letter, to her satisfaction. But your dear face will explain all,
and stop all inquiries, when I present you to her as my wife."

"Don't be so certain of that, Charles. If your mother is proud of
her family, she will be mortified and displeased should her son
marry an unknown girl."

"The proudest mother on earth would receive you into her bosom, and
call you daughter, without an emotion of wounded pride," was the
lover's confident reply. "I know it. I know my mother too well, not
to be confident on this subject."

"You ought to know, Charles; but I would much rather be certain. I
love you better than my life; but if I thought that your marrying me
would separate you from your mother's love, I would never consent to
a union. Ah, there can be no love so pure, so deep, so unselfish as
a mother's love. A mother! Oh, how sweet the name! how holy the
office! I can remember, though but faintly, my own mother. I was but
a little girl when I lost her, but I still see her face as it often
bent over me while I lay in my bed, and still, at times, can hear
her voice. Oh, what would I not have given had she lived! Ah,
Charles, be sure that in no act of your life you wrong your mother,
or give her pain."

Charles Linden belonged to a family that claimed descent from some
distinguished ancestor on the mother's side--some one who had come
from England a long time ago, and who, when there, was ranked one of
gentle blood. Of the worth of his principles, little was known. He
may have been a high-minded and honourable man, or he may have
possessed qualities worthy of the detestation of all. Be that as it