“Not another word upon the subject,” cried Elizabeth; “I was not attending to you, for this teasing kitten has ruffled all my silks.” Elizabeth turned the kitten out of the room, and began to put her netting balls in order, saying at the time, “what have I to do with your father’s affairs, my dear? I will not hear any family secrets; for I do not love secrets of any kind. You are in the house of friends: therefore try to be happy. My mother and sister never make professions: by their actions you must judge them. For my part, I would rather have one act of kindness than a thousand promises, or words of praise and comfort. But come and assist me with my silk, for I can do no good with it.”
Elizabeth wrote the particulars to Mrs. Adair, and finished her letter with the hope that the promise she had given to their pupil, of having a home with them, would not be disapproved.
Mrs. Adair received this letter with some degree of displeasure. She was not one who was generous for worldly fame; she justly considered that her pupil’s friends were the most proper persons to provide for her, and lost no time in calling at her late residence. On her arrival at the house, she found all the shutters closed; an elderly female, however, at the moment stopped and unlocked the door, who proved to be the nurse Elizabeth had seen.
Mrs. Adair followed her into the house, which was quite desolate: not a piece of furniture was remaining. She inquired if Miss Damer had any relations or friends to take care of her. “No, indeed, madam,” said the nurse; “her mother’s sister is the only near relation, and she has married somebody. It was a sad day for my poor young lady! she was stupified with grief! Her father fled—and the sheriff’s officers in the house! All things were in confusion! chairs in one place, carpets upon dining-room tables, satin curtains upon the floor, nothing in its place; and then to see the nice things my good mistress had once so highly prized, handled so roughly! Ah, madam, ladies little think, when they are so delicate in handling their finery, into what brutish hands it may fall at last! But a happy thing it was, that my mistress did not live to see the confusion.”
“The young lady!” said Mrs. Adair; “other affairs I have not any thing to do with.”
“My young lady, madam! Ah, from a child she knew the right from wrong; but sorrowful was her life, after her mamma’s death. She was no squanderer of her father’s money—she knew the value of every thing; no waste, no scantiness was her mode. But it was a sad day when she ceased to rule in her father’s house. O, Madam, I have seen her so treated! But it will come home at last to those who have triumphed in their wickedness; justice overtakes sinners in the long-run.”
Mrs. Adair now inquired if Miss Damer had heard from her father.
“No, Madam; nor dare he return to England; he is too profligate to think of any person but himself, and the painted, gaudy creature and her children who are gone with him. But I hope my young lady will find a friend with you, Madam, for I am sure you are Mrs. Adair.”
Mrs. Adair told her to make herself easy respecting Miss Damer, and desired she would go down and spend a day at her house. “It will be a satisfaction to the young lady to see you,” she added.
Scarcely was Mrs. Adair seated, on the evening she returned home, when Elizabeth, in a tone of fretful impatience, asked “why her letter had not been answered?”