In man there may exist a preference towards the children of the woman he loves, over those of the woman he has not loved—not so in the gentler sex. It frequently happens that maternal affection is the more powerful principle in those who have been disappointed in their hopes of conjugal happiness. The heart whose tenderness has been repelled in one quarter, expands and fixes itself in the one other lawful direction, and Ellen’s love for her elder children fully equalled that she felt for the child of Algernon. She has taken her last kiss of them; she has for the last time wrapped the handkerchiefs close round their throats to defend them from the chill of the evening; she has for the thousandth time bade them be good children, and implored them to remember all she has told them concerning their duty to God, and to their fellow-creatures. Above all, she made them both promise never to forget to say their prayers, and added, “never forget to pray for me, my children.” “No, no, mamma; but we shall see you again soon.” “We will hope so, my loves—we shall, I trust, meet again, here, or elsewhere,” and her eyes sought that Heaven to which her spirit longed to flee, and be at rest. “We are not always to remain with that pale dark stranger?” “He is your father, my children. You owe to him the same duty you owe to me.” But she could not bid them love him, obey him, watch his every look, and attend to his every word, as they did to hers, for alas! she remembered but too well what was his violent uncertain temper in happier days, and she trembled to think to what guardianship their helpless innocence was committed. “If strangers,” she added, “should speak slightingly of me, darlings,—my own dear good children will not believe them. I know they will not.” Once more they were locked in a long and close embrace—gradually she relaxed her hold. Matilda, Caroline, Captain Wareham gently unwound them from her. The awe-struck children let themselves be quietly withdrawn, and when Ellen recovered from her swoon, they were with their father some miles on the road to London. What were Cresford’s emotions?—Such was the tumult of his soul they could scarcely be defined. The circumstances under which the children had been introduced to their father were not such as to inspire them with filial affection; and, notwithstanding their mother’s parting injunction, they looked upon him with fear and horror, as the stranger who had made mamma so unhappy, and had taken them away from her in such a hurry. They could not the least comprehend what was meant by this man’s being their father, for they remembered wearing black frocks for a long time, because their father was dead.