"Yes I would," replied Lady Juliana, warmly, "if you can suspect her; if such modesty, such guileless sincerity, and purity of words and manners as I never before saw in woman, have no power to convince you: if you can set against them all this one unlucky accident, for I am sure it is no more, you ought to do every thing, seek every body who can give you information. Good God! to what purpose is it, as to this world, that a woman should lead the purest and most unspotted life, if one equivocal appearance can drive all confidence, all reliance, from the heart which ought to know her best!" Touched by this generous warmth, St. Aubyn began to feel convinced he had gone too far: he knew how penetrating Lady Juliana was, how much she had been prejudiced against Ellen, and how cautiously she would have observed, ere she had given to her an affection and confidence so tender: he called to mind many "a proof of recollected love," of native modesty, of the strictest principles in his wife, and began deeply to repent his jealous rashness; but suddenly recollecting the note he had seen in her hands, and the haste with which she had concealed it, he hastily said:--"But the letter! What letter was that I found her reading?" "What letter?" asked Lady Juliana. "One I found her reading this morning, just before she went out; she seemed agitated, and had tears in her eyes, and as I entered, she put it into the fold of her morning dress." "And there," said Lady Juliana, eagerly, "I found it, when we undressed her just now: I have not opened it; here it is." She drew it from her pocket. St. Aubyn recollected it to be the same, and opened it with trembling hands. It was, as has been stated, from the officer's widow to Jane, entreating her good offices with her lady, and describing her own distress, agreeing exactly with what Ellen and her maid had told Lady Juliana, and she had repeated to St. Aubyn. Such a corroboration of her story he could resist no longer; but shocked, alarmed, and ashamed, he hastily said: "I have injured her! Oh! can she ever forgive me!" "It's well," said Lady Juliana with some asperity, for his jealous obstinacy had vexed her--"it's well if you have not killed her and your child too. God defend me from such rash, headstrong people, that can make no distinction between a _Rosolia_ and an _Ellen_: poor girl, she has paid dear I am afraid for her dream of happiness, and being "perched up in a glittering greatness, wearing a golden sorrow!" "For God's sake, Madam, no more reproaches," said St. Aubyn, angrily: "she has not suffered alone; but let me go to her; let me implore her to forgive me. Ah! can I ever forgive myself!" "Indeed, nephew, I shall do no such thing, unless you will promise me there shall be no fighting with that mad Ross, who I wish had been a thousand miles off before he had come here to drive us all as mad as himself."