nce to herself, and, as she believed, to
the other man also. Was she not justified in so thinking? Mr Gordon
had come home, travelling a great distance, at much risk to his
property, at great loss of time, through infinite trouble and danger,
merely to ask her to be his wife. Had a letter reached her from him
but a week ago bidding her to come, would she not have gone through
all the danger and all the trouble? How willingly would she have
gone! It was the one thing that she desired; and, as far as she could
understand the signs which he had given, it was the one, one thing
which he desired. He had made his appeal to that other man, and, as
far as she could understand the signs which had reached her, had been
referred with confidence to her decision. Now she was told that the
chance of changing her mind was still in her power.

The matter was one of terrible importance; but was its importance
to Mr Whittlestaff as great as to John Gordon? She put herself
altogether out of the question. She acknowledged to herself, with a
false humility, that she was nobody;--she was a poor woman living on
charity, and was not to be thought of when the position of these two
men was taken into consideration. It chanced that they both wanted
her. Which wanted the most? Which of the two would want her for the
longest? To which would her services be of the greater avail in
assisting him to his happiness. Could there be a doubt? Was it not
in human nature that she should bind herself to the younger man, and
with him go through the world, whether safely or in danger?

But though she had had time to allow these questions to pass through
her mind between the utterance of Mr Whittlestaff's words and her
entrance into Mr Hall's drawing-room, she did not in truth doubt.
She knew that she had made up her mind on the matter. Mr Gordon
would in all probability have no opportunity of saying another word
to her. But let him say what word he might, it should be in vain.
Nothing that he could say, nothing that she could say, would avail
anything. If this other man would release her,--then indeed she would
be released. But there was no chance of such release coming. In
truth, Mary did not know how near the chance was to her;--or rather,
how near the chance had been. He had now positively made up his mind,
and would say not a word further unless she asked him. If Mary said
nothing to John Gordon on this evening, he would take an opportunity
before they le