ABSTRACT
Mrs. Trevyllian was not easier at Abbotshanger than Althea was in London; yet more accustomed to the vicissitudes and vexations of life, and being of a firm and steady spirit, she would have blamed her niece for indulging anxiety, could she have known it – and still more her woman for yielding to querulous discontent while she was engaged in a scene where the real evils of life were surrounding her. Her unfortunate friend was sick both in body and mind; Mrs. Trevyllian had however the consolation of feeing that her society soothed her spirits, while her care seemed to have snatched her from the grave; for she was already out of danger, but so extremely weak, that her final recovery was very doubtful. – Her son neglected her; and her daughter, whose absence was a continual source of pain, was not only far from her, but subject to the greatest inconvenience and danger, from the situation of the country to which she was gone – and the afflicted mother dared hardly look after news; yet, when she forbore all inquiry, she found her conjectures even more dreadful than the truth.
