'Look on that beautiful girl before you,' cried I. 'Heaven itself is not brighter than her brow; the tints of the morning cannot rival her blushes.'
Susan held down her head, but cast an under glance at the 'squire.
'Such is she now,' continued I, 'but too soon you may behold her pale, shivering, unsteady of step, and hoarse with nocturnal curses, one of those unhappy thousands, who nightly strew our streets with the premature ruins of dilapidated beauty.'
'Yes, look at her, look at her!' cried the mother, who flushing even through her wrinkles, and quivering in every limb, now rushed towards her daughter, and snatching off her cap, bared her forehead. 'Look at her! she was once my lovely pride, the blessing of my heart; and see what he has now made her for me; while I, miserable as I am, must wink at her guilt, that I may save her from disgrace and ruin!'
'Oh! then,' cried I, turning to the 'squire, 'while still some portion of her fame remains, fly from her, fly for ever!'
'I certainly mean to do so,' replied he, 'so pray make your mind easy. You see, Susan, by this young woman's sentiments, that she cannot be what you suspected her.'
'And I am convinced, Susan,' said I, 'that you feel grateful for the pains I have taken to reclaim the 'squire from a connection so fatal to you both.'
'I am quite sure I do,' sobbed Susan, 'and I will pray for your health and happiness ever while I live. So, dear Miss, since I must lose him, I hope you will coax him to leave me some money first; not that I ever valued him for his money, but you know I could not see my mother go without her tea o'nights.'
'Amiable creature!' cried I. 'Yes, I will intercede for you.'
'My giving you money,' said the 'squire, 'will depend on my finding, when I return to-morrow morning, that you have treated this girl well to-night.'