Business had hitherto always prevented Mr. and Mrs. Benson from accepting the invitation to Arlingford Hall; but their visit was now fixed to take place as soon as the present company in the house were gone. Emmeline respected her father, and dearly loved her mother; but still she had by nature so nice a tact, that she was soon aware that herself, as well as Lord Fitzhenry, would be better pleased that they should not fall into a set and style of society which they could not suit, and which would not suit them. Emmeline rather dreaded her mother’s visit, dreaded the quick eye of tender affection, and the gossip of servants. “But,” thought she, “this visit once over, I have nothing more to fear; all will then go on smoothly—smoothly and sadly to me,” she added. “But I will hope a time may come when he will care for me—already I think he is used to my society; at least, he does not _dislike_ it, for I am no longer a constraint to him—I must be patient.” And with a deep-drawn sigh, she turned over the leaves of her as yet unopened music-books, and sat down to practise some of her father’s favourite songs, which since her marriage she had neglected; for Fitzhenry had never asked her to play or sing, and, unsolicited, she had not had sufficient courage. Since Lord Arlingford had been with them they had dined late, and cards and conversation had filled up the evenings. At length, the day came on which Mr. and Mrs. Benson were expected. Emmeline’s heart beat quick the whole of it, and her eye was on the road which led to the house, her ear watching for every sound all the morning, although it was impossible they could arrive till late in the day. Fitzhenry sent his horses to meet them at the last stage, watched for their arrival, was at the door of the house to receive them, helped them out of the carriage, and himself conducted them up to Emmeline’s room. There, for a few minutes, he left them to fold to their hearts their beloved child. For it was not a scene that he wished to witness, or in which he felt, circumstanced as they were, he had any part to play. Emmeline’s feelings were worked up to the utmost. Joy, fear, a thousand confused ideas conspired to weaken her nerves, and she fell quite overcome into her mother’s arms. It was some time before she could compose herself. But agitation at that moment was so natural, that it seemed to cause no astonishment, nor raise any suspicions. “My own dear Emmeline!” exclaimed Mrs. Benson, as she kissed her again and again, “how happy I am to see you once more, and to see you, as I trust I do, every way so happy;” and she looked round with complacency on the refined comfort of her room. Emmeline pressed her mother’s hand, she could not speak, and with difficulty forced a smile.