“There was little of my large fortune left at your father’s death; we have been almost dependant on your uncle.  Yet it has not been dependance; he is too generous to let us feel that.  On your father’s death-bed, he was all in all to him—­never leaving him; inducing him to turn his thoughts to the future opening before him.  He taught me where to look for comfort, and bore with me when in my impatient grief I refused to seek it.  He took you, then almost an infant, to his heart, has cherished you as his own, and now looks forward to the happiness of seeing you his son’s wife; will you so cruelly disappoint him?”

“I will do whatever you ask me, dear mother,” said Alice.  “I will never see Walter again, if that will content you.  I have already told him that I can never be to him more than I have always been—­a sister.  Yet I cannot help loving him.”

“Cannot help loving a man whose very birth is attended with shame,” said Mrs. Weston; “whose passions are ungovernable, who has already treated with the basest ingratitude his kindest friends?  Have you so little pride?  I will not reproach you, my darling; promise me you will never see Walter again, after to-morrow, without my knowledge.  I can trust you.  Oh! give up forever the thought of being his wife, if ever you have entertained it.  Time will show you the justice of my fears, and time will bring back your old feelings for Arthur, and we shall be happy again.”

“I will make you the promise,” said Alice, “and I will keep it; but I will not deceive Arthur.  Ungrateful as I may appear, he shall know all.  He will then love some one more worthy of him than I am.”

“Let us leave the future in the hands of an unerring God, my Alice.  Each one must bear her burden, I would gladly bear yours; but it may not be.  Forget all this for a while; let me sleep by you to-night.”

Alice could not but be soothed by the gentle tone, and dear caress.  Oh, blessed tie! uniting mother and child.  Earth cannot, and Heaven will not break it.

CHAPTER VIII.

As absurd would it be for one of the small unsettled stars, for whose place and wanderings we care not, to usurp the track of the Queen of night or of the God of day, as for an unpretending writer to go over ground that has been trodden by the master minds of the age.  It was in the olden time that Cooper described a dinner party in all its formal, but hospitable perfection.  Washington was a guest there, too, though an unacknowledged one; we cannot introduce him at Exeter, yet I could bring forward there, more than one who knew him well, valuing him not only as a member of society and a hero, but as the man chosen by God for a great purpose.  Besides, I would introduce to my readers, some of the residents of L——.  I would let them into the very heart of Virginia life; and, although I cannot arrogate to it any claims for superiority over other conditions of society, among people of the same class in life, yet, at least, I will not allow an inferiority.  As variety is the spice of society, I will show them, that here are many men of many minds.