Girl. I came in hopes of a discovery in my great affair which you know of.
Qu. Thou cam'st wildly, indeed; I counsel thee to go back again, and be easy; I shall keep my word with thee, that I would not meddle in it, or give thee any account, if I knew it, unless I had her orders.
Girl. If you knew my distress you could not be so cruel.
Qu. Thou hast told me all thy story, and I think it might be more cruelty to tell thee than not to tell thee; for I understand she is resolved not to see thee, and declares she is not thy mother. Will'st thou be owned where thou hast no relation?
Girl. Oh, if I could but speak to her, I would prove my relation to her, so that she could not deny it any longer.
Qu. Well, but thou canst not come to speak with her, it seems.
Girl. I hope you will tell me if she is here. I had a good account that you were come out to see her, and that she sent for you.
Qu. I much wonder how thou couldst have such an account. If I had come out to see her, thou hast happened to miss the house, for I assure thee she is not to be found in this house.
Here the girl importuned her again with the utmost arnestness, and cried bitterly, insomuch that my poor Quaker was softened with it, and began to persuade me to consider of it, and, if it might consist with my affairs, to see her, and hear what she had to say; but this was afterwards. I return to the discourse.
The Quaker was perplexed with her a long time; she talked of sending back the coach, and lying in the town all night. This, my friend knew, would be very uneasy to me, but she durst not speak a word against it; but, on a sudden thought, she offered a bold stroke, which, though dangerous if it had happened wrong, had its desired effect.
She told her that, as for dismissing her coach, that was as she pleased, she believed she would not easily get a lodging in the town; but that, as she was in a strange place, she would so much befriend her, that she would speak to the people of the house, that if they had room, she might have a lodging there for one night, rather than be forced back to London before she was free to go.
This was a cunning, though a dangerous step, and it succeeded accordingly, for it amused the creature entirely, and she presently concluded that really I could not be there then, otherwise she would never have asked her to lie in the house; so she grew cold again presently as to her lodging there, and said, No, since it was so, she would go back that afternoon, but she would come again in two or three days, and search that and all the towns round in an effectual manner, if she stayed a week or two to do it; for, in short, if I was in England or Holland she would find me.
'In truth', says the Quaker, 'thou wilt make me very hurtful to thee, then.' 'Why so?' says she. 'Because wherever I go, thou wilt put thyself to great expense, and the country to a great deal of unnecessary trouble.' 'Not unnecessary', says she. 'Yes, truly', says the Quaker; 'it must be unnecessary, because it will be to no purpose. I think I must abide in my own house to save thee that charge and trouble.'
She said little to that, except that, she said, she would give her as little trouble as possible; but she was afraid she should sometimes be uneasy to her, which she hoped she would excuse. My Quaker told her she would much rather excuse her if she would forbear; for that if she
