hat he has put this into
your heart; and if so, if it should be for your deliverance from your
unhappy habit, I dare not say `No.' But I cannot tell what your father
will say. I will put the matter before him, however, and I am sure he
will do what is wise and right."

Sir Thomas did not refuse his consent. He had felt so keenly the
disgrace which his son's increasing excesses were bringing upon the
family, that, sorely as he grieved over the thoughts of parting with
Frank, he was willing that he should join Hubert Oliphant in his voyage,
hoping that the high character and Christian example of the rector's son
might be of benefit to his poor unhappy and erring child. Frank's
countenance brightened when he had obtained his father's consent, and he
at once made known his purpose to Hubert Oliphant, and asked his advice
and help, begging him also to intercede for him with Mary that she would
allow him to hope that, if he returned thoroughly reformed, she would
consent to their engagement being renewed. Hubert, as well as his
father, had felt the deepest pity for Frank, in spite of his grievous
falls, specially when they remembered how, but for his own mother's
opposition, he might now have been one of their little temperance band,
standing firm, happy himself, and helping to make others happy. They
therefore gladly encouraged him to carry out his purpose, promising that
Hubert should introduce him to his Uncle Abraham, who might find for
him, while he remained in the colony, some employment suitable to his
station, where Hubert and his uncle could support and strengthen him by
companionship and counsel. And would Mary hold out any hopes? Poor
Mary, she loved him still. Oh, how dearly! Could she refuse him all
encouragement? No. But she dared not promise unconditionally to be to
him as in former days. She would not renew the engagement now; but she
would wait and see the issue of his present plans.

Thus matters stood, when the last week came that Frank and Hubert would
spend in their English homes. Mary and Frank had met once or twice
since his voyage had been decided on, but it was in the presence of
others. These were sorrowful meetings, yet there was the glow of a
subdued hope, to make them not altogether dark to those who, but for the
miserable tyranny of the drink, might now have been bright with happy
anticipations of the future.

And now it was a sweet autumn evening, when every sight and sound was