Gent. Why, that's true, Amy; but it could not be helped; I was in a sad condition myself.
Amy. I believe so, indeed, sir, or else you had not gone away as you did; for it was a very terrible condition you left them all in, that I must say.
Gent. What did they do after I was gone?
Amy. Do, sir! Very miserably, you may be sure. How could it be otherwise?
Gent. Well, that's true indeed; but you may tell me, Amy, what became of them, if you please; for, though I went so away, it was not because I did not love them all very well, but because I could not bear to see the poverty that was coming upon them, and which it was not in my power to help. What could I do?'
Amy. Nay, I believe so, indeed; and I have heard my mistress say many times she did not doubt but your affliction was as great as hers, almost, wherever you were.
Gent. Why, did she believe I was alive, then?
Amy. Yes, sir; she always said she believed you were alive, because she thought she should have heard something of you if you had been dead.
Gent. Ay, ay; my perplexity was very great indeed, or else I had never gone away.
Amy. It was very cruel, though, to the poor lady, sir, my mistress; she almost broke her heart for you at first, for fear of what might befall you, and at last because she could not hear from you.
Gent. Alas, Amy! what could I do? Things were driven to the last extremity before I went. I could have done nothing but help starve them all if I had stayed; and, besides, I could not bear to see it.
Amy. You know, sir, I can say little to what passed before, but I am a melancholy witness to the sad distresses of my poor mistress as long as I stayed with her, and which would grieve your heart to hear them.
[Here she tells my whole story to the time that the parish took off one of my children, and which she perceived very much affected him; and he shook his head, and said some things very bitter when he heard of the cruelty of his own relations to me.]
Gent. Well, Amy, I have heard enough so far. What did she do afterwards?
Amy. I can't give you any farther account, sir; my mistress would not let me stay with her any longer. She said she could neither pay me or subsist me. I told her I would serve her without any wages, but I could not live without victuals, you know; so I was forced to leave her, poor lady, sore against my will; and I heard afterwards that the landlord seized her goods, so she was, I suppose, turned out of doors; for, as I went by the door, about a month after, I saw the house shut up; and, about a fortnight after that, I found there were workmen at work, fitting it up, as I suppose, for a new tenant. But none of the neighbours could tell me what was become of my poor mistress, only that they said she was so poor that it was next to begging; that some of the neighbouring gentle folks had relieved her, or that else she must have starved.
Then she went on, and told him that, after that, they never heard any more of (me) her mistress, but that she had been seen once or twice in the city, very shabby and poor in clothes, and it was thought she worked with her needle for her bread.
