Oh! how painfully did it then strike her, that her fault was thus visited upon her children! She saw the probability of disunion between the brothers, and it was only by true and cordial affection that their relative situations could be sweetened to either of them. She reflected deeply and bitterly upon the subject. Profiting perhaps by the errors in her own education, she had long come to the conclusion that the best mode of fitting human creatures for the world in which they are to live, and the station they are to fill in that world, is to tell them the truth upon all subjects, and to make them acquainted with the feelings and interests of their parents. On all other topics she had done so, as much as possible; but in this instance, could she herself be the person to lay bare her own and their father’s errors? And yet, if Edward already knew the fact of his illegitimacy, it were better he should learn to view his mother with pity, than with contempt; better he should know how truly she repented her fault, than imagine she was hardened in guilt; better that Charles should learn his own superior prospects in a manner that should open and soften his heart towards his brother. And then her daughter Emily! Would it not be cruel to leave her in ignorance of her mother’s situation till she came out into the world, when the painful truth must be forced upon her in the most humiliating manner, by a thousand inevitable circumstances? She confided her mental struggles to Mrs. Fitz-Eustace, who almost constantly resided at Stonebury, and from whom she had now no hidden thought. Eleanor kindly offered to spare her the painful task; but she recalled to her the restraint that had chilled their intercourse, while the one subject of strong and mutual interest had been avoided; and she also reminded her, how, from the moment they had poured out their hearts to each other, all coldness, all reserve, had vanished for ever. “How necessary is it, then, that I, and my children, should understand each other’s hearts! Yes, whatever it may cost me, I will tell them all; and if by suffering, guilt may be atoned, I shall thus, in some degree, expiate my offence, for Heaven alone can judge how keenly I shall suffer?” Lord Sotheron had been for some time absent, nor was he likely to return. His party had lately come into power, and he was eagerly desirous of a public situation of trust, for which his talents particularly fitted him. His absences were become so frequent, and of such long duration, that Maria had lost the habit of referring her every action to him. Emily was thirteen, and Edward fifteen; when Maria one morning summoned them all three to her dressing-room. Her cheek was pale, her eye, though sad, was resolved. She called each to her side, and she imprinted upon each smooth open brow, a fervent kiss. Then clasping her hands, she uttered:—