Mrs. Hamilton was seated at one of the tables on the dais nearest the oriel window, the light from which fell on her, giving her figure--though she was seated naturally enough in one of the large maroon-velvet oaken chairs--an unusual effect of dignity and command, and impressing the terrified beholder with such a sensation of awe that had her life depended on it, she could not for that one minute have gone forward; and even when desired to do so by the words "I desired your presence, Ellen, because I wished to speak to you: come here without any more delay,"--how she walked the whole length of that interminable room, and stood facing her aunt, she never knew. Mrs. Hamilton for a full minute did not speak, but she fixed that searching look, to which we have once before alluded, upon Ellen's face; and then said, in a tone which, though very low and calm, expressed as much as that earnest look:-- "Ellen! is it necessary for me to tell you why you are here--necessary to produce the proof that my words are right, and that you _have_ been influenced by the fearful effects of some unconfessed and most heinous sin? Little did I dream its nature." For a moment Ellen stood as turned to stone, as white and rigid--the next she had sunk down with a wild, bitter cry, at Mrs. Hamilton's feet, and buried her face in her hands. "Is it true--can it be true--that you, offspring of my own sister; dear to me, cherished by me as my own child--you have been the guilty one to appropriate, and conceal the appropriation of money, which has been a source of distress by its loss, and the suspicion thence proceeding, for the last seven weeks?--that you could listen to your uncle's words, absolving his whole household as incapable of a deed which was actual theft, and yet, by neither word nor sign, betray remorse or guilt?--could behold the innocent suffering, the fearful misery of suspicion, loss of character, without the power of clearing himself, and stand calmly, heedlessly by--only proving by your hardened and rebellious temper that all was not right within--Ellen, can this be true?" "Yes!" was the reply, but with such a fearful effort that her slight frame shook as with an ague: "thank God that it is known! I dared not bring down the punishment on myself; but I can bear it." "This is mere mockery, Ellen: how dare I believe even this poor evidence of repentance, with the recollection of your past conduct? What were the notes you found?" Ellen named them. "Where are they?--This is but one, and the smallest." Ellen's answer was scarcely audible. "Used them--and for what?" There was no answer; neither then nor when Mrs. Hamilton sternly reiterated the question. She then demanded:-- "How long have they been in your possession?" "Five or six weeks;" but the reply was so tremulous it carried no conviction with it. "Since Robert told his story to your uncle, or before?" "Before."