’At the time; but think what it would be not to be able to remember happy times without remorse.’

‘Then you do mean to recollect, Mary?’

’I trust to bring myself to remember rightly and wisely.  I shall try to set it for a reward for myself to cure me of repinings,’ said Mary, looking into his face, as if the remembrance of it must bring cheerfulness and refreshment.

’And when shall I not think, Mary!  When I leave off work, I shall want you for a companion; when I go to work, the thought must stir me up.  Your judgment must try my own.’

’Oh, hush, Louis! this is not good.  Be yourself, and be more than yourself, and only think of the past as a time when we had a great deal of pleasantness, and you did me much good.’

‘Did I?’

’Yes; I see it now I am with Aunt Melicent.  You put so many more thoughts in my head, and showed me that so much more was good and wholesome than I used to fancy.  Dear mamma once said you were educating me; and I hope to go on, and not let your lessons waste away.’

’Nay, Mary, you won good everywhere.  If you had not been Mary, I might have made you a great goose.  But you taught me all the perseverance I ever had.  And oh!  Mary, I don’t wonder you do not trust it.’

‘There is the forbidden subject,’ said Mary, firmly.

That was the sort of conversation into which they fell now and then during those last days of busy sadness.

Truly it could have been worse.  Suffering by their own fault would have rent them asunder more harshly, and Louis’s freedom from all fierceness and violence softened all ineffably to Mary.  James Frost’s letter of fiery indignation, almost of denunciation, made her thankful that he was not the party concerned; and Louis made her smile at Isabel’s copy of all his sentiments in ladylike phrases.

The last day came.  Louis would not be denied seeing Mary on board the Valdivia; and, in spite of all Miss Ponsonby’s horror of railways, he persuaded her to trust herself under his care to Liverpool.  She augured great things from the letter which she had entrusted to Mary, and in which she had spoken of Lord Fitzjocelyn in the highest terms her vocabulary could furnish.

They parted bravely.  Spectators hindered all display of feeling, and no one cried, except Miss Ponsonby.

’Good-bye, Louis; I will not forget your messages to Tom Madison.  My love to your father and Aunt Catharine.’

‘Good-bye, Mary; I shall see Tom and Chimborazo yet.’

CHAPTER V.

THE NEW WORLD.

 Still onward, as to southern skies,
 We spread our sails, new stars arise,
 New lights upon the glancing tide,
 Fresh hues where pearl and coral hide: 
 What are they all but tokens true
 Of grace for ever fresh and new! 
                        Prayers for Emigrants.