Mary, she was happy; the past seemed as a dim and troubled vision;
the smile of him she loved was ever near her, his low sweet voice was
sounding in her ear. A calm had stolen over her, a holy soothing calm.
She did not speak her thoughts to Herbert, for she saw that he still
hoped on; they were together, and the present was enough. But silently
she prayed that his mind might be so prepared, so chastened, that when
his eyes were opened, the truth might not be so terrible to bear.

CHAPTER VII.

It was indeed a day of happiness that beheld the arrival of Mrs.
Greville and Mary at Oakwood, unalloyed to them, but not so, alas! to
those who received them. Mrs. Hamilton pressed the faded form of Mary to
her heart, she kissed her repeatedly, but it was long before she could
speak the words of greeting; she looked on her and on her son, and tears
rose so thick and fast, she was compelled to turn away to hide them.
Ellen alone retained her calmness. In the fond embrace that had passed
between her and Mary, it is true her lip had quivered and her cheek had
paled, but her agitation passed unnoticed.

"It was _her_ voice, my Mary, that roused me to exertion, it was her
representations that bade me not despair," whispered Herbert, as he hung
over Mary's couch that evening, and perceived Ellen busily employed in
arranging her pillows. "When, overwhelmed by the deep misery occasioned
by your letter, I had no power to act, it was her ready thought that
dictated to my father the course he so successfully pursued." Mary
pressed the hand of Ellen within both her own, and looked up gratefully
in her face. A faint smile played round the orphan's lips, but she made
no observation in reply.

A very few weeks elapsed before the dreaded truth forced itself upon the
minds of all, even on her mother, that Mary was sinking, surely sinking,
there was no longer hope. Devotedly as her friends loved her, they could
not sorrow, before her they could not weep. She was spared all bodily
suffering save that proceeding from debility, so extreme she could not
walk across the room without assistance. No pain distorted the
expression of her features, which, in this hour of approaching death,
looked more lovely than they had ever seemed before; her soft blue eye
beamed at times with a celestial light, and her fair hair shaded a brow
and cheek so transparent, every blue vein could be clearly seen. One
thought alone gave her pain, her Herbert she fel