As she gazed on the marble brow and the closed lids of that placid countenance, she envied the spirit that was at rest, the heart that was not torn by a thousand conflicting feelings, and she longed to be laid in the quiet grave beside her. Alas! she had not yet exhausted the varied sufferings awaiting one “Who, loving virtue, but by passion driven To worst extremes, must never, never more Honour herself——” Yet Maria had been more fortunate than many under the same circumstances. She had not been deserted by him for whom she had sacrificed every thing; on the contrary, he had made every reparation in his power. She had been kindly received by his family, she enjoyed rank and riches, her children were dutiful and affectionate, no adventitious circumstances aggravated her wretchedness. The miseries described in the preceding narrative are simply those to which every erring woman is liable. CHAPTER V. “But guilt, And all our sufferings?” said the Count. The Goth replied, “Repentance taketh sin away, Death remedies the rest.” SOUTHEY. Emily was nearly eighteen, and she was to appear in the world as became the daughter of Lord Sotheron. They went to London. Maria made up her mind never to accompany her daughter, even to the few places where she might be kindly received. She thought there was more dignity in voluntarily retiring than in appearing occasionally at some houses, and consequently proving that she was not seen elsewhere because she would not be admitted. Invitations for Lord Sotheron and Lady Emily Fitz-Eustace flocked to the house, and Maria received the cards from the porter’s hand with a tightness of heart, a difficulty of breathing, at which she was herself surprised. “Can I,” she thought, “who have endured such real sorrow, be so moved by a contemptible invitation to a foolish ball?” But she blushed crimson, as she felt her daughter’s eye glance over the card on which her mother’s name was omitted. However, she rejoiced that Emily knew the truth; that she had not now to learn it. The evening came, when the lovely Lady Emily Fitz-Eustace was to make her _début_ in the great world. Her mother presided at her toilet. She smoothed every curl, she arranged every fold. Her hands trembled, her eye was haggard, her voice was unsteady, but she fought hard not to allow her emotion to be visible. She would not cloud the innocent young creature’s anticipated joys.