chanel watches wonder upon wonder

“Oh, wonder upon wonder! and joy upon joy!” cried Lady Clonbrony. “So my darling Grace is as legitimate as I am, and an heiress after all. Where is she? where is she? In your room, Lady Berryl?— Oh, Colambre! why wouldn’t you let her be by?— Lady Berryl, do you know, he would not let me send for her, though she was the person of all others most concerned!”
“For that very reason, ma’am; and that Lord Colambre was quite right, I am sure you must be sensible, when you recollect, that Grace has no idea that she is not the daughter of Mr. Nugent: she has no suspicion that the breath of blame ever lighted upon her mother. This part of the story cannot be announced to her with too much caution; and, indeed, her mind has been so much harassed and agitated, and she is at present so far from strong, that great delicacy —.”
“True! very true, Lady Berryl,” interrupted Lady Clonbrony; “and I’ll be as delicate as you please about it afterwards: but, in the first and foremost place, I must tell her the best part of the story — that she’s an heiress; that never killed any body!”
So, darting through all opposition, Lady Clonbrony made her way into the room where Grace was lying —“Yes, get up! get up! my own Grace, and be surprised — well you may!— you are an heiress, after all.”
“Am I, my dear aunt?” said Grace.
“True, as I’m Lady Clonbrony — and a very great heiress — and no more Colambre’s cousin than Lady Berryl here. So now begin and love him as fast as you please — I give my consent — and here he is.”
Lady Clonbrony turned to her son, who just appeared at the door.
“Ob, mother! what have you done?”
“What have I done?” cried Lady Clonbrony, following her son’s eyes:—“Lord bless me!— Grace fainted dead — Lady Berryl! Oh, what have I done? My dear Lady Berryl, what shall we do?”
Lady Berryl hastened to her friend’s assistance.
“There! her colour’s coming again,” said Lord Clonbrony; “come away, my dear Lady Clonbrony, for the present, and so will I— though I long to talk to the darling girl myself; but she is not equal to it yet.”
When Grace came to herself, she first saw Lady Berryl leaning over her, and, raising herself a little, she said, “What has happened?— I don’t know yet — I don’t know whether I am happy or not.— Explain all this to me, my dear friend; for I am still as if I were in a dream.”
With all the delicacy which Lady Clonbrony deemed superfluous, Lady Berryl explained. Nothing could surpass the astonishment of Grace, on first learning that Mr. Nugent was not her father. When she was told of the stigma that had been cast on her birth; the suspicions, the disgrace, to which her mother had been subjected for so many years — that mother, whom she had so loved and respected; who had, with such care, instilled into the mind of her daughter the principles of virtue and religion; that mother whom Grace had always seen the example of every virtue she taught; on whom her daughter never suspected that the touch of blame, the breath of scandal, could rest — Grace could express her sensations only by repeating, in tones of astonishment, pathos, indignation —“My mother!— my mother!— my mother!”