“Mother, Mr. Hamilton has arrived,” she succeeded at length in saying.  “And Emmeline—­is it, can it be?” But she had no more time to wonder, for ere she had recovered the agitation the sight of one other of Mr. Hamilton’s family had occasioned, they were in the room, and Emmeline springing forward, had flung herself on Mary’s neck; and utterly unable to control her feelings at the change she beheld in her friend, wept passionately on her shoulder.  Powerfully agitated, Mary felt her strength was failing, and had it not been for Mr. Hamilton’s support, she would have fallen to the ground.  He supported her with a father’s tenderness to the couch, and reproachfully demanded of Emmeline if she had entirely forgotten her promise of composure.

“Do not reprove her, my dear friend,” said Mrs. Greville, as she drew the weeping girl affectionately to her.  “My poor Mary is so quickly agitated now, that the pleasure of seeing three instead of one of our dear-valued friends has been sufficient of itself to produce this agitation.  And you, too, Herbert,” she continued, extending her hand to the young man, who hastily raised it to his lips, as if to conceal an emotion which had paled his cheek, almost as a kindred feeling had done with Mary’s.  “Have you deserted your favourite pursuits, and left Oxford at such a busy time, merely to see us before we leave?  This is kind, indeed.”

“I left Percy to work for me,” answered Herbert, endeavouring to hide emotion under the veil of gaiety.  “As to permit you to leave England without once more seeing you, and having one more smile from Mary, I would not, even had the whole honour of my college been at stake.  You must not imagine me so entirely devoted to my hooks, dear Mrs. Greville, as to believe I possess neither time nor inclination for the gentler feelings of human nature.”

“I know you too well, and have known you too long, to imagine that,” replied Mrs. Greville, earnestly.  “And is Mary so completely to engross your attention, Emmeline,” she added, turning towards the couch where the friends sat, “that I am not to hear a word of your dear mother, Caroline, or Ellen?  Indeed, I cannot allow that.”

The remark quickly produced a general conversation, and Herbert for the first time addressed Mary.  A strange, unconquerable emotion had chained his tongue as he beheld her; but now, with eager yet respectful tenderness, he inquired after her health, and how she had borne their long journey, and other questions, trifling in themselves, but uttered in a tone that thrilled the young heart of her he addressed.