But Adeline, though she felt disgust and aversion swallowing up the few remaining sparks of regard for Berrendale which she felt, had one great consolation under this new calamity.--Berrendale had not been the choice of her heart: 'But, thank Heaven! I never loved this man,' escaped her lips as she ran into her own room; and pressing her child to her bosom, she shed on its unconscious cheeks the tears which resentment and a deep sense of injury wrung from her.--'Oh! had I loved him,' she exclaimed, 'this blow would have been mortal!' She, however, found herself in one respect the better for Berrendale's guilt. Conscious that the mulatto was aware of what had passed, and afraid lest she should have mentioned her discovery to Adeline, Berrendale endeavoured to make amends for his infidelity by attention such as he had never shown her since the first weeks of his marriage; and had she not been aware of the motive, the change in his behaviour would have re-awakened her tenderness. However, it claimed at least complaisance and gentleness from her while it lasted: which was not long; for Berrendale, fancying from the apparent tranquillity of Adeline (the result of indifference, not ignorance,) that she was not informed of his fault, and that the mulatto was too prudent to betray him, began to relapse into his old habits; and one day, forgetting his assumed liberality, he ventured, when alone with Savanna, who was airing one of Editha's caps, to expatiate on the needless extravagance of his wife in trimming her child's caps with lace. This was enough to rouse the quick feelings of the mulatto, and she poured forth all her long concealed wrath in a torrent of broken English, but plain enough to be well understood.--'You man!' she cried at last, 'you will kill her; she pine at your no kindness;--and if she die, mind me, man! never you marry aden.--You marry, forsoot! you marry a lady! true bred lady like mine! No, man!--You best get a cheap miss from de street and be content--' As she said this, and in an accent so provoking that Berrendale was pale and speechless with rage, Adeline entered the room; and Savanna, self-condemned already from what she had uttered, was terrified when Adeline, in a tone of voice unusually severe, said, 'Leave the room; you have offended me past forgiveness.' These words, in a great measure, softened the angry feelings of Berrendale, as they proved that Adeline resented the insult offered to him as deeply as he could wish; and with some calmness he exclaimed, 'Then I conclude, Mrs Berrendale, that you will have no objection to discharge your mulatto directly?' This conclusion, though a very natural one, was both a shock and a surprise to Adeline; nor could she at first reply. 'You are _silent_, madam,' said Berrendale; 'what is your answer? Yes, or No?' 'Yes,--yes,--certainly,' faltered out Adeline; 'she--she ought to go--I mean that she has used very improper language to you.'