the finest endowments of a finely endowed nature; and, all through, the attentive reader of her history will be sure to remark and imitate Mercy’s exquisite and tenacious sensibility to all that is true and good, upright and honourable and noble.  And then, what a blessing it is to a girl of Mercy’s mould to meet at opening womanhood with another woman, be it a mother, a mistress, or a neighbour, whose character then, and as life goes on, can supply the part of the supporting and sheltering oak to the springing and clinging vine.  Christiana being now the new woman she was, as well as a woman of great natural wisdom, dignity, and stability of character, the safety, the salvation of poor motherless Mercy was as good as sure.  Indeed, all Mercy’s subsequent history is only one long and growing tribute to the worth, the constant love, and the sleepless solicitude of this true mother in Israel.

2.  Now, it was so, that, wholly unknown to all her companions, young and old, in her own very remarkable words, Mercy had for a long time been hungering with all her heart to meet with some genuinely good people,—­with some people, as she said herself,—­“of truth and of life.”  These are remarkable words to hear drop from the lips of a young girl, and especially a girl of Mercy’s environment.  Now, had there been anything hollow, had there been one atom of insincerity or exaggeration about Christiana that morning, had she talked too much, had all her actions not far more than borne out all her words, had there not been in the broken-hearted woman a depth of mind and a warmth of heart far beyond all her words, Mercy would never have become a pilgrim.  But the natural dignity of Christiana’s character; her capable, commanding, resolute ways; the reality, even to agony, of her sorrow for her past life—­all taken together with her iron-fast determination to enter at once on a new life—­all that carried Mercy’s heart completely captive.  Mercy felt that there was a solemnity, an awesomeness, and a mystery about her new friend’s experiences and memories that it was not for a child like herself to attempt to intrude into.  But, all the more because of that, a spell of love and fear and reverence lay on Mercy’s heart and mind all her after-days from that so solemn and so eventful morning when she first saw Christiana’s haggard countenance and heard her remorseful cries.  My so churlish carriages to him!  Now, such carriages between man and wife had often pained and made ashamed Mercy’s maidenly heart beyond all expression.  Till she had sometimes said to herself, blushing with shame before herself as she said it, that if ever she was a wife—­may my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth before I say one churlish word to him who is my husband!  And thus it was that nothing that Christiana said that morning in the uprush of her remorse moved Mercy more with pity and with love than just what Christiana beat her breast about as concerning her lost husband.  Mercy used to say that she saw truth and life enough in one hour that morning to sober and to solemnise and to warn her to set a watch on the door of her lips for all her after-days.