recovered to be very able to ride; and added, he hoped he knew his duty better than to ride in a coach while Mr. Adams was on horseback.

Mrs. Slipslop would have persisted longer, had not a lady in the coach put a short end to the dispute, by refusing to suffer a fellow in a livery to ride in the same coach with herself; so it was at length agreed that Adams should fill the vacant place in the coach, and Joseph should proceed on horseback.

They had not proceeded far before Mrs. Slipslop, addressing herself to the parson, spoke thus:—“There hath been a strange alteration in our family, Mr. Adams, since Sir Thomas’s death.” “A strange alteration indeed,” says Adams, “as I gather from some hints which have dropped from Joseph.”—“Aye,” says she, “I could never have believed it; but the longer one lives in the world, the more one sees. So Joseph hath given you hints.” “But of what nature will always remain a perfect secret with me,” cries the parson: “he forced me to promise before he would communicate anything. I am indeed concerned to find her ladyship behave in so unbecoming a manner. I always thought her in the main a good lady, and should never have suspected her of thoughts so unworthy a Christian, and with a young lad her own servant.” “These things are no secrets to me, I assure you,” cries Slipslop, “and I believe they will be none anywhere shortly; for ever since the boy’s departure, she hath behaved more like a mad woman than anything else.” “Truly, I am heartily concerned,” says Adams, “for she was a good sort of a lady. Indeed, I have often wished she had attended a little more constantly at the service, but she hath done a great deal of good in the parish.” “O Mr. Adams,” says Slipslop, “people that don’t see all, often know nothing. Many things have been given away in our family, I do assure you, without her knowledge. I have heard you say in the pulpit we ought not to brag; but indeed I can’t avoid saying, if she had kept the keys herself, the poor would have wanted many a cordial which I have let them have. As for my late master, he was as worthy a man as ever lived, and would have done infinite good if he had not been controlled; but he loved a quiet life, Heaven rest his soul! I am confident he is there, and enjoys a quiet life, which some folks would not allow him here.”— Adams answered, “He had never heard this before, and was mistaken if she herself (for he remembered she used to commend her mistress and blame her master) had not formerly been of another opinion.” “I don’t know,” replied she, “what I might once think; but now I am confidous matters are as I tell you; the world will shortly see who hath been deceived; for my part, I say nothing, but that it is wondersome how some people can carry all things with a grave face.”

Thus Mr. Adams and she discoursed, till they came opposite to a great house which stood at some distance from the road: a lady in the coach spying it, cried, “Yonder lives the unfortunate Leonora, if one can justly call a woman unfortunate whom we must own at the same time guilty and the author of her own calamity.” This was abundantly sufficient to awaken the curiosity of Mr. Adams, as indeed it did that of the whole company, who jointly solicited the lady to acquaint them with Leonora’s history, since it seemed, by what she had said, to contain something remarkable.

The lady, who was perfectly well-bred, did not require many entreaties, and having only wished their entertainment might make amends for the company’s attention, she began in the following manner.