What were Maria’s feelings as she drew near the abode of that devoted mother, whose fate, already sad, she had so utterly blasted? When she thought of presenting to her a grandchild who might not bear the name to which the eldest son of Lord Sotheron ought to have been entitled? No village bells were ringing to greet their arrival, no old and faithful servants crowding the door to welcome their master’s bride. She thought of her reception at Ellersville Castle. The approach was thronged with villagers, the air resounded with the chimes of the neighbouring parishes, the castle terrace was surrounded with the tenantry, the great steps were lined with servants, all eager to show attention to their new lady. She was then happy, thoughtless, innocent; she could then look back into herself without remorse or shame, and she felt, as the carriage drew up at Mrs. Fitz-Eustace’s door, and as they waited till the servant answered the bell, that not all the fervour and depth of her devotion to Walter could compensate, even in this world, for the loss of self-esteem, and of respectability in the eyes of others. They were ushered into the drawing-room by a grey-headed man, who greeted Walter with respectful but serious affection. He said he would let his mistress know. They heard doors open and shut rapidly, hurried steps in the passage, the whispering of subdued female voices, still Mrs. Fitz-Eustace did not appear; and they felt that his mother had need to summon all her courage for the dreaded interview. At length she entered, and her subdued, mild, broken-hearted countenance, went more to Maria’s heart than all she had hitherto experienced. Mrs. Fitz-Eustace embraced her son with the tenderest affection; she kissed Maria, she took her grandchild in her arms, she did every thing that kindness could prompt; but they saw the quivering lip, they heard the unsteady voice, and Maria’s shame and remorse nearly overpowered her. Mrs. Fitz-Eustace asked some indifferent questions about the weather and the journey, and Maria answered it was hot or cold, the journey long or short, without knowing what she uttered. Lord Sotheron, anxious to escape from a position that was so unpleasant to him, left the room, and they remained alone. A few more attempts were made to keep up a languishing conversation; Maria longed to throw herself at the feet of Walter’s mother, and there to breathe forth all her agony of self-accusation, and to implore her pardon for the sorrow she had brought upon her grey hairs, but there was a gentle reserve about the grief of Eleanor that awed, while it touched, that repressed all outpourings of the heart, while it deeply interested; and Maria took refuge in busying herself over the baby till Mrs. Fitz-Eustace proposed to show her her room.