These are my lodgings now; are they not?—­was all her answer.

She sat up in a chair all night, the back against the door; having, it seems, thrust a piece of a poker through the staples where a bolt had been on the inside.

***

Next morning Sally and Polly both went to visit her.

She had begged of Sally, the day before, that she might not see Mrs.
Sinclair, nor Dorcas, nor the broken-toothed servant, called William.

Polly would have ingratiated herself with her; and pretended to be concerned for her misfortunes.  But she took no more notice of her than of the other.

They asked if she had any commands?—­If she had, she only need to mention what they were, and she should be obeyed.

None at all, she said.

How did she like the people of the house?  Were they civil to her?

Pretty well, considering she had no money to give them.

Would she accept of any money? they could put it to her account.

She would contract no debts.

Had she any money about her?

She meekly put her hand in her pocket, and pulled out half a guinea, and a little silver.  Yes, I have a little.——­But here should be fees paid, I believe.  Should there not?  I have heard of entrance-money to compound for not being stript.  But these people are very civil people, I fancy; for they have not offered to take away my clothes.

They have orders to be civil to you.

It is very kind.

But we two will bail you, Miss, if you will go back with us to Mrs.
Sinclair’s.

Not for the world!

Her’s are very handsome apartments.

The fitter for those who own them!

These are very sad ones.

The fitter for me!

You may be happy yet, Miss, if you will.

I hope I shall.

If you refuse to eat or drink, we will give bail, and take you with us.

Then I will try to eat and drink.  Any thing but go with you.

Will you not send to your new lodgings; the people will be frighted.

So they will, if I send.  So they will, if they know where I am.

But have you no things to send for from thence?

There is what will pay for their lodgings and trouble:  I shall not lessen their security.

But perhaps letters or messages may be left for you there.

I have very few friends; and to those I have I will spare the mortification of knowing what has befallen me.

We are surprised at your indifference, Miss Harlowe!  Will you not write to any of your friends?

No.

Why, you don’t think of tarrying here always?

I shall not live always.

Do you think you are to stay here as long as you live?

That’s as it shall please God, and those who have brought me hither.

Should you like to be at liberty?