not confessed every feeling to mamma, instead of hiding them, as I had
done, in my own heart, and brooding on them till it became a kind of
pleasure to do so, and till fancied evils produced real ones. I wept
bitterly while she spoke, for to find how completely I had created
misery for myself was no agreeable matter of reflection, and my remorse
was heightened when mamma said, "You have disappointed us not a little,
my dear Emmeline; for I will no longer conceal from you that the little
tour we took on our way to London was originally planned by your father
and myself, to reconcile you to a change of residence. We saw how much
you regretted leaving Oakwood; nor did we wonder at it, for such
feelings were most natural to one of your disposition; and therefore,
instead of travelling direct, and suddenly changing the scenes of our
beautiful Devonshire for the confinement of this huge city, we hoped by
visiting various places, and giving you new objects of reflection, to
lessen your regret, and make the change of residence less painfully
abrupt." As well as I could, I expressed my sorrow and repentance, and
promised to use every endeavour to atone for the past, and become all
that she and papa wished me.

"I believe you, my own Emmeline," my kind mother said, as she again
kissed me, and her voice was no longer so sorrowfully grave as it had
been at first. "I am sure, now you know all the pain you were inflicting
on both your parents, every effort will be put in force to remove it."
Did I deserve this speech, dear Mary? I do not think I did; for I often
saw by mamma's countenance I had grieved her, and yet made no effort to
control myself, and so I told her. She smiled her own sweet, dear smile
of approbation, and thanking me for my candour, said--

"If I say that by indulging in these gloomy fancies and appearing
discontented, and repining when so many blessings are around you, my