"It is so very late, you had better retire, my dear girls," Mrs. Hamilton said, after a brief pause, addressing Emmeline and Ellen, who yet lingered sorrowfully near her. They understood her hint, and instantly obeyed, both affectionately but silently embracing Caroline ere they departed; and it was a relief to Mrs. Hamilton's anxious bosom to find herself alone with her painfully repentant child. For some time did that interview continue; and when Caroline retired to rest, it was with a spirit lighter than it had been for many weeks, spite of the dark clouds she still felt were around her. All her strange wayward feelings had been confessed. She laid no stress on those continued letters she had received from Annie, which had from the first alienated her from her mother. Remorse was too busy within to bid her attempt to defend herself by inculpating others; but though she carefully avoided reference to her misleading friend, Mrs. Hamilton could easily, very easily, perceive from whose arts all her own misery and Caroline's present suffering originated; and bitterly in secret she reproached herself for ever permitting that intimacy to continue, and obtain the influence it had. To Lord St. Eval and her conduct to him the unhappy girl also referred. Pride was completely at an end; every question Mrs. Hamilton asked was answered with all that candour and integrity which had once characterised her most trifling words; and while her undisguised confession on many points occasioned the most poignant sorrow, yet still, as the mother listened, and gazed on those expressive features, something whispered within her that her child would be a blessing still. She owned that from the moment she had rejected Lord St. Eval, regret had become so unceasing, that to escape it she had listened to and encouraged Lord Alphingham more than she had done before; his professions of devoted love had appeared as balm, and deadened the reproaches of conscience. Why she had so carefully concealed from her parents that which she imagined was love for the Viscount she could not explain, unless it was her weakness in following the example of others, who, she had been told, shrunk from confessing love-stories to their mothers; or, and that Mrs. Hamilton believed much nearer the real reason, she did not love him sufficiently to implore their consent to his addresses. She acknowledged, when their prohibition to her acquaintance with him was given, she had longed to confess the truth, and implore them at least to say why she might no longer enjoy his society; but that she had felt too indignant at what she deemed the slavery in which she was held, and discontent and irritation then took possession of her, instead of willing obedience. She described her feelings when he appeared at Airslie, the many struggles she then had with herself; and, finally, her wretchedness from the moment she had consented to be his wife; her entreaties that he would permit her to