This letter will enable you to account for a line or two, which I sent to Wilson’s, to be carried to you, only for a feint, to get his servant out of the way.  He seemed to be left, as I thought, for a spy upon me.  But he returning too soon, I was forced to write a few lines for him to carry to his master, to a tavern near Doctors Commons, with the same view:  and this happily answered my end.

I wrote early in the morning a bitter letter to the wretch, which I left for him obvious enough; and I suppose he has it by this time.  I kept no copy of it.  I shall recollect the contents, and give you the particulars of all, at more leisure.

I am sure you will approve of my escape—­the rather, as the people of the house must be very vile:  for they, and that Dorcas too, did hear me (I know they did) cry out for help:  if the fire had been other than a villanous plot (although in the morning, to blind them, I pretended to think it otherwise) they would have been alarmed as much as I; and have run in, hearing me scream, to comfort me, supposing my terror was the fire; to relieve me, supposing it was any thing else.  But the vile Dorcas went away as soon as she saw the wretch throw his arms about me!—­ Bless me, my dear, I had only my slippers and an under-petticoat on.  I was frighted out of my bed, by her cries of fire; and that I should be burnt to ashes in a moment—­and she to go away, and never to return, nor any body else!  And yet I heard women’s voices in the next room; indeed I did—­an evident contrivance of them all:—­God be praised, I am out of their house!

My terror is not yet over:  I can hardly think myself safe:  every well-dressed man I see from my windows, whether on horseback or on foot, I think to be him.

I know you will expedite an answer.  A man and horse will be procured me to-morrow early, to carry this.  To be sure, you cannot return an answer by the same man, because you must see Mrs. Townsend first:  nevertheless, I shall wait with impatience till you can; having no friend but you to apply to; and being such a stranger to this part of the world, that I know not which way to turn myself; whither to go; nor what to do—­What a dreadful hand have I made of it!

Mrs. Moore, at whose house I am, is a widow, and of good character:  and of this one of her neighbours, of whom I bought a handkerchief, purposely to make inquiry before I would venture, informed me.

I will not set my foot out of doors, till I have your direction:  and I am the more secure, having dropt words to the people of the house where the coach set me down, as if I expected a chariot to meet me in my way to Hendon; a village a little distance from this.  And when I left their house, I walked backward and forward upon the hill; at first, not knowing what to do; and afterwards, to be certain that I was not watched before I ventured to inquire after a lodging.

You will direct for me, my dear, by the name of Mrs. Harriot Lucas.