ly to his letter, the fleet in which he
sailed put to sea.

By his absence, not only Rebecca was deprived of the friend she loved,
but poor Agnes lost a kind and compassionate adviser. The loss of her
parents, too, she had to mourn; for they both sickened, and both died, in
a short time after; and now wholly friendless in her little exile, where
she could only hope for toleration, not being known, she was contending
with suspicion, rebuffs, disappointments, and various other ills, which
might have made the most rigorous of her Anfield persecutors feel
compassion for her, could they have witnessed the throbs of her heart,
and all the deep wounds there imprinted.

Still, there are few persons whom Providence afflicts beyond the limits
of _all_ consolation; few cast so low as not to feel pride on _certain_
occasions; and Agnes felt a comfort and a dignity in the thought, that
she had both a mind and a body capable of sustaining every hardship,
which her destiny might inflict, rather than submit to the disgrace of
soliciting William's charity a second time.

This determination was put to a variety of trials. In vain she offered
herself to the strangers of the village in which she was accidentally
cast as a servant; her child, her dejected looks, her broken sentences, a
wildness in her eye, a kind of bold despair which at times overspread her
features, her imperfect story who and what she was, prejudiced all those
to whom she applied; and, after thus travelling to several small towns
and hamlets, the only employer she could obtain was a farmer; and the
only employment to tend and feed his cattle while his men were in the
harvest, tilling the ground, or at some other labour which required at
the time peculiar expedition.

Though Agnes was born of peasants, yet, having been the only child of
industrious parents, she had been nursed with a tenderness and delicacy
ill suited to her present occupation; but she endured it with patience;
and the most laborious part would have seemed light could she have
dismissed the reflection--what it was that had reduced her to such a
state.

Soon her tender hands became hard and rough, her fair skin burnt and
yellow; so that when, on a Sunday, she has looked in the glass, she has
started back as if it were some other face she saw instead of her own.
But this loss of beauty gave her no regret--while William did not see
her, it was indifferent to her, whether she were beautiful or hideous.