“Pardon me, Miss Florence, if I have failed duly to appreciate your kind efforts; though candor compels the avowal, that I was not aware any extraordinary exertion was made in my behalf.”

“Really, Frank, I should say you have made considerable progress in raising yourself in your own estimation since last I heard you converse.  Mrs. Carlton, I am afraid this climate is unfavorable for the growth of at least two of the cardinal virtues.”

“Your insinuation is contemptible, because utterly without grounds.  Miss Florence, I appeal to you, as worthy the privilege of acting as umpire in this important discussion.  Have you ever observed aught in my conduct indicating a want of humility?”

“Unfortunately, Doctor, should I return an answer in your favor, it would be at the expense of a virtue equally entitled to pre-eminence.”

“To the very candid Miss Hamilton, I must return thanks for her disinterested and very flattering decision.”

Here the conversation was interrupted by a call to the evening meal, and gladly they obeyed the welcome summons.

Florence glancing round perceived the absence of her cousin, and inquired the cause.

“I dare say she is asleep, poor child,” said Aunt Lizzy.

“She is trying to rest, Miss Hamilton, and I would not advise any interruption.  She needs quiet, for she was sorely tried by this day’s fatigues,” observed Dr. Bryant.

“I am afraid so,” replied Florence, an anxious look again settling on her face.  “Oh, I wish on her account we could reach a place of rest and safety.  I fear she has failed in strength since leaving San Antonio.”

“How sadly changed she has become:  had she not spoken in her old, familiar tones, I should not have known her.  I earnestly hope there is nothing serious in her attack, and that she will soon regain her former bloom; it pains me to see her so altered,” said Mr. Stewart.

“She cannot possibly improve while subjected to the fatigues of this journey.  I feared she was scarce able to endure it,” answered Frank.

The conversation turned on more agreeable topics, and soon—­by all but Frank, who could not forget her look of anguish—­she was for a time forgotten.

Mary heard from her couch of suffering the cheerful blending of voices, though nothing distinct reached her ear; and as none approached to soothe her by affectionate inquiries, a sense of neglect stole over her.  But too habitually accustomed to judge gently of others and forget herself, it passed quickly away.  She knelt on her pallet, and clasping her thin hands, raised her heart to God, in the low, feeble tone of one well-nigh spent: