Her mother threw her arms round her.
“Come to my heart, my child, close—close to my heart Heaven bless you! You have my blessing—my thanks, Cecilia. Yes, my thanks,—for now I know—I feel, my dear daughter, that my neglect of you in childhood has been repaired. You make me forgive myself, you make me happy, you have my thanks—my blessing—my warmest blessing!”
A smile of delight was on her pale face, and tears ran down as Cecilia answered—“Oh, mother, mother! blind that I have been. Why did not I sooner know this tenderness of your heart?”
“And why, my child, did I not sooner know you? The fault was mine, the suffering has been yours,—not yours alone, though.”
“Suffer no more for me, mother, for now, after this, come what may, I can bear it. I can be happy, even if——” There she paused, and then eagerly looking into her mother’s eyes she asked,—
“What do you say, mother, about him? do you think I may hope?”
“I dare not bid you hope,” replied her mother.
“Do you bid me despair?”
“No, despair in this world is only for those who have lost their own esteem, who have no confidence in themselves, for those who cannot repent, reform, and trust. My child, you must not despair. Now leave me to myself,” continued she “Open a little more of the shutter, and put that book within my reach.”
As soon as Miss Clarendon heard that her brother had arrived in town she hastened to him, and, as Lady Davenant had desired, told him of all the reports that were in circulation, and of all that Lady Cecilia had spontaneously confided to her. Esther watched his countenance as she spoke, and observed that he listened with eager attention to the proofs of exactness in Cecilia; but he said nothing, and whatever his feelings were, his determination, she could not doubt, was still unshaken; even she did not dare to press his confidence.