To the poor of the parish she has left a liberal peace offering: to her servants she has been generous and just: to Warner, her woman, she leaves a thousand pounds.
Flamall’s execrable name does not appear in any paper that is left; and yet the contents of the cabinet left to Lady Maclairn’s inspection, clearly prove that Miss Flint had long been engaged by the thoughts of death. Not a friend has been overlooked but Flamall, and it is evident to me, that she ceased to regard him even in that point of view, from the time he declared his marriage. I suspect she was informed of his baseness in that business. All her little donations were marked and ticketed by her own hand. To Sir Murdoch she leaves a very fine seal; its antiquity as well as beauty, make it valuable. To Mrs. Allen a gold snuff box, containing an hundred pound bank note, “for mourning;” for Miss Cowley a diamond ring. To each of Douglass’s boys a hundred guineas for books, and three hundred pounds in notes, for their worthy father. A small box, directed “to my niece, Mary Howard, as a token of my too late repentance and unfeigned love.” The captain, who was present when her ladyship performed this painful office, was so much affected by the sight of this box, that he burst into tears, and, with extreme agitation, tore off the address, and put it in his bosom. Philip Flint had not been overlooked in this partition of kindness. Her picture in miniature, taken at the time he was born, with a rich string of pearls that had been her mother’s, were marked for him and his wife. We have since examined Mary’s gift. Some fine lace, and a few family jewels are the principal things. When you have cautiously informed her, that, from her aunt’s hand, she has restored to her what she will judge to be invaluable, namely, her father’s and mother’s pictures, so long lost! so deeply regretted! But I am called to order; and you will be contented with this four day’s labour of your poor shackled Rachel Cowley; who is bound, though in silken fetters. You know that the Heartleys are here. I gain nothing by that; for they are as bad as any of my arguseyed nurses.
P. S. My dear Miss Hardcastle, we have now only to fear that our patient should be too soon well. She has no fever, but that which arises from her exertions. She cannot vegetate, to use her own word; and she thinks her body is strong, because her mind is never idle. It is in vain that we oppose her. She will write; and then who can wonder that she does not sleep! Use your influence, and give us time to recruit her strength.
Yours,
A. Heartley.
Mrs. Allen is in good spirits. She has left me nothing to say in regard to Doctor Douglass. But, I verily believe, his care saved the life of our precious friend. She was, indeed, for some hours, so ill as to leave little for hope. I leave Alice to express, to my dear Mary, all that my full heart feels on her account.
CHAP. XII.
LETTER LXXIII.
From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle.
January 29.
Although in the calculation of months and weeks, I have contrived to beguile the lagging hours which are still between me and my promised bliss, I have not yet been able to find an expedient for the day, without scribbling to you. It seems to be the aliment necessary for my existence; and notwithstanding I could match an hungry school boy, in my appetite for my pudding, I could sooner console myself for the absence of my dinner, than of the use of my right hand, as the agent of my fondest, sweetest employment. I have written a volume to Horace; and he will know as much of the occurrences at Farefield, as will content him. He will know that I am in health and in hope. Say not a word of my having been so ill. The old bard says, “men are deceivers ever.” A woman therefore, may for once deceive, when in that deceit, she spares to a beloved object the useless anxiety arising from past danger and past pains.