Had she studied and known the character of Ellen as she did that of her son, that promise would perhaps never have been asked; nor would she so incautiously and mistakenly have laid so great a stress upon _concealment_, as the only sure means of guarding from blame. From her childhood Mrs. Fortescue had been a creature of passion and impulse, and maternity had unhappily not altered one tittle of her character. In what manner, or at what cost, Ellen might be enabled to keep that promise, never entered her mind. It had never been her wont, even in days of health, to examine or reflect, and present weakness permitted only the morbid indulgence of one exaggerated thought. For several minutes she lay quite silent, and Ellen resumed her seat and work, her temples throbbing, she knew not why, and a vain longing to throw her arms round her mother's neck, and entreat her only for one more kiss, one other word of love; and the consciousness that she dared not, caused the hot tears to rush into her eyes, and almost blind her, but she would not let them fall, for she had learned long ago, that while Edward's tears only excited soothing and caresses, hers always called forth irritation and reproof. "Joy, joy! Mother, darling!" exclaimed an eager voice, some minutes afterward, and Edward bounded into the room, and throwing himself by his mother's side, kissed her pale cheek again and again. "Such joy! My ship sailed so beautifully, I quite longed for you to see it, and you will one day when you get well and strong again; and I know you will soon now, for I am sure aunt Emmeline will very soon come, and then, then, you will be so happy, and we shall all be happy again!" Mrs. Fortescue pressed him closer and closer to her, returning his kisses with such passionate fondness, that tears mingled with them, and fell upon his cheek. "Don't cry, mamma, dear! indeed, indeed, my aunt will soon come. Do you know I think I have seen her and spoken to her, too?" "Seen her, Edward? You mean you have dreamed about her, and so fancy you have seen her;" but the eager, anxious look she fixed upon him evinced more hope than her words. "No, no, mamma; as we were watching my ship, a carriage passed us, and a lady spoke to me, and asked me the way to the cottage where you lived, and I am sure it is aunt Emmeline from her smile." "It can not be," murmured his mother, sadly; "unless--" and her countenance brightened. "Did she speak to you, Edward, as if she knew you, recognized you, from your likeness to me?"