Chapter XXII: Letter LXXII: From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle

_January 12._

My patience is recompensed. “I may write half an hour, seeing that scribbling is the aliment some girls live upon.” This is my kind doctor, Lucy; and if you had seen how grateful I was for this indulgence, you would be of Mrs. Heartley’s opinion, who has pronounced my fever _good for something_; for that it has saved Lady Maclairn’s life; and, as you may perceive, has taught me to submit. Blessed be God for the renewal of that life, which is so dear to my friends! and which I may, if it be not my fault, still render a blessing to them and myself.

We are once more in sight of the harbour of peace; not indeed of that peace which “this world can neither give nor take away,” but of that season of tranquillity, which, in mercy, is allotted to man, in order, as it should seem, to give us time to refit our feeble bark, and to rectify the chart, to which we have hitherto trusted; to recover by repose, strength and vigour for the storms and perils we may yet have to encounter in our passage to eternity; and to leave behind us traces of that providential power which hath piloted us home.

You will like to have the particulars of Miss Flint’s will. It will satisfy you, as it has done me, that a death-bed repentance is _much better than none_. She specifies, that, in consideration of her brother Oliver’s donation to Philip Flint, it appears to be an incumbent duty on her part, to provide for those of her family, who have been _too long neglected_, and to the last moment of her mortal life, will she bless Philip Flint, for having seconded her in this act of justice, by his advice and concurrence.

The Farefield estate, with the moveables, besides a considerable sum in money, which will devolve on him as residuary legatee, are left to Captain Flint for his life; at his decease they go to Philip Flint, to whom she has only bequeathed five thousand pounds “as a token of her love.” To her niece Mary the same sum, payable when she is of age, and five _more_ at her uncle’s decease. To Malcolm Maclairn two thousand pounds, “as a _mark_ of her esteem for him, and gratitude to his mother.” By the way, poor Malcolm was nearly overpowered by this _mark_, for he had not mourned as one who needed comfort; and I suspect that his conscience was not quite prepared for the legacy.

To the poor of the parish she has left a liberal peace offering: to her servants she has been generous and just: to Warner, her woman, she leaves a thousand pounds.

Flamall’s execrable name does not appear in any paper that is left; and yet the contents of the cabinet left to Lady Maclairn’s inspection, clearly prove that Miss Flint had long been engaged by the thoughts of death. Not a _friend_ has been overlooked but Flamall, and it is evident to me, that she ceased to regard him even in that point of view, from the time he declared his marriage. I suspect she was informed of his baseness in that business. All her little donations were marked and ticketed by her own hand. To Sir Murdoch she leaves a very fine seal; its antiquity as well as beauty, make it valuable. To Mrs. Allen a gold snuff box, containing an hundred pound bank note, “for mourning;” for Miss Cowley a diamond ring. To each of Douglass’s boys a hundred guineas for books, and three hundred pounds in notes, for their worthy father. A small box, directed “to my niece, Mary Howard, as a token of my too late repentance and unfeigned love.” The captain, who was present when her ladyship performed this painful office, was so much affected by the sight of this box, that he burst into tears, and, with extreme agitation, tore off the address, and put it in his bosom. Philip Flint had not been overlooked in this partition of kindness. Her picture in miniature, taken at the time he was born, with a rich string of pearls that had been her mother’s, were marked for him and his wife. We have since examined Mary’s gift. Some fine lace, and a few family jewels are the principal things. When you have cautiously informed her, that, from her aunt’s hand, she has restored to her what she will judge to be _invaluable_, namely, her father’s and mother’s pictures, so long lost! so deeply regretted! But I am called to order; and you will be contented with this four day’s labour of your poor shackled Rachel Cowley; who is bound, though in silken fetters. You know that the Heartleys are here. I gain nothing by that; for they are as bad as any of my arguseyed nurses.

P. S. My dear Miss Hardcastle, we have now only to fear that our patient should be _too soon_ well. She has no fever, but that which arises from her exertions. She cannot _vegetate_, to use her own word; and she thinks her body is strong, because her mind is never idle. It is in vain that we oppose her. She will write; and then who can wonder that she does not sleep! Use your influence, and give us time to recruit her strength.

Yours,
A. HEARTLEY.

Mrs. Allen is in good spirits. She has left me nothing to say in regard to Doctor Douglass. But, I verily believe, his care saved the life of our precious friend. She was, indeed, for some hours, so ill as to leave little for hope. I leave Alice to express, to my dear Mary, all that my full heart feels on her account.

CHAP. XII.