had
done more to make the family happy by coming with that letter, than she
could ever thank me for as she ought. A gentleman followed her in, who
was her eldest brother (she said); the pleasantest, liveliest gentleman
I ever saw. He shook hands as if he had known me all his life; and told
me I was the first person he had ever met with who had done good in a
family by bringing them bad news. Then he asked me whether I was ready
to go to Cornwall the next morning with him, and the young lady, and
a friend of his who was a doctor. I had thought already of getting the
parting over with poor Susan, that very day: so I said, "Yes." After
that, they wouldn't let me go away till I had had something to eat and
drink; and the dear, kind young lady asked me all about Susan, and where
she was living, and about you and the children, just as if she had known
us like neighbours. Poor thing! she was so flurried, and so anxious for
the next morning, that it was all the gentleman could do to keep her
quiet, and prevent her falling into a sort of laughing and crying fit,
which it seems she had been liable to lately. At last they let me go
away: and I went and stayed with Susan as long as I could before I bid
her good-bye. She bore the parting bravely--poor, dear child! God in
heaven bless her; and I'm sure he will; for a better daughter no mother
ever had.

My dear husband, I am afraid this letter is very badly written; but
the tears are in my eyes, thinking of Susan; and I feel so wearied and
flurried after what has happened. We are to go off very early to-morrow
morning in a carriage, which is to be put on the railway. Only think
of my riding home in a fine carriage, with gentlefolks!--how surprised
Willie, and Nancy, and the other children will be! I shall get to Treen
almost as soon as my letter; but I thought I would write, so that you
might have the good news, the first moment it could get to you, to tell
the poor young gentleman. I'm sure it must make him better, only to hear
that his brother and sister are coming to fetch him home.

I can't write any more, dear William, I'm so very tired; except that I
long to see you and the little ones again; and that I am,

Your loving and dutiful wife,

MARY PENHALE.

LETTER III.

TO MR. JOHN BERNARD, FROM THE WRITER OF THE FORE-GOING AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

[This letter is nearly nine years later in date than the letters which
precede it.]