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was holding out her pretty white hand as Briggs emerged
from the box. What could Briggs do but accept the saluta-
tion?
‘Miss Sh—Mrs. Crawley,’ she said.
Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart,
and with a sudden impulse, flinging her arms round Briggs,
kissed her affectionately. ‘Dear, dear friend!’ she said, with
a touch of such natural feeling, that Miss Briggs of course at
once began to melt, and even the bathing-woman was mol-
lified.
Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long,
intimate, and delightful conversation. Everything that had
passed since the morning of Becky’s sudden departure from
Miss Crawley’s house in Park Lane up to the present day,
and Mrs. Bute’s happy retreat, was discussed and described
by Briggs. All Miss Crawley’s symptoms, and the particu-
lars of her illness and medical treatment, were narrated by
the confidante with that fulness and accuracy which wom-
en delight in. About their complaints and their doctors do
ladies ever tire of talking to each other? Briggs did not on
this occasion; nor did Rebecca weary of listening. She was
thankful, truly thankful, that the dear kind Briggs, that the
faithful, the invaluable Firkin, had been permitted to re-
main with their benefactress through her illness. Heaven
bless her! though she, Rebecca, had seemed to act unduti-
fully towards Miss Crawley; yet was not her fault a natural
and excusable one? Could she help giving her hand to the
man who had won her heart? Briggs, the sentimental, could
only turn up her eyes to heaven at this appeal, and heave a

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