The event, however, proved her fears to have been for this time unfounded. At a distance from her, and totally engrossed by his own libertine pursuits, Ethelbert scarcely deigned to bestow upon her a single thought. Yet Lucretia’s partiality for her son Donat, which every day increased, prevented her from revealing the birth of his twin-sister, who would then have had a joint and equal right with him to those estates, of which at that period the death of his elder brother (while yet an infant) made him to be supposed the sole inheritor. Thus Adelaide grew up under her mother’s eyes, and was the play-mate of her brother, without having the least suspicion how nearly she was related to either of them. This was of inconceivable advantage to her in her early education. She believed herself to be a vassal’s daughter in that house, of which she ought to have shone as the joint-heiress; and as the youthful Donat enjoyed all the advantages of his rank, and made his dependents feel the whole weight of his influence, many a lesson of humility and patient suffering did Adelaide learn in her youth, which was of material service to her in the painful scenes, which she had afterwards to encounter. Donat ruled his mother with the most despotic authority; his resemblance to herself, that violence of passions which he possessed in common with her, and the docility with which he received her pernicious instructions had won Lucretia’s whole heart, and left no room in it for her neglected daughter; who thus was early afforded frequent opportunities of submitting to injustice, without being conscious that her treatment was unjust. Lucretia had been wise enough to foresee, long before they arrived, that such events might very possibly happen, as actually did at length take place. With all her love for Ethelbert, she had discovered his faults sufficiently to make her take precautions for her own security; and she endeavoured to confine his actions by means, which though they still preserved her the title of his wife, were nevertheless insufficient to prevent her suffering the extreme of misery and disappointment. She knew well, that little as Count Ethelbert _loved_ religion, he greatly _dreaded_ it: she therefore (previous to their marriage) insisted on his taking a most solemn oath, that however they might disagree, or however his sentiments might alter, he would never attempt her life, nor would (even in case of a divorce) make the offer of his hand to a rival, as long as she herself should still be in existence. She thus hoped to bind her inconstant lover in eternal chains; but she little dreamt of so tyrannical a subterfuge, as that by which the hypocrite contrived to evade the consequences of his oath.