My mother returned almost as quickly as my impatience expected, and from afar I saw that Mr. Montenero was in the carriage with her. My heart did certainly beat violently; but I must not stop to describe, if I could, my various sensations. My mother, telling Mr. Montenero all the time that she would tell him nothing, had told him every thing that was to be told: I was glad of it--it spared me the task of detailing Lord Mowbray’s villany. He had once been my friend, or at least I had once been his--and just after his death it was a painful subject. Besides, on my own account, I was heartily glad to leave it to my father to complete what my mother had so well begun. He spoke with great vehemence. I stood by, proud all the time to show Mr. Montenero my calmness and self-possession; while Fowler, who was under salutary terror of my father, repeated, without much prevarication, all the material parts of her confession, and gave up to him Lord Mowbray’s letters. Astonishment and horror at the discovery of such villany were Mr. Montenero’s first feelings--he looked at Lord Mowbray’s writing again and again, and shuddered in silence, as he cast his eyes upon Fowler’s guilty countenance. We all were glad when she was dismissed. Mr. Montenero turned to me, and I saw tears in his eyes. “There is no obstacle between us now, I hope,” said I, eagerly seizing the hand which he held out to me. Mr. Montenero pressed me in his arms, with the affection of a parent. “Heyday! heyday!” said my father, in a tone between pleasure and anger,--“do you at all know what you are about, Harrington?--remember!” “Oh! Mr. Montenero,” said my mother, “speak, for Heaven’s sake, and tell me that you are perfectly convinced that there was no shadow of truth.” “Nonsense! my dear, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Harrington,” said my father,--“to be sure he is convinced, he is not an idiot--all my astonishment is, how he could ever be made to believe such a thing!”