I can say no more, but blessings, blessings on all in the dear house I leave, prays Your affectionate and GRATEFUL Rebecca Crawley.

Midnight.
Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting and interesting document, which reinstated her in her position as first confidante of Miss Crawley, Mrs.Firkin entered the room.

"Here's Mrs.Bute Crawley just arrived by the mail from Hampshire, and wants some tea; will you come down and make breakfast, Miss ?" And to the surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gown around her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelled behind her, the little curl-papers still sticking in bunches round her forehead, Briggs sailed down to Mrs.Bute with the letter in her hand containing the wonderful news.
"Oh, Mrs.Firkin," gasped Betty, "sech a business.

Miss Sharp have a gone and run away with the Capting, and they're off to Gretney Green!" We would devote a chapter to describe the emotions of Mrs.Firkin, did not the passions of her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse.
When Mrs.Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight travelling, and warming herself at the newly crackling parlour fire, heard from Miss Briggs the intelligence of the clandestine marriage, she declared it was quite providential that she should have arrived at such a time to assist poor dear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock--that Rebecca was an artful little hussy of whom she had always had her suspicions; and that as for Rawdon Crawley, she never could account for his aunt's infatuation regarding him, and had long considered him a profligate, lost, and abandoned being.

And this awful conduct, Mrs.Bute said, will have at least this good effect, it will open poor dear Miss Crawley's eyes to the real character of this wicked man.