“Susan! Susan! sooner than join my dishonored life to his most honored one, I would fly to the most savage extremities of the earth—yes! but for the grace of God, sooner than that, I would leave the earth itself!” she exclaimed with passionate earnestness. “Lady, lady, I will say no more,” said Susan, beginning to weep—a sure resort with her when there was nothing else to be done. Lady Montressor dropped her brow upon her hand again, and fell into deep thought for a few minutes, at the end of which she lifted her head and said— “Susan, my child, you followed a generous but too hasty impulse in leaving home, and friends, and country, to share the fortunes of a blighted woman like myself. I was very wrong to permit you to do it. I should have seen this at the time, but that the very tumult and passion of my flight swamped every other thought. But it is not yet too late to repair the injury that has been done you.” “My lady! good Heaven! what do you mean?” exclaimed Susan, clasping her hands in deprecation of what she felt was coming next. “Susan, I can send you back to England.” “I have offended you! Oh, I have offended you! Forgive me, my lady! my dear, dearest lady!” cried Susan, wringing her hands. “No, you have not, my girl! my poor girl. How could you offend me, Susan? Never did I value you more highly than at this moment, when I talk of sending you from me, and it is for the very reason that I esteem you so much, I wish to discharge you. I think of your future, Susan. If you leave me and return to England, you will probably lead a cheerful, happy life, and in good time marry happily; while, if you accompany me to my sad retreat, what is before you but a dreary, solitary life, and an age of old-maidenhood?”