Courtenaye; "I have already delayed my explanation too long: you are an orphan, Miss Churchill; but have you never thought how sweet it would have been to have had a mother—one who knelt, blessing your pillow, every night, and watched your steps during day? Suppose that you had such a parent, that you knew you had been from your birth her only object in the wide, cold world, would you not have made some sacrifice for her sake?"
"Any, even to my life!" returned Ethel, in a faltering voice.
"Suppose," continued Mrs. Courtenaye, "that that mother had knelt at your feet; told you that her life, and, far more precious than life, her honour, were in your hands, and implored you to save them, would you not have yielded to her frantic entreaties?"
"I would!" cried Ethel, but her voice was scarcely audible.
Mrs. Courtenaye then rapidly sketched her previous history; and, long before it was ended, Ethel had bowed her face in her hands, and was weeping bitterly.
