_From Miss Cowley to Miss Hardcastle._
You will be prepared, my Lucy, for the resolution I have formed, of
supplying to Miss Howard the loss of her parents, as far as I am able;
to defeat the malice of her oppressor is a motive which I reject with
disdain, as incompatible with my present state of mind. She shall be
protected, Lucy, from better principles of action; and protected,
as Mr. and Mrs. Howard's child ought to be protected. But I am not
altogether satisfied with her remaining under the care of her good
uncle. I wish to prepare her for a situation under the roof of her
sister Rachel Cowley, when with the name of Hardcastle I shall be
qualified to act as a mother to her. She would by remaining at the
Abbey be precluded from those improvements she needs for the world;
and Mrs. Heartley, whom I have consulted, is of my opinion, that her
mind might be strengthened and benefited by being placed more remote
from Tarefield, and the extreme tenderness of the Wilsons. She must,
whilst with them, experience an attention which tends to confirm the
habits of dependance, and to increase the natural timidity of her mind.
But I wish to see Mary Howard my equal and friend. Let me have your
opinion on this point; consult my dear father. Ask him whether his
Rachel Cowley is right in her judgment,--that, with a simplicity which
knoweth no evil, and a humility which needs encouragement, something
more than the cultivation of the good affections is necessary, in
order to meet the world. Mary, at the Abbey, will be made too _good_
for an acquaintance with it; and I wish her sphere of knowledge to be
enlarged; yet I am aware of the hazard of entrusting her innocence and
beauty the care of strangers; nor would the captain concur in such a
plan. I am much perplexed on this point: my views being to produce Miss
Howard as she _ought_ to be produced, and as her future provision will
render necessary. You know me, Lucy; and you will not call the present
object of my attention one unworthy of my principles, or unsuitable to
my abilities. "I am an enthusiast," it will be said. This has been said
a thousand and a thousand times by a cold-hearted apathy, which sees
nothing beyond its own forlorn limits, and in its dread of deviating
from that narrow path, rests stationary there, till its powers of
action are irrecoverably torpid. Peace be with such! Rachel Cowley is
contented to be an _enthusiast_, and still, "like the needle true,"
will she turn "at the touch of joy and woe;" though "in turning she
trembles too."
I shall expect to have your advice on this subject; being resolved to
be governed by a discretion which has never failed to guide safely.