Sir, said the widow, it would be death for her to see you. She was at
home last night; I'll tell you truth: but fitter to be in bed all day.
She came home, she said, to die; and, if she could not avoid your visit,
she was unable to fly from you; and believed she should die in your
presence.

And yet go out again this morning early? How can that be, widow?

Why, Sir, she rested not two hours, for fear of you. Her fear gave her
strength, which she'll suffer for, when that fear is over. And finding
herself, the more she thought of your visit, the less able to stay to
receive it, she took chair, and is gone nobody knows whither. But, I
believe, she intended to be carried to the waterside, in order to take
boat; for she cannot bear a coach. It extremely incommoded her
yesterday.

But before we talk any further, said I, if she be gone abroad, you can
have no objection to my looking into every apartment above and below;
because I am told she is actually in the house.

Indeed, Sir, she is not. You may satisfy yourself, if you please: but
Mrs. Smith and I waited on her to her chair. We were forced to support
her, she was so weak. She said, Whither can I go, Mrs. Lovick? whither
can I go, Mrs. Smith?--Cruel, cruel man!--tell him I called him so, if he
come again!--God give him that peace which he denies me!

Sweet creature! cried I; and looked down, and took out my handkerchief.

The widow wept. I wish, said she, I had never known so excellent a lady,
and so great a sufferer! I love her as my own child!