She had many reasons for desiring to see it, and she even suggested, for her own convenience, that a little attic should be fitted up for her use. She even proposed to fit it up herself, entirely at her own expense. But Ella replied, that it was not a question of room in her household, but of sheer necessity, for that her circumstances did not admit of her annual expenditure being in any way increased.

Mrs. Lorrimer then hinted at the expenses already incurred in helping on the Grange trial. She had better not have done that; for people are never more angry, than when conscious of being a little in fault. It was the very opposite ground, too, to that on which Mrs. Lorrimer had hitherto chosen to stand, for she had herself been the chief abettor and encourager of Ella's imprudence. This single offensive, but still very natural allusion did more for Ella's resolution than had been intended, or anticipated. If Mrs. Lorrimer could say this, what might she not say? The sooner she was got rid of the better. So Ella helped her to pack up her now extensive wardrobe, and evinced no further symptoms of melting pity, while she did so.

Alice Greyburn watched all these proceedings with perfect consternation; for her heart very naturally suggested that her turn might come next. She knew that she had not, especially of late, been making either a friend or a confidant of her protectress. She knew, in the secret of her heart, that she had been false to her, as women so often are false to each other— whispering unpleasant little comments upon her behind her back, and discussing all her actions in a spirit that was anything but kind-doing all this stealthily, too, in connexion with one to whom she owed nothing, nor was bound even by the slightest tie of affection; for she had never loved Mrs. Lorrimer, even at the time that she gave up her judgment, and her feelings almost entirely to her control. No wonder then, that Alice had learned, with all this, to look up to Ella with a kind of fear. No wonder that the love which she had rather tried to feel, than had ever really felt for her, being all vanished now, she should look upon a lonely life, spent with her alone, in

the light of a calamity, instead of a great happiness. And yet she did not wish to go. Oh! no. That would have been a dark doom, indeed. So Alice also helped Mrs. Lorrimer to pack, but she did this very silently, without one word of comment: and no one could have gathered from her look and manner, whether she felt pity for that solitary woman, or not.

At last the guest departed; not altogether unprovided with the means of making herself comfortable for some months to come. Ella knew this, and when the first gush of pity had been wiped away from her eyes, she felt an unspeakable relief in turning into her own house, where she would now no longer be waited upon and watched without kindness, and flattered without affection, or esteem.

What would Ella not have given at that moment to have folded the orphan girl, whom she had cherished, to her bosom? What would she not have given to have thus taken her entirely into her confidence, and her heart? She looked into her face with all that concentrated and tender yearning of soul which woman-weak, loving woman-alone can feel. The eyes that should have met her's with affectionate trust were cast down or averted. Was it possible that Ella, with all her persevering kindness, had failed to inspire even so much as gratitude here?

CHAPTER LIX

NOTHING could exceed the kindness and cordiality with which Ella's mother was received at Lowbrooke Cottage, and welcomed by the friends who visited there on terms of intimacy. The fact now came to light, as such facts usually do, that nobody had liked Mrs. Lorrimer from the first, and that all were glad she was gone. The family at the rectory expressed their satisfaction in no measured terms, and Ella could not help feeling that the pleasant welcome with which her mother was received, owed some portion of its warmth to the dislike which had been entertained for her former guest.

Mrs. More for all her friends bestowed upon her that name, which she was not displeased to be still known byaccepted their kindness with a thankful heart. It was long since kindness so genuine, and at the same time so delicate and respectful, had been shown her. How much of it was pity she did not trouble herself to inquire. It came just when she was most in want of it; just when she had become sensible of her grand mistake; just when the fearful consequences of that mistake had burst upon her with a degree of hopeless and cheerless horror, from which there would have been no escape, had not her daughter's heart and home been open to receive her.

Mrs. More, like her daughter, had always been a self-deceiver. Like her, too, vanity was the governing principle of her life. It was flattered vanity which had induced her to enter into that unfortunate alliance, so ruinous to her peace of mind, her respectability, and her purse, under the hope of being the honoured instrument of doing good to a worthy but unfortunate man and his family; and of thus patronising, upholding, and

sustaining virtue and goodness in her own person. A very slight acquaintance with the man to whom she had thus entrusted her happiness, might have opened any eyes that were not blinded by such a hope. But there is no delusion so strong as that of vanity when it takes this turn, and so combines with benevolence to conjure up all kinds of generous, noble, and praiseworthy motives for what inclination prompts it to do. It required, therefore, a long series of unravelling of facts to make the real, naked, mortifying truth sufficiently evident to Mrs. More for her to break away from the associations she had formed. Alas! for her vanity, these associations hung very loosely about her person when once her purse had been secured. Unkindness and disrespect were, from the first, sufficiently stamped upon the conduct of the younger members of the family into which she had entered, but when neglect appeared in another quarter, her disappointment and dismay were extreme. For some time she thought it accidental-for vanity, still warm at her heart, would not be convinced. She then asserted her rights, and bickerings and discontent ensued. At last a catastrophe occurred which might, from the first, have been anticipated. One of the sons had committed a glaring act of delinquency, and a large sum of money had to be advanced on his behalf. This, with debts of long standing, all called in on the marriage of the father, so far reduced the property thus acquired, that Mrs. More had no alternative left but that which her heart had long been pining for, to leave this miserable and unprincipled family altogether, and fly to her daughter for comfort, protection, and support.

Ella wished she could have seen her mother more altered than she was. Like thousands of daughters, besides herself, she would have done well to improve upon her mother's faults in her own person, rather than to look at them so keenly in that of a parent. But the littleness, and especially the vanity, which we tolerate in ourselves, is often exceedingly absurd, and even unbearable, in another; and she felt, notwithstanding all her mother's wrongs and sufferings, that she had enough to do to

keep her patience, especially when Mrs. More assumed a degree of authority over her actions, which she considered that the time had passed by for her to exercise. Ah! how kind we should many of us be to people if they would not have faults and littlenesses, especially such faults as we happen particularly to dislike; and there is this feature marked in strong lines upon human character in general, that we do almost universally dislike our own faults when reflected under a different form, and identified with another person.

It would have been so beautiful, Ella thought, to treat her mother with all that reverential tenderness which the situation of a parent in affliction might be supposed naturally to inspire. It would have recommended her so much to those who were disposed to condemn certain points in her past conduct, to act the part she had proposed to herself towards her mother. Mr. Stevens had written a very affecting letter on the subject. He had written more than once, and had followed up the first impression produced by accounts of the sadness and sorrow, the absolute brokenness of spirit, which marked her mother's appearance and general behaviour; but here was the same comely little person whom Ella had ever known, dressed out in the same finery, and on all occasions apparently quite disposed to bustle about with the same air of importance; meddling, as Ella thought, in many matters with which she had no business. Was filial duty called upon to endure this? ness expected to extend itself thus far? Ella thought not, and upon this conclusion she herself assumed a little extra dignity and importance.

Was filial tender

Altogether the affairs of the cottage did not work on much more harmoniously than when Mrs. Lorrimer was an inmate there. Alice was abstracted and distant, not liking the meddling of Mrs. More, and Ella was especially piqued and annoyed at some remarks which that lady let fall respecting her interest in a young man, and a stranger, whom nobody knew.

Yes, here was the point of sore vexation. Ella had begun, soon after her mother's arrival, to endeavour to interest her