As every day might now be the last of her residence in that house, Agnes, as soon as she was left to herself, instead of getting into bed, wrapt her dressing-gown round her, re-lit at her night lamp, the candle Adrienne had extinguished, and sat down to write a short, but significant letter to Mr. Wharton. She then collected and arranged in their cases, all her trinkets; folded in paper, and deposited amongst them, whatever money she had by / her, and locked up the whole in the bureau. The key she inserted in the cover of her billet to Mr. Wharton, including also within the same envelop the childish, but to her most important letter, of Lucy de Vere. This little packet she intended to consign to the care of Mr. Wharton's valet, should her hopes be answered of speedily receiving a second invitation to accompany Mrs. Marchmont to the painter's.

These painful, but indispensable preparations completed, Agnes threw herself on her knees, and recommended herself, with more than her wonted fervour, to the guidance and protection of heaven; after which, she at length sought her pillow, and was visited by the unbroken and refreshing sleep enjoyed by those whose conscience is at peace.

Before going down to breakfast the next morning, she told Adrienne, it was probable the person for whom the printer's lodging had been engaged, would wish to take possession / of it in a very few days; ‘I therefore should be glad,’ added she, ‘that you would write a little note to serve this person as an introduction to your friend Madame Dupuis. Say that your mistress knows the new tenant, and will be answerable for her; that at present she only wishes to be called Agnes – Mademoiselle Agnes – and has particular reasons, but not disgraceful ones, for desiring to be as little talked of as possible. It will oblige me very much, Adrienne, if you will get this note ready by the time I come up from breakfast.’