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246 All this the jade said with so much cunning, and managed and humoured it so well, and wiped her eyes, and cried so artificially, that he took it all as it was intended he should, and once or twice she saw tears in his eyes too. He told her it was a moving, melancholy story, and it had almost broke his heart at first, but that he was driven to the last extremity, and could do nothing but stay and see them all starve, which he could not bear the thoughts of, but should have pistolled himself if any such thing had happened while he was there; that he left (me) his wife all the money he had in the world but 25, which was as little as he could take with him to seek his fortune in the world. He could not doubt but that his relations, seeing they were all rich, would have taken the poor children off, and not let them come to the parish; and that his wife was young and handsome, and, he thought, might marry again, perhaps, to her advantage, and for that very reason he never wrote to her, or let her know he was alive, that she might in a reasonable term of years marry, and perhaps mend her fortunes; that he resolved never to claim her, because he should rejoice to hear that she had settled to her mind; and that he wished there had been a law made to empower a woman to marry if her husband was not heard of in so long a time, which time, he thought, should not be above four years, which was long enough to send word in to a wife or family from any part of the world.

Amy said she could say nothing to that but this, that she was satisfied her mistress would marry nobody unless she had certain intelligence that he had been dead from somebody that saw him buried. 'But, alas!' says Amy, 'my mistress was reduced to such dismal circumstances that nobody would be so foolish to think of her, unless it had been somebody to go a-begging with her.'

Amy then, seeing him so perfectly deluded, made a long and lamentable outcry how she had been deluded away to marry a poor footman. 'For he is no worse or better', says she, 'though he calls himself a lord's gentleman. And here', says Amy, 'he has dragged me over into a strange country to make a beggar of me'; and then she falls a-howling again, and snivelling, which, by the way, was all hypocrisy, but acted so to the life as perfectly deceived him, and he gave entire credit to every word of it.

'Why, Amy', says he, 'you are very well dressed; you don't look as if you were in danger of being a beggar.' 'Ay, hang 'em! 'says Amy, 'they love to have fine clothes here, if they have never a smock under them. But I love to have money in cash, rather than a chestful of fine clothes. Besides, sir', says she, 'most of the clothes I have were given me in the last place I had, when I went away from my mistress.'

Upon the whole of the discourse, Amy got out of him what condition he was in and how he lived, upon her promise to him that, if ever she came to England, and should see her old mistress, she should not let her know that he was alive. 'Alas, sir!', says Amy, 'I may never come to see England again as long as I live; and, if I should, it would be ten thousand to one whether I shall see my old mistress, for how should I know which way to look for her, or what part of England she may be in?—not I' says she. 'I don't so much as know how to inquire for her; and if I should', says Amy, 'ever be so happy as to see her, I would not do her so much mischief as to tell her where you were, sir, unless she was in a condition to help herself and you too.' This farther deluded him, and made him entirely open in his conversing with her. As to his own