“I have been a wicked woman,” said Mrs. Eastwood. “When poor Isabella died, I never asked about the baby; I took it for granted the baby died too. And I did hate the man so, Nelly; he killed her; I am sure he killed her. And here has the poor baby been living all the time! I am a wicked woman. I might have been of some use, and taken her away from that dreadful man.” “But she seems to have liked the dreadful man. It says here that she cannot be consoled. Poor thing! Don’t you know anything about her, mamma?” cried Nelly. Here Mrs. Eastwood took out her handkerchief once more, and this time cried in earnest with grief and shame. “I am a hard-hearted, bad woman!” she said; “Don’t contradict me, Nelly. A girl that is my own flesh and blood; and I never even inquired after her--did not know of her existence----” “Well, mamma, I think I will give you absolution,” said Nelly. “If you did not know of her existence, how could you inquire after her? Did poor Aunt Isabella die when she was born?” “That is the worst of it all,” said Mrs. Eastwood. “I must make a clean breast of it. I must not deceive myself any more. Yes, I did know of the poor child’s existence. She must have been six or seven when Isabella died. The child had the fever too, and I persuaded myself she must have gone with her mother. For you see, Mr. Vane--poor man, he is dead; we must not speak any harm of him--was so very disagreeable in his letters. I know I ought to have inquired; but I had got to dislike him so much, and almost to be afraid of him----” “I think it was not quite right of you,” said Nelly, with the gravity of a judge. “I know it was not,” said the culprit, penitent. “Many a time I have said to myself, I would write, but always put it off again. However, it is not too late now to make amends to her; and as for him----. Give me the letter, Nelly. Oh! to think he should be dead--such a man as that.” “Well, surely, mamma, he is no great loss, if he was such a man.” “Not to us; oh no, not to us! Not to any one except himself; but for himself! Think, Nelly. However, we are not called upon to judge him, thank Heaven! And as for the poor child--the poor little girl----” “It is a long time since Aunt Isabella died,” said Nelly. “How old is the little girl now?”