"I don't know much more. His mother followed him into Wales. She
was a lady of a great deal of religion, and a very old family,
and was much shocked at her son's misfortune in being captivated
by such a person; but she led him to repentance, and took him to
Paris, where, I think, she died; but I am not sure, for, owing to
family differences, I have not been on terms for some years with
my sister-in-law, who was my informant."
"Who died?" interrupted Jemima--"the young man's mother, or--or
Ruth Hilton?"
"Oh dear, ma'am! pray don't confuse the two. It was the mother,
Mrs. ---- I forget the name--something like Billington. It was
the lady who died."
"And what became of the other?" asked Jemima, unable, as her dark
suspicion seemed thickening, to speak the name.
"The girl? Why, ma'am, what could become of her? Not that I know
exactly--only one knows they can but go from bad to worse, poor
creatures! God forgive me, if I am speaking too transiently of
such degraded women, who, after all, are a disgrace to our sex."
"Then you know nothing more about her?" asked Jemima.
"I did hear that she had gone off with another gentleman that she
met with in Wales, but I'm sure I can't tell who told me."
There was a little pause. Jemima was pondering on all she had
heard. Suddenly she felt that Mrs. Pearson's eyes were upon her,
watching her; not with curiosity, but with a newly-awakened
intelligence;--and yet she must ask one more question; but she
tried to ask it in an indifferent, careless tone, handling the
bonnet while she spoke.
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