upstairs, loudly reprehending us for exposing her to the air. “Shame to thy sex, begone!” cried the captain with fury. “Urge me not, thou barbarian! But art thou not here to exult over thy victim?” He again drew off the shawl. “This is Howard’s child, Lucretia!” continued he, “this is thy sister’s orphan!” A heavy sigh from Mary drew his attention again; he attempted to raise her; but his limbs trembled to that degree, that he was forced to desist. The prompt, the ever-succouring Allen gave Malcolm a sign. He took Mary in his arms, and carried her to my room, followed by Mrs. Allen. The captain was on the point of doing so likewise, when Miss Lucretia darting towards him, and catching his coat, exclaimed, “You _shall_ hear me! She provoked me.”—No language can convey to you, Lucy, the expression with which he replied. “Yes! I doubt it not! So did her hapless virtuous mother! so did her noble-minded father!” He paused, and raising his eyes to Heaven, moved his lips as though in silent ejaculation. “No,” said he in a solemn tone of voice, “I will not curse her! But,” added he, “_God_, Lucretia, will call you to answer for this deed!” “Hear me! only hear me!” screamed she. “I only punished her _insolence_. I will justify myself!”—“Never canst thou do _that_,” replied he, “where humanity resides.” He broke from her and turned into the garden. A violent fit succeeded to Miss Flint’s efforts; the servants with difficulty conveyed her, in her struggles, to her apartment, from whence even I heard her screams. On entering my room, I found Miss Howard laid on the bed, and much recovered though weeping. “What confusion! what mischief have I occasioned!” said she addressing me. “Who was it, my dear Miss Cowley, who took off my things? Was it not my uncle? How unfortunate that I could not get up stairs!”—“Say not so,” observed the soothing Mrs.