not trust him. I know Robert Ponsonby
as his wife has never chosen to know him. This was not a time for
disguise, and I told her plainly what I thought of risking her daughter
out there. But she called it Mary's duty--said that he was fully to be
trusted where his child was concerned, and that Mary was no stranger at
Lima, but could take care of herself, and had many friends besides
Oliver Dynevor there. But I told her that go with her I would!'

'You to take the voyage! Was not she glad?'

'I think she was relieved; but she was over-grateful and distressed,
and entreating me to be patient with him. She need not fear. I never
was a hasty man; and I shall only remember that she bears his name, and
that he is Mary's father--provided always that it is fit Mary should
remain with him. Miserable! I can understand that death may well come
as a friend--But her daughter!' he exclaimed, giving way more than he
might have done anywhere but in the dark; 'how can she endure to leave
her to such a father--to such prospects!'

'She knows it is not only to such a father that she leaves her,'
murmured Louis.

'Her words--almost her words,' said the Earl, between earnestness and
impatience; 'but when these things come to pressing realities, it is
past me how such sayings are a consolation.'

'Not if they were no more than sayings.'

There was silence. Louis heard an occasional groaning sigh from his
father, and sat still, with feelings strongly moved, and impelled to
one of his sudden and impetuous resolutions.

The next morning, he ordered his horse, saying he would bring the last
report from the Terrace.

That afternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby observed a tremulousneas in Mary's hand,
and a willingness to keep her face turned away; and, on more minute
glances, a swelling of the eyelids was detected.

'My dear,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 'you should take a walk to-day. Pray go
out with the Conways.'

'Oh no, thank you, mamma.'

'If the cousins come in from Ormersfield, I shall tell Louis to take
you to look at his farm. It would be very good for you--My dear, what
is it?' for Mary's ears and neck, all that she could see, were crimson.

'Oh, mamma! he has been doing it again. I did not mean to have told
you--' said Mary, the strong will to be calm forcing back the tears and
even the flush.

'Nay, dear child, nothing can hurt me now. You must let me share all
with you to the last. What did you say to him?'

'I told him th