To the delicate mind the unfortunate are always objects of respect.  As the ancients held sacred those places which had been blasted by lightning, so the feeling heart considers the afflicted as having been touched by the hand of God Himself.  Such were the sensations with which Mary found herself in the presence of the venerable Mrs. Lennox—­venerable rather through affliction than age; for sorrow, more than time, had dimmed the beauty of former days, though enough still remained to excite interest and engage affection in the mournful yet gentle expression of her countenance, and the speaking silence of her darkened eyes.  On hearing the names of her visitors, she arose, and, guided by a little girl, who had been sitting at her feet, advanced to meet them, and welcomed them with a kindness and simplicity of manner that reminded Mary of the home she had left and the maternal tenderness of her beloved aunt.  She delivered her credentials, which Mrs. Lennox received with visible surprise; but laid the letter aside without any comments.

Lady Emily began some self-accusing apologies for the length of time that had intervened since her last visit, but Mrs Lennox gently interrupted her.

“Do not blame yourself, my dear Lady Emily,” said she; “for what is so natural at your age.  And do not suppose I am so unreasonable as to expect that the young and the gay should seek for pleasure in the company of an old blind Woman.  At your time of life I would not have courted distress anymore than you.”

“At every time of life,” said Lady Emily, “I am sure you must have been a very different being from what I am, or ever shall be.”

“Ah! you little know what changes adversity makes in the character,” said Mrs. Lennox mournfully; “and may you never know—­unless it is for your good.”

“I doubt much if I shall ever be good on any terms,” answered Lady Emily in a half melancholy tone; “I don’t think I have the elements of goodness in my composition, but here is my cousin, who is fit to stand proxy for all the virtues.”

Mrs. Lennox involuntarily turned her mild but sightless eyes towards Mary, then heaved a sigh and shook her head, as she was reminded of her deprivation.  Mary was too much affected to speak; but the hand that was extended to her she pressed with fervour to her lips, while her eyes overflowed with tears.  The language of sympathy is soon understood.  Mrs. Lennox seemed to feel the tribute of pity and respect that flowed from Mary’s warm heart, and from that moment they felt towards each other that indefinite attraction which, however it may be ridiculed, certainly does sometimes influence our affections.

“That is a picture of your son, Colonel Lennox, is it not?” asked Lady Emily, “I mean the one that hangs below the lady in the satin gown with the bird on her hand.”