“In seasons of trial—­in the hours of gloom and despondency—­appeal to your sister for comfort.  Oh! she is far more capable of advising and cheering than I, who only echo her sentiments.”  Mary pressed her hand to her side, and leaning back, closed her eyes, as if longing for rest.

“I have drawn you on to converse more than was proper—­forgive my thoughtlessness; and, if it would not be impossible, sleep, and be at rest.”  He carefully arranged her shawls, and as she lay a long while with closed eyes, he thought her sleeping, but turning, after a time, was surprised to perceive her gazing earnestly out on the beautiful country through which they now rode.

CHAPTER XXVI.

  “Alas! how light a cause may move
  Dissensions between hearts that love! 
  Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
  And sorrow but more closely tied;
  That stood the storm when waves were rough,
  Yet in the sunny hour, fall off,
  Like ships that have gone down at sea,
  When heaven was all tranquillity!”

  MOORE.

“Peace and quiet and rest for you at last!” cried Dr. Bryant, as they drove into the village of Washington, and, by dint of much trouble and exertion, procured a small and comfortless house.  But a bright fire soon blazed in the broad, deep, old-fashioned chimney—­the windows and doors closed—­their small stock of furniture and provisions unpacked, and a couch prepared for Mary, now far too feeble to sit up.  The members of the safe and happy party gathered about the hearth, and discussed hopefully their future prospects.  Dr. Bryant raised his eyes to the somewhat insecure roof, through which the light of day occasionally stole in, and exclaimed: 

    “‘And doth a roof above me close?’”

“Not such a one as greeted Mazeppa on regaining his senses, Frank; rather insecure, ’tis true, yet somewhat better than the canvas covering for which we have been so grateful of late.”

Dr. Bryant leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece, and fell into a fit of musing, not unusual to him since leaving San Antonio.  The servant disturbed his reverie by requesting room for her cooking utensils.  He raised his head as she spoke, and then, as if utterly unconscious, dropped it again, without reply.

“A cigar for your thoughts, Bryant!” said Mr. Stewart, and linking his arm in that of his friend they turned away.  Florence approached her cousin, and bending over the wasted form, asked if she were not already better.

Mary lifted her arms to her cousin’s neck, and for a moment strove to press her to her heart, but strength had failed rapidly of late, and they sank wearily by her side.  Florence sat down and took both hands between hers.

“Tell me, dear, if you are in pain?”

“No, Florry, I do not suffer much now; I am at present free from all pain.  I have not had an opportunity of talking with you for some time.  Florry, tell me, are you very happy?”