In a moment after the Earl of Wistonbury, who had heard and instantly recognized his mother's voice, was before her, and was about to rush into her arms, when she haughtily thrust him back, saying—

'Degraded, spiritless boy, dare not too approach me! You have blotted the noblest, the proudest scutcheon of England. Where is Professor Lockerby?'

The professor was by her side before she had completed the sentence, when, seeing her agitation—

'My good lady,' he said, in his most persuasive tone, 'do allow me to entreat of you to be composed, and to have the honour of conducting you up stairs.'

'Anywhere!—anywhere, professor!' exclaimed the countess; 'but, alas! go where I will, I cannot escape the misery of my own thoughts, nor the disgrace which my unworthy son has brought upon my head.'

Without making any reply to this outburst of passionate feeling, the professor took the countess respectfully by the hand, and silently conducted her to his drawing-room. With stately step the countess entered, and walked slowly to the further end of the apartment; this gained, she turned round, and, when she had done so, a sight awaited her for which she was but little prepared. This was her son and Jessy Flowerdew, kneeling side by side, and, by their attitude, eloquently imploring her forgiveness. It was just one of those sights best calculated to work on the nobler nature of the Countess of Wistonbury, and to call up the finer feelings of her generous heart.

For some seconds she looked at the kneeling pair in silent astonishment; her eye, however, chiefly fixed on the beauteous countenance of Jessy Flowerdew, pale with terror and emotion, and wet with tears. Having gazed for some time on this extraordinary sight, without betraying the slightest symptom of the feelings beyond that of surprise, with which it had inspired her, the countess slowly advanced towards the kneeling couple. She still, however, uttered no word, and discovered no emotion; but a sudden change had come over her proud spirit. That spirit was now laid, and its place occupied by all the generous impulses of her nature. Keeping her eye steadily fixed on the kneeling fair one before her, she approached her, paused a moment, extended her hand, placed it on the ivory forehead of Jessy Flowerdew, gently laid back her rich auburn hair, and, as she did so, said, in a tremulous, but emphatic voice—

'You are, indeed, a lovely girl! God bless you! Alfred, my son, rise,' she added, in a low, but calm and solemn tone; 'I forgive you.' And she extended her hand towards him. The earl seized it, kissed it affectionately, and bathed it with his tears.

'Rise, my lady—rise, my fair Countess of Wistonbury,' she now said, and herself aiding in the act she commanded, 'I acknowledge you as my daughter, and we must now see to fitting you to the high station to which my son's favour has promoted you, and of which, I trust, you will prove as worthy in point of conduct as you assuredly already are in that of personal beauty. God bless you both! And may every happiness that the conjugal state affords, be yours! Professor,' she added, and now turning round to that gentleman, 'you will think this weakness—a mother's weakness—and perhaps it is so—but I would myself fain attribute it to a more worthy feeling, and, if I know my own heart, it is so. But let that pass.

I am reconciled to the step my son has taken, and reverently leave it to God, and fearlessly to man, to judge of the motives by which I have been influenced. I trust they are such as to merit the approbation of both.'