'Yes,--but I will settle on her a handsome allowance; for my conscience tells me, that, had I behaved like a mother to my child, no one could have been tempted to injure her thus,--I put this unhappy woman into a state of temptation, and she yielded to it:--but I feel only too sensibly, that no one has been such an enemy to my poor Adeline as I have been; nor, conscious of my own offences towards her, dare I resent those of another.' 'I love, I honour thee for what thou hast now uttered,' cried Mrs Pemberton with unusual animation.--'I see that thou art now indeed a Christian; such are the breathings of a truly contrite spirit; and, verily, she who can so easily forgive the crimes of others may hope to have her own forgiven.' Mrs Pemberton then hastened to speak hope and comfort to the mind of the penitent offender, while Mrs Mowbray ran to meet her servant, who, to her surprise, was returning without horses, for none were to be procured; and Mrs Mowbray saw herself obliged to delay her journey till noon the next day, when she was assured of having horses from Penrith. But when, after a long and restless night, she arose in the morning, anticipating with painful impatience the hour of her departure, Mrs Pemberton entered her room, and informed her that she had passed nearly all the night at Miss Woodville's bed-side, who had been seized with a violent delirium at one o'clock in the morning, and in her ravings was continually calling on Mrs Mowbray, and begging to see her once more. 'I will see her directly,' replied Mrs Mowbray, without a moment's hesitation; and hastened to Miss Woodville's apartment, where she found the medical attendant whom Mrs Pemberton had sent for just arrived. He immediately declared the disorder to be an inflammation on the brain, and left them with little or no hope of her recovery. Mrs Mowbray, affected beyond measure at the pathetic appeals for pardon addressed to her continually by the unconscious sufferer, took her station at the bed-side; and, hanging over her pillow, watched for the slightest gleam of returning reason, in order to speak the pardon so earnestly implored: and while thus piously engaged, the chaise that was to convey her and her friend to London, and perhaps to Adeline, drove up to the gate. 'Art thou ready?' said Mrs Pemberton, entering the room equipped for her journey. At this moment the poor invalid reiterated her cries for pardon, and begged Mrs Mowbray not to leave her without pronouncing her forgiveness. Mrs Mowbray burst into tears; and though sure that she was not even conscious of her presence, she felt herself almost unable to forsake her:--still it was in search of her daughter that she was going--nay, perhaps, it was to her daughter that she was hastening; and, as this thought occurred to her, she hurried to the door of the chamber, saying she should be ready in a moment.