t would be selfish could
not turn out well.'

'If you could be sure of his feelings--if he were only less strangely
youthful--No,' she added, breaking off, as if rebuking herself, 'it is
not to be thought of, but I do not wonder at you, my poor Mary--I never
saw any one so engaging, nor in whom I could place such confidence.'

'I am so glad!' said Mary, gratefully. 'You used not to have that
confidence.'

'I feared his being led. Now I feel as sure as any one can dare of his
goodness. But I have been talking to him about self-reliance and
consistency. He is so devoid of ambition, and so inert and diffident
when not in an impetuous fit, that I dread his doing no good as well as
no evil.'

Mary shook her head. Did she repress the expression of the sense that
her arm had sometimes given him steadiness and fixed his aim?'

'The resemblance to his mother struck me more than ever,' continued
Mrs. Ponsonby. 'There is far more mind and soul, but almost the same
nature--all bright, indolent sweetness, craving for something to lean
on, but he shows what she might have been with the same principles.
Dear boy! may he do well!'

'He will be very happy with Miss Conway,' said Mary. 'She will learn
to appreciate all he says and does--her enthusiasm will spur him on. I
shall hear of them.'

The unbreathed sigh seemed to be added to the weight of oppression on
Mary's patient breast; but she kept her eye steady, her brow unruffled.

All the joys did indeed appear to be passing from her with her mother,
and she felt as if she should never know another hour of gladness, nor
of rest in full free open-hearted confidence, but she could not dwell
either on herself or on the future, and each hour that her mother was
spared to her was too precious to be wasted or profaned by aught that
was personal.

Mrs. Ponsonby herself realized the weary soon to be at rest, the
harassed well nigh beyond the reach of troubling. She treated each
earthly care and interest as though there were peace in laying it down
for the last time. At intervals, as she was able, she wrote a long
letter to her husband, to accompany the tidings of her death; and she
held several conversations with Mary on her conduct for the future.
She hoped much from Mary's influence, for Mr. Ponsonby was fond of his
daughter, and would not willingly display himself in his worst colours
before her; and Mary's steadiness of spirits and nerves might succeed,
where her own l