A beam of exulting joy played round the animated countenance of Mrs. Beauchamp, at these encomiums bestowed on her by a beloved husband, the most delightful sensations pervaded her heart, and, having breakfasted, she prepared to visit Charlotte.

CHAPTER XXI.

Teach me to feel another’s woe,
To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.  Pope.

When Mrs. Beauchamp was dressed, she began to feel embarrassed at the thought of beginning an acquaintance with Charlotte, and was distressed how to make the first visit.  “I cannot go without some introduction,” said she, “it will look so like impertinent curiosity.”  At length recollecting herself, she stepped into the garden, and gathering a few fine cucumbers, took them in her hand by way of apology for her visit.

A glow of conscious shame vermillioned Charlotte’s face as Mrs. Beauchamp entered.

“You will pardon me, Madam,” said she, “for not having before paid my respects to so amiable a neighbour; but we English people always keep up that reserve which is the characteristic of our nation wherever we go.  I have taken the liberty to bring you a few cucumbers, for I observed you had none in your garden.”

Charlotte, though naturally polite and well-bred, was so confused she could hardly speak.  Her kind visitor endeavoured to relieve her by not noticing her embarrassment.  “I am come, Madam,” continued she, “to request you will spend the day with me.  I shall be alone; and, as we are both strangers in this country, we may hereafter be extremely happy in each other’s friendship.”

“Your friendship, Madam,” said Charlotte blushing, “is an honour to all who are favoured with it.  Little as I have seen of this part of the world, I am no stranger to Mrs. Beauchamp’s goodness of heart and known humanity:  but my friendship—­” She paused, glanced her eye upon her own visible situation, and, spite of her endeavours to suppress them, burst into tears.

Mrs. Beauchamp guessed the source from whence those tears flowed.  “You seem unhappy, Madam,” said she:  “shall I be thought worthy your confidence? will you entrust me with the cause of your sorrow, and rest on my assurances to exert my utmost power to serve you.”  Charlotte returned a look of gratitude, but could not speak, and Mrs. Beauchamp continued—­“My heart was interested in your behalf the first moment I saw you, and I only lament I had not made earlier overtures towards an acquaintance; but I flatter myself you will henceforth consider me as your friend.”

“Oh Madam!” cried Charlotte, “I have forfeited the good opinion of all my friends; I have forsaken them, and undone myself.”

“Come, come, my dear,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “you must not indulge these gloomy thoughts:  you are not I hope so miserable as you imagine yourself:  endeavour to be composed, and let me be favoured with your company at dinner, when, if you can bring yourself to think me your friend, and repose a confidence in me, I am ready to convince you it shall not be abused.”  She then arose, and bade her good morning.