ll communion with them had long ceased; and the utterly
desolate and isolated situation of Mary St. Quentin was nearly
unparalleled. My family, who were of her father's profession, were much
affected by it, and took a warm interest in her fortunes. They procured
for her the small pension accorded to the orphans of naval or military
men, with contributions from several similar funds; and finally received
her into our house, until she could hear of a situation as governess,
for which her dearly-purchased education admirably fitted her.

I remember well the evening she first came among us. How sad and pale
she looked in her solemn black dress, and how low and mournful her voice
sounded! Poor girl! a rough world was before her; a fiercer and more
terrible conflict for her timid nature than contending with the storms
and battles in which her father had borne a part. We pitied her greatly,
and strove to soothe and cheer her with all our little skill; though we
certainly did not adopt the most likely means to achieve our object,
when some days afterward we told her how we had watched her poor father
as he waited for the post. Then for the first time since her coming
among us we saw her weep; and she murmured, "If he could have seen the
letter!"

After a time the exertions of her friends procured her a situation, and
she left us. How anxiously _we_ then watched for the letter that was to
tell us that our dear new friend was safe, and well, and comfortable;
and it did not tarry! Mary wrote gratefully, and even cheerfully. She
had been kindly received; the home in which her lot was cast was a
splendid chateau, in which all the comforts and luxuries of life
abounded. Moreover, the family treated her as a gentlewoman, and her
pupils were clever and well-trained. She was very thankful for the
career of toil and seclusion to which circumstances condemned her--very
willing to do her duty gladly in that state of life in which it had
pleased God to place her. She remained with this family four or five
years, passing her occasional holidays with us; and we learned to love
her as a sister, and to look up to her for advice, which was ever as
wise as it was gentle and affectionate. She was a very sweet
creature--so quietly gay, so unselfish, so contented, and so modestly
intelligent, that I can not remember that I have ever met with so
perfect a woman. The last holiday she spent with us we saw a change in
her, however; and it must have bee