“Mother!  What a hideous vulgar appellation!” thought the fashionable parent to herself; and, instead of answering her daughter’s appeal, she hastily proposed that she should be conveyed to her own apartment; then, summoning her maid, she consigned her to her care, slightly touching her cheek as she wished her good-night, and returned to the card-table.  Adelaide too resumed her station at the harp, as if nothing had happened; but Lady Emily attended her cousin to her room, embraced her again and again, as she assured her she loved her already, she was so like her dear Edward; then, after satisfying herself that everything was comfortable, affectionately kissed her, and withdrew.

Bodily fatigue got the better of mental agitation; and Mary slept soundly, and awoke refreshed.

“Can it be,” thought she, as she tried to collect her bewildered thoughts, “can it be that I have really beheld my mother, that I have been pressed to her heart, that she has shed tears over me while I lay unconscious in her arms?  Mother!  What a delightful sound; and how beautiful she seemed!  Yet I have no distinct idea of her, my head was so confused; but I have a vague recollection of something very fair, and beautiful, and seraph-like, covered with silver drapery, and flowers, and with the sweetest voice in the world.  Yet that must be too young for my mother; perhaps it was my sister; and my mother was too much overcome to meet her stranger child.  Oh, how happy must I be with such a mother and sister!”

In these delightful cogitations Mary remained till Lady Emily entered.

“How well you look this morning, my dear cousin,” said she, flying to her; “you are much more like my Edward than you were last night.  Ah! and you have got his smile too!  You must let me see that very often.”

“I am sure I shall have cause,” said Mary, returning her cousin’s affectionate embrace; “but at present I feel anxious about my mother and sister.  The agitation of our meeting, and my weakness, I fear it has been too much for them;” and she looked earnest in Lady Emily’s face for a confirmation of her fears.

“Indeed, you need be under no uneasiness on their account,” returned her cousin, with her usual bluntness; “their feelings are not so easily disturbed; you will see them both at breakfast, so come along.”

The room was empty; and again Mary’s sensitive heart trembled for the welfare of those already so dear to her; but Lady Emily did not appear to understand the nature of her feelings.

“Have a little patience, my dear!” said she, with something of an impatient tone, as she rang for breakfast; “they will be here at their usual time.  Nobody in this house is a slave to hours, or gene with each other’s society.  Liberty is the motto here; everybody breakfasts when and where they please.  Lady Juliana, I believe, frequently takes hers in her dressing-room; Papa never is visible till two or three o’clock; and Adelaide is always late.”