Edward de Vaux paused; for he had never calculated upon going further, or being more explicit than he had been. He had thought it would be enough to explain that he was likely to lose the lands and honours of Dewry, and that Marian would naturally draw her own conclusion, and perceive the only cause which could produce such a result. Her question, therefore, embarrassed him, for he would willingly have sealed his lips upon his mother's shame; and, though he had felt himself bound to tell her all he was likely to lose, without concealment, yet he hesitated at revealing the most painful part of his own suspicions, till those suspicions had been rendered certainties. Marian saw him hesitate, and raising her beautiful eyes to his face, she said, "Edward, you have promised to tell me all, and you must make it all you think, as well as all you know." It was not to be resisted. "Well, beloved, well!" he said, "I will, though it is very, very terrible to do so; and, in truth, I hardly know how to do it. Marian, did you ever see my mother?" "No, Edward, never that I know of," she replied: "why do you ask?" "Did you ever hear my aunt speak of her?" continued De Vaux, without replying to her question. "Let me think," said Marian. "I believe I have: but no, I cannot remember that I ever did, now I reflect upon it: no, I never did." "Nor my father either?" asked De Vaux. "No, never; certainly never," answered Marian. "Well, then--" said De Vaux, and he paused abruptly, fixing his eyes upon her face. Instantly a colour of the deepest crimson rushed up over the whole countenance of Marian de Vaux, dying cheek, and neck, and forehead with the blush of generous shame--the shame that every pure, virtuous, inexperienced woman feels when the idea of vice in her own sex is suddenly brought before her. Edward de Vaux turned deadly pale, as he both perceived that Marian had now caught his meaning, and comprehended most painfully the feelings in which that bright blush arose. The shame that Marian felt for the degradation of her sex touched the most agonized spot in De Vaux's heart. All that hatred for vice, and scorn for the vicious, and the pity which comes near contempt, could produce in a woman's bosom, seemed to De Vaux expressed by that blush, and pointed, more or less directly, towards himself; and, as I have said, he turned very pale.