 because they echoed my
own mind, and confirmed my own knowledge. I soon began to like the society of
your dear friend better than any other.
    When I perceived (which I did, almost as soon) that jealousy was growing out
of this, I liked this society still better. Had I not been subjected to
jealousy, and were the endurances to be all mine? No. Let him know what it was!
I was delighted that he should know it; I was delighted that he should feel
keenly, and I hoped he did. More than that. He was tame in comparison with Mr.
Gowan, who knew how to address me on equal terms, and how to anatomise the
wretched people around us.
    This went on, until the aunt, my Mistress, took it upon herself to speak to
me. It was scarcely worth alluding to; she knew I meant nothing; but, she
suggested from herself, knowing it was only necessary to suggest, that it might
be better if I were a little less companionable with Mr. Gowan.
    I asked her how she could answer for what I meant? She could always answer,
she replied, for my meaning nothing wrong. I thanked her, but I said I would
prefer to answer for myself and to myself. Her other servants would probably be
grateful for good characters, but I wanted none.
    Other conversation followed, and induced me to ask her how she knew that it
was only necessary for her to make a suggestion to me, to have it obeyed? Did
she presume on my birth, or on my hire? I was not bought, body and soul. She
seemed to think that her distinguished nephew had gone into a slave-market and
purchased a wife.
    It would probably have come, sooner or later, to the end to which it did
come, but she brought it to its issue at once. She told me, with assumed
commiseration, that I had an unhappy temper. On this repetition of the old
wicked injury, I withheld no longer, but exposed to her all I had known of her
and seen in her, and all I had undergone within myself since I had occupied the
despicable position of being engaged to her nephew. I told her that Mr. Gowan
was the only relief I had had in my degradation; that I had borne it too long,
and that I shook it off too late; but, that I would see none of them more. And I
never did.
    Your dear friend followed me to my retreat, and was very droll on the
severance of
