y wants have been few. I have gold to purchase flattery,
if I desired it--to buy tongues to tell me I am not deformed; but I
despise them. My soul partakes not of my body's infirmities--it has
sought a spirit to love, that would love it in return. Maria, has it
found one?"

Maria was startled--she endeavoured to speak, but her tongue
faltered--tears gathered in her eyes, and her looks bespoke pity and
astonishment.

"Fool! fool!" exclaimed the cripple, "I have been deceived! Maria
_pities_ me!--_only pities me_! Hate me, Maria--despise me as does the
world. I can bear hatred--I can endure scorn--I can repel them!--but
_pity_ consumes me!--and _pity_ from you! Fool! fool!" he added,
"wherefore dreamed I there was one that would look with love on deformed
Ebenezer? Farewell, Maria! farewell!--remember, but do not pity me!" and
he hurried from her side.

She would have detained him--she would have told him that she reverenced
him--that she esteemed him; but he hastened away, and she felt also that
she _pitied_ him--and _love_ and _pity_ can never dwell in the same
breast for the same object. Maria stood and wept.

Ebenezer returned to his cottage; but the hope which he had cherished,
the dream which he had fed, died reluctantly. He accused himself for
acting precipitately--he believed he had taken the tear of affection for
pity. His heart was at war with itself. Day after day he revisited the
mountainside, and the path in the wood where they had met; but Maria
wandered there no longer. His feelings, his impatience, his incertitude,
rose superior to the ridicule of man; he resolved to visit the mansion
of his neighbour, where Maria and her friends were residing. The
dinner-bell was ringing as he approached the house; but he knew little
of the etiquette of the world, and respected not its forms. The owner of
the mansion welcomed him with the right hand of cordiality, for his
discourse in the cottage had charmed him; others expressed welcome, for
some who before had mocked now respected him; and Maria took his hand
with a look of joy and her wonted sweetness. The heart of Ebenezer felt
assured. Francis Dorrington alone frowned, and rose not to welcome him.

The dinner-bell again rang; the Lady Helen had not arrived, and dinner
was delayed for her, but she came not. They proceeded to the
dining-room. Ebenezer offered his arm to Maria, and she accepted it.
Francis Dorrington muttered angry words between his teeth. The dinn