'No!--Hast thou any reason then for knowing that she was alive six months ago?' asked Mrs Pemberton, looking steadily at Miss Woodville, as she spoke. 'I?--Lord--no--How should I know?' she replied, her lip quivering, and her whole frame trembling. 'I tell thee how.--Art thou not conscious of having intercepted letters from thy cousin to her relenting parent?' Mrs Pemberton had scarcely uttered these words, when Miss Woodville fell back nearly _insensible_ in her chair--a proof that the accusation was only too well founded. As soon as she recovered, Mrs Pemberton said, with great gentleness, 'Thou art ill,--ill indeed, but, as I suspected, thy illness is of the mind; there is a load of guilt on it; throw it off then by a full confession, and be the sinner that repenteth.' In a few moments Miss Woodville, conscious that her emotion had betrayed her, and suspecting that Mrs Pemberton had by some means or other received hints of her treachery, confessed that she had intercepted and destroyed letters from Adeline to her mother; and also owned, to the great joy of Mrs Pemberton, that Adeline's last letter, the letter in which she informed Mrs Mowbray, that all the conditions were then fulfilled, without which alone she had sworn never to forgive her, had arrived only two months before; and that it was dated from such a street, and such a number, in London. 'My poor friend will be so happy!' said Mrs Pemberton; and, her own eyes filling with tears of joy, she hastened to find Mrs Mowbray. 'But what will become of _me_?' exclaimed Miss Woodville, detaining her--'_I_ am ruined--ruined for ever!' 'Not so,' replied Mrs Pemberton, 'thou art _saved_,--saved, I trust, for _ever_--Thou hast confessed thy guilt, and made all the atonement now in thy power. Go to thine own room, and I will soon make known to thee thy relation's sentiments towards thee.' So saying, she hastened to Mrs Mowbray, whom she found giving orders, with eager impatience, to have post horses sent for immediately. 'Then thou art full of expectation, I conclude, from the event of our journey to town?' said Mrs Pemberton, smiling. 'To be sure I am,' replied Mrs Mowbray. 'And so am I,' she answered,--'for I think that I know the present abode of thy daughter.' Mrs Mowbray started--her friend's countenance expressed more joy and exultation than she had ever seen on it before; and, almost breathless with new hope, she seized her hand and conjured her to explain herself. The explanation was soon given; and Mrs Mowbray's joy, in consequence of it, unbounded. 'But what is thy will,' observed Mrs Pemberton, 'with regard to thy guilty relation?' 'I cannot--cannot see her again now, if ever;--and she must immediately leave my house.' 'Immediately?'