ing she was too much fatigued for supper, threw
herself on her pallet. Aunt Lizzy and Mrs. Carlton were busily
unpacking some of their utensils, and Mary, closely wrapt up, stood
by the blazing logs, thinking how cheerful its ruddy light made every
object seem, and wondering if, after all, the Ghebers were so much to
blame, Mr. Carlton joined her; and after inquiring how she bore
their very fatiguing ride, remarked that in a few more days their
journeyings would be over.

"I shall almost regret its termination. This mode of traveling seems
very pleasant to me, and you, who are strong and well, must enjoy it
much more."

Just then the sound of approaching hoofs caused her to look toward
their wagon; and she perceived two men mounted, one in the act of
descending, while Dr. Bryant advanced quickly to meet him.

Mr. Carlton left her. Silently she looked on, wondering who the
strangers could possibly be, when the words fell with startling
distinctness on her listening ear:

"Dudley Stewart! do my eyes deceive me?"

"Frank Bryant is it possible I meet you here?"

The tones of the last speaker were too familiar to be mistaken. She
trembled from head to foot as the past rose before her. Her first
thought was of Florence.

"Oh, if he is married, this meeting will be terrible!" and her heart
throbbed violently as the gentlemen approached her. Scarce conscious
of her movements, she advanced to meet Dr. Bryant, whose arm was
linked in that of the new comer. They met: the fire-light glowed on
the face of both.

"Mr. Stewart!" and the wasted hand was extended.

"Mary Irving! or is this an illusion?" Tightly the hand was clasped.

"It is I----your old pupil, though so altered, I wonder not that you
fail to recognize me." She lifted her eyes and met Dr. Bryant's gaze,
deep and piercing, as though he were reading her inmost soul. Mr.
Stewart looked long at the face turned toward him.

"Frank, you did not tell me she was with you! Oh, how changed--how
wasted you are! But what means this black dress?" and his fingers
clutched her mourning gown, while his deep tone faltered. Mary drew
closer to his side, and murmured:

"Florry is well: but my uncle has been taken from us." Her head sunk
on her bosom as she spoke.

"Where is Florence?" and he tightly clasped her hand between his own.

A shudder crept over Dr. Bryant, who had not heard their words, and he
walked quickly away.

"Florry is in the tent. Mr. Stewart, we hear