Her health, she concluded, had suffered so
severely from intense anxiety and privations, that, believing herself
to be dying, she solicited, as a last request, one brief visit from
her beloved young friend.
Amy Beaufort possessed a mind which never sunk under difficulties
whilst there was any active duties to perform, and in less than half
an hour she was in a hackney-coach on her way to Mrs Lyddiard's
residence, bearing with her, besides a few articles of nourishment
for the invalid, a large packet containing some of the early efforts
of her pencil, which she, with prompt thoughtfulness, imagined might
be disposed of, if only for a trifle, to aid her unfortunate friends
in their present exigence. She had a few guineas left from her
father's last gift; but she now shrunk from using them even for so
sacred a purpose. The coach stopped at the door of a large but
mean-looking house in a narrow crowded street, and her inquiry if
Mrs Lyddiard lived there, was answered in the affirmative by a ragged
boy, who asked if he should carry her parcel.
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