SUSAN GRAY. 87

saw any thing wrong in her when I was at
home; then, you know, I am out a good deal,
and I cannot, to be sure, every body must know,
say what she might do when I am out late at
night; nay, all night, as I was last night.”

I got up from my chair, Heaven forgive me,
quite in a fit of anger, and said to my mistress,
““O! you wicked woman, is this the way in
which you defend the character of a poor
friendless orphan? O my heavenly Father!”
I cried, throwing myself on my knees, ‘ pro-
tect me, I beseech thee, protect me, for thou
art my only friend.”

Charlotte looked at me as I knelt; and when
I arose, she burst into a loud fit of laughter,
and used some very rude and brutal language.
My mistress seemed half afraid of joining with
her; nay, she even begged her to spare me.
But although her words condemned her, yet her
eyes looked as if she rejoiced in seeing me
thus disgracefully treated.

I had been long used to ill language; but,
indeed, I now felt my heart very, very sad. J
placed myself in a chair, at some distance from
the cruel Charlotte, and, throwing my apron
over my face, sobbed most bitterly.

“You may well cry,” said she, ‘ you may
well grieve and take it to heart, for you have
lost every friend.” Then she told me what all
her neighbours in Ludlow, what all Mrs. Neale’s
and my aunt's old acquaintance had said of
me; for, alas! it was but too true, that the
Captain had very often come to the cottage,
when I did not know of it; and that, as might