swoon.

"What has happened?" asked the younger lady, bewildered and gasping.

"H'm! You know best what has happened, madam, I suppose. What hath
happened before in our family?" cried the old Baroness, glaring at her
niece with savage eyes.

"Ah, yes! the letters have been lost--ach lieber Himmel!" And Maria, as
she would sometimes do, when much moved, began to speak in the language
of her mother.

"Yes! the seal has been broken, and the letters have been lost, 'tis the
old story of the Esmonds," cried the elder, bitterly.

"Seal broken, letters lost? What do you mean,--aunt?" asked Maria,
faintly.

"I mean that my mother was the only honest woman that ever entered the
family!" cried the Baroness, stamping her foot. "And she was a parson's
daughter of no family in particular, or she would have gone wrong, too.
Good heavens! is it decreed that we are all to be...?"

"To be what, madam?" cried Maria.

"To be what my Lady Queensberry said we were last night. To be what we
are! You know the word for it!" cried the indignant old woman. "I say,
what has come to the whole race? Your father's mother was an honest
woman, Maria. Why did I leave her? Why couldn't you remain so?"

"Madam!" exclaims Maria, "I declare, before Heaven, I am as----"

"Bah! Don't madam me! Don't call heaven to witness--there's nobody by!
And if you swore to your innocence till the rest of your teeth dropped
out of your mouth, my Lady Maria Esmond, I would not believe you!"

"Ah! it was you told him!" gasped Maria. She recognised an arrow out of
her aunt's quiver.

"I saw some folly going on between you and the boy, and I told him that
you were as old as his mother. Yes, I did! Do you suppose I am going
to let Henry Esmond's boy fling himself and his wealth away upon such
a battered old rock as you? The boy shan't be robbed and cheated in our
family. Not a shilling of mine shall any of you have if he comes to any
harm amongst you.

"Ah! you told him!" cried Maria, with a sudden burst of rebellion.
"Well, then! I'd have you to know that I don't care a penny, madam,
for your paltry money! I have Mr. Harry Warrington's word--yes, and his
letters--and I know he will die rather than break it."

"He will die if he keeps it!" (Maria shrugged her shoulders.)

"But you don't care for that--you've no more heart----"

"Than my father's sister, madam!" cries Maria again. The younger woman,
ordinarily submissive, had turned upon here persecutor.