material circumstances that had happened in her absence, especially about the girl's imprisonments which she had contrived, and how she had got my letter at the Quaker's, the very day she had been there. 'Well', says Amy, when I had told her all, 'I find nothing is to ensue, if she lives, but your ruin; you would not agree to her death, so I will not make myself uneasy about her life; it might have been rectified, but you were angry with me for giving you the best of counsel, viz., when I proposed to murder her.'
'Hussy', said I, in the greatest passion imaginable, 'how dare you mention the word murder? You wretch you, I could find in my heart, if my husband and the company were gone, to kick you out of my house. Have you not done enough to kill her, in throwing her into one of the worst jails in England, where, you see, that Providence in a peculiar manner appeared to her assistance. Away! thou art a wicked wretch; thou art a murderer in the sight of God.'
'I will say no more', says Amy; 'but if I could have found her, after thy friend the Quaker had discharged her out of the Marshalsea prison, I had laid a scheme to have her taken up for a theft, and by that means got her transported for fourteen years. She will be with you soon, I am sure; I believe she is now in Holland.'
While we were in this discourse, I found the gentlemen who dined with us were going, so we came downstairs, and I went into the parlour to take leave of them before their departure. When they were gone, my husband told me he had been talking with them about taking upon him the title of Count or Earl of , as he had told me of, and as an opportunity now offered, he was going to put it in execution.
I told him I was so well settled, as not to want anything this world could afford me, except the continuance of his life and love (though the very thing he had mentioned, joined with the death of my daughter, in the natural way, would have been much more to my satisfaction) . 'Well, my dear', says he, 'the expense will be but small, and as I promised you the title, it shall not be long before the honour shall be brought home to your toilette.' He was as good as his word, for that day week he brought the patent home to me, in a small box covered with crimson velvet and two gold hinges. 'There, my lady countess', says he, 'long may you live to bear the title, for I am certain you are a credit to it.' In a few days after, I had the pleasure to see our equipage, as coach, chariot, etc., all new painted, and a coronet fixed at the proper place, and, in short, everything was proportioned to our quality, so that our house vied with most of the other nobility.
It was at this juncture that I was at the pinnacle of all my worldly felicity, notwithstanding my soul was black with the foulest crimes. And, at the same time, I may begin to reckon the beginning of my misfortunes, which were in embryo, but were very soon brought forth, and hurried me on to the greatest distress.
As I was sitting one day, talking to Amy, in our parlour, and the street door being left open by one of the servants, I saw my daughter pass by the window, and without any ceremony she came to the parlour door, and opening of it, came boldly in. I was terribly amazed, and asked her who she wanted, as if I had not known her, but Amy's courage was quite lost, and she swooned away. 'Your servant, my lady', says she; 'I thought I should never have had the happiness to see you tête-à-tête, till your agent,
