r you may be in this neighbourhood we shall be
happy to see you.

The state of my arm still prevents me from writing with
ease.

Yours very faithfully,

THOMAS UNDERWOOD.

Newton, when he received this letter, struggled hard to give to it
its proper significance, but he could bring himself to no conclusion
respecting it. Sir Thomas had acknowledged that he was released,--and
that Mary Bonner would also have been released had she placed herself
under any obligation; but Sir Thomas did not say a word from which
his correspondent might gather whether in his present circumstances
he might still be regarded as an acceptable suitor. The letter was
most civil, most courteous, almost cordial in its expression of
sympathy; but yet it did not contain a word of encouragement. It may
be said that the suitor had himself so written to the lady's uncle,
as to place himself out of the way of all further encouragement;--as
to have put it beyond the power of his correspondent to write a word
to him that should have in it any comfort. Certainly he had done so.
He had clearly shown in his second letter that he had abandoned all
idea of making the match as to which he had shown so much urgent
desire in his first letter. He had explained that the marriage would
now be impossible, and had spoken of himself as a ruined, broken man,
all whose hopes were shipwrecked. Sir Thomas could hardly have told
him in reply that Mary Bonner would still be pleased to see him. And
yet Mary Bonner had almost said so. She had been very silent when the
letter was read to her. The news of Mr. Newton's death had already
reached the family at Popham Villa, and had struck them all with awe.
How it might affect the property even Sir Thomas had not absolutely
known at first; though he was not slow to make it understood that in
all probability this terrible accident would be ruinous to the hopes
which his niece had been justified in entertaining. At that hour Mary
had spoken not a word;--nor could she be induced to speak respecting
it either by Patience or Clarissa. Even to them she could not bring
herself to say that if the man really loved her he would still
come to her and say so. There was a feeling of awe upon her which
made her mute, and stern, and altogether unplastic in the hands
of her friends. It seemed even to Patience that Mary was struck
by a stunning sorrow at the ruin which had come upon her lover's
prospects. But it was not so at