William Bender was the first person who came into her mind, and as she thought of all that had passed between them, and of this last proof of his affection, she seated herself among the tall grass and flowers, which grew upon her mother’s grave, and burst into tears.  She had not sat there long, ere she was roused by the sound of a footstep.  Looking up, she saw before her the young gentleman, who the year previous had visited her school in Rice Corner.  Seating himself respectfully by her side, he spoke of the three graves, and asked if they were her friends who slept there.  There was something so kind and affectionate in his voice and manner, that Mary could not repress her tears, and snatching up her bonnet which she had thrown aside she hid her face in it and again wept.

For a time, Mr. Stuart suffered her to weep, and then gently removed the gingham bonnet, and holding her hand between his, he tried to divert her mind by talking upon other topics, asking her how she had been employed during the year, and appearing greatly pleased, when told that she had been at Mount Holyoke.  Observing, at length, that her eyes constantly rested upon the monument, he spoke of that, praising its beauty, and asking if it were her taste.

“No,” said she, “I never saw it until to-day, and did not even know it was here.”

“Some one wished to surprise you, I dare say,” returned Mr. Stuart.  “It was manufactured in Boston, I see.  Have you friends there?”

Mary replied that she had one, a Mr. Bender, to which Mr. Stuart quickly rejoined, “Is it William Bender?  I have heard of him through our mutual friend George Moreland, whom you perhaps have seen.”

Mary felt the earnest gaze of the large, dark eyes which were fixed upon her face, and coloring deeply, she replied that they came from England in the same vessel.

“Indeed!” said Mr. Stuart.  “When I return to the city shall I refresh his memory a little with regard to you?”

“I’d rather you would not,” answered Mary.  “Our paths in life are very different; and he of course would feel no interest in me.”

“Am I to conclude that you, too, feel no interest in him?” returned Mr. Stuart, and again his large eyes rested on Mary’s face, with a curious expression.

But she made no reply, and soon rising up, said it was time for her to go home.

“Allow me to accompany you as far as Mrs. Campbell’s,” said Mr. Stuart.  “I am going to call upon Miss Ella, whose acquaintance I accidentally made last summer.  Suppose you call too.  You know her, of course?” Mary replied that she did, and was about to speak of the relationship between them, when Mr. Stuart abruptly changed the conversation, and in a moment more they were at Mrs. Campbell’s door.  Ella was so much delighted at again seeing Mr. Stuart, that she hardly noticed her sister at all, and did not even ask her to remove her bonnet.  After conversing a while upon indifferent subjects, Mr. Stuart asked Ella to play, saying he was very fond of music.  But Ella, like other fashionable ladies, “couldn’t of course play any thing,—­was dreadfully out of practice, and besides that her music was all so old-fashioned.”