“Oh! think not that beauty is the only element of fortune!” cried the old woman, surveying her daughter with almost an expression of fiend-like hate: “for, if you dare to thwart me, Perdita, I will become your bitterest and most malignant enemy, though you are my own child:--I will pursue thee with my vengeance;--wherever you may be, I will spoil all your machinations and ruin all your schemes;--nay, more--I will compel your very lovers to thrust you ignominiously forth from them! For I will boldly proclaim how that Perdita who has enthralled them, was accursed from her very birth--born in Newgate--thence taken by her mother to a penal colony, where she became lost and abandoned at the early age of thirteen--and how every handsome young officer in garrison at Sydney could boast of the favours of this profligate young creature!” A mocking laugh came from the lips of Perdita,--a laugh that rang more horribly in the ears of her mother than an explosion of maledictions, recriminations, and insults would have done,--a laugh that seemed to say, “Wretched--drivelling old woman, I despise thee!” “You will repent this conduct, vile girl--you will repent it!” muttered Mrs. Fitzhardinge, approaching Perdita, and gazing on her with eyes that seemed to glare savagely. “Whatever be the risk--even though I involve myself in the downfall of our splendid prospects--I will ruin thee, if thou darest to oppose and thwart me! Abandon thy scheme of marrying the young nobleman--and we will be friends again: persist in it--and we separate, as mortal enemies. Yes--and the first step which I shall take will be to repair to Charles Hatfield--implore his forgiveness for having been a party to the scheme plotted against him and his--and give such a character of thee, Perdita, that his blood shall run cold in his veins at the mere thought of ever having been placed in contact with thee! And, oh! the picture which a mother will draw of her daughter in such a case,--that picture will be terrible--very terrible! Pause, then--reflect----”