“Then if I had been Cecilia, I should have become a nun,” said Mary, timidly.

“Exaggeration, my daughter, is an enemy to truth.  It is easy to say, ‘I would become a nun,’ and in Roman Catholic countries it is quite as easy to become one; but, though it may be sublime to retire in this way from the world, it is frightful when a woman has afterwards to regret the inconsiderate step she has taken, and which is often the case with these poor creatures.”

“As you said of myself,” remarked Willis, “it is a crime to go down with a sinking ship so long as there is a straw to cling to.”

“I presume,” continued Wolston, “that during this year poor Cecilia prayed fervently for the return of her old playfellow; but her prayers were all in vain, the year expired, and still no news of the young man; at last she despaired of ever seeing him again, and, after a severe struggle with herself, she decided upon complying with the desire of her parents and her friends.  A few months after the expiring of the year of grace, she was the affianced bride of a highly respectable, well-to-do, middle-aged gentleman.  John Lindsey, her intended husband, could not boast of his good looks; he was little, rather stout, was deeply pitted in the face with the small-pox, and had a very red nose, but he was considered by the ladies of Bristol as a very good match for all that.”

“Oh, Cecilia, how ridiculous!” exclaimed Sophia.

“Better, at all events, than turning nun,” said Jack.

“The family this season had gone to pass the summer at the sea-coast; and one day that Cecilia and her intended were taking their accustomed walk along the shore—­”

“Holloa!” cried Jack, “the truant is going to appear, after all.”

“John Lindsey, observing a ring of some value upon Cecilia’s finger, politely asked her if she had any objections to tell him its history.  She replied that she had none, and told him it was a gift of young Philipson’s.  ‘I am well acquainted with your story,’ said Lindsey, ’and do not blame the constancy with which you have treasured the memory of that young man; on the contrary, I respect you for it—­in fact, it was the knowledge of your self-sacrifice to this affection and all its attendant circumstances, that led me to solicit the honor of your hand; for, said I to myself, one who has evinced so much devotion for a mere sentiment, is never likely to prove unfaithful to sacred vows pledged at the altar,’ ’Come what may, you may at least rely upon that, sir,’ she answered.  ‘Then,’ continued Lindsey, ’as an eternal barrier is about to be placed between yourself and your past affections, perhaps you will pardon my desire to separate you, as much as possible, from everything that is likely to recal them to your mind.’  Saying that, he gently drew the ring from her finger, and threw it into the sea.”

It was strongly suspected that Mary shed a tear at this point of the recital.