‘Umph!’

’I am not sure that it is not his good qualities that make him so hard to deal with.  The want of selfishness and vanity seem to take away two common springs of action, but I do believe that patience will bring out something much higher when you have found the way to reach it.’

‘That I certainly have not, if it be there!’

‘To cultivate his sympathies with you,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, hesitating, and not venturing to look into his face.

‘Enough, Mary,’ he said, hastily.  You said the like to me once before.’

‘But,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, firmly, ’here there is a foundation to work on.  There are affections that only need to be drawn out to make you happy, and him—­not, perhaps, what you now wish, but better than you wish.’

His face had become hard as he answered, ’Thank you, Mary; you have always meant the best.  You have always been kind to me, and to all belonging to me.’

Her heart ached for the father and son, understanding each other so little, and paining each other so much, and she feared that the Earl’s mind had been too much cramped, and his feelings too much chilled, for such softening on his part as could alone, as it seemed, prevent Louis from being estranged, and left to his naturally fickle and indolent disposition.

Mary had in the mean time completed her copies, and left them on the Earl’s table; and wishing neither to be thanked nor contrasted with Louis, she put on her bonnet, to go in search of Aunt Catharine.  Not finding her in the garden, she decided on visiting old Gervas and his wife, who had gladly caught at her offer of reading to them.  The visit over, she returned by the favourite path above Ferny dell, gathering primroses, and meditating how to stir up Louis to finish off his rocky steps, and make one piece of work complete.  She paused at the summit of them, and was much inclined to descend and examine what was wanting, when she started at hearing a rustling beneath, then a low moan and an attempt at a call.  The bushes and a projecting rock cut off her view; but, in some trepidation, she called out, ‘Is any one there?’ Little did she expect the answer—­

‘It is I—­Fitzjocelyn.  Come!—­I have had a fall.’

‘I’m coming—­are you hurt?’ she cried, as with shaking limbs she prepared to begin the descent.

‘Not that way,’ he called; ‘it gave way—­go to the left.’

She was almost disobeying; but, recalling herself to thought, she hurried along the top till the bank became practicable, and tore her way through brake and brier, till she could return along the side of the stream.

Horror-struck, she perceived that a heavy stone had given way and rolled down, bearing Louis with it, to the bottom, where he lay, ghastly and helpless.  She called to him; and he tried to raise himself, but sank back.  ’Mary! is it you?  I thought I should have died here,’ he said; as she knelt by him, exclaiming, ’Oh, Louis!  Louis! what a dreadful fall!’