“Will you, indeed!” returned Mark, elevating his person, and looking at the old lady with flashing eyes.  “And pray, what will you say to the old gentleman?”

“Fine doings, indeed, for the likes o’ you to come creeping into a decent woman’s house when she is away!” resumed Mrs. Lee.  “Jenny’s not the kind you’re looking after, let me tell you.  What would your poor dear mother, who is in heaven, God bless her! think, if she knew of this?”

The respectful and even affectionate reference to his mother, softened the feelings of Mark, who was growing very angry.

“Good morning, old lady,” said he, as he turned away; “you don’t know what you’re talking about!” and springing from the door, he hurried off with rapid steps.  On reaching a wood that lay at some distance off, Mark sought a retired spot, near where a quiet stream went stealing noiselessly along amid its alder and willow-fringed banks, and sitting down upon a grassy spot, gave himself up to meditation.  Little inclined was he now for sport.  The birds sung in the trees above him, fluttered from branch to branch, and even dipped their wings in the calm waters of the stream, but he heeded them not.  He had other thoughts.  Greatly had old Mrs. Lee, in the blindness of her suddenly aroused fears, wronged the young man.  If the sphere of innocence that was around the beautiful girl had not been all powerful to subdue evil thoughts and passions in his breast, the reference to his mother would have been effectual to that end.

For half an hour had Mark remained seated alone, busy, with thoughts and feelings of a less wandering and adventurous character than usually occupied his mind, when, to his surprise, he saw Jenny Lawson advancing along a path that led through a portion of the woods, with a basket on her arm.  She did not observe him until she had approached within some fifteen or twenty paces; when he arose to his feet, and she, seeing him, stopped suddenly, and looked pale and alarmed.

“I am glad to meet you again, Jenny,” said Mark, going quickly toward her, and taking her hand, which she yielded without resistance.  “Don’t be frightened.  Mrs. Lee did me wrong.  Heaven knows I would not hurt a hair of your head!  Come and sit down with me in this quiet place, and let us talk about my mother.  You say you knew her and loved her.  Let her memory make us friends.”

Mark’s voice trembled with feeling.  There was something about the girl that made the thought of his mother a holier and tenderer thing.  He had loved his mother intensely, and since her death, had felt her loss as the saddest calamity that had, or possibly ever could, befall him.  Afloat on the stormy sea of human life, he had seemed like a mariner without helm or compass.  Strangely enough, since meeting with Jenny at the cottage a little while before, the thought of her appeared to bring his mother nearer to him; and when, so unexpectedly, he saw her approaching him in the woods, he felt momentarily, that it was his mother’s spirit guiding her thither.