“I should not have stayed so long from you,” said Mary, “but I knew you had Colonel Lennox with you, and I could not flatter myself you would have even a thought to bestow upon me.”

“My Charles is, indeed, everything that is kind and devoted to me.  He walks with me, reads to me, talks to me, sits with me for hours, and bears with all my little weaknesses as a mother would with her sick child; but still there are a thousand little feminine attentions he cannot understand.  I would not that he did.  And then to have him always with me seems so selfish; for, gentle and tender-hearted as he is, I know he bears the spirit of an eagle within him; and the tame monotony of my life can ill accord with the nobler habits of his.  Yet he says he is happy with me, and I try to make myself believe him.”

“Indeed,” said Mary, “I cannot doubt it.  It is always a happiness to be with those we love, and whom we know love us, under any circumstances; and it is for that reason I love so much to come to my dear Mrs. Lennox,” caressing her as she spoke.

“Dearest Mary, who would not love you?  Oh! could I but see—­could I but hope—­”

“You must hope everything you desire,” said Mary gaily, and little guessing the nature of her good friend’s hopes; “I do nothing but hope.”  And she tried to check a sigh, as she thought how some of her best hopes had been already blighted by the unkindness of those whose love she had vainly striven to win.

Mrs. Lennox’s hopes were already upon her lips, when the entrance of her son fortunately prevented their being for ever destroyed by a premature disclosure.  He welcomed Mary with an appearance of the greatest pleasure, and looked so much happier and more animated than when she last saw him, that she was struck with the change, and began to think he might almost stand a comparison with his picture.

“You find me still here, Miss Douglas,” said he, “although my mother gives me many hints to be gone, by insinuating what indeed cannot be doubted, how very ill I supply your place; but—­” turning to his mother—­“you are not likely to be rid of me for sometime, as I have just received an additional leave of absence; but for that, I must have left you tomorrow.”

“Dear Charles, you never told me so.  How could you conceal it from me?  How wretched I should have been had I dreamed of such a thing!”

“That is the very reason for which I concealed it, and yet you reproach me.  Had I told you there was a chance of my going, you would assuredly have set it down for a certainty, and so have been vexed for no purpose.”

“But your remaining was a chance too,” said Mrs. Lennox, who could not all at once reconcile herself even to an escape from danger; “and think, had you been called away from me without any preparation!—­ Indeed, Charles, it was very imprudent.”