s terribly
oppressive to him, he thought that he would go down to the Vicarage.
He had been told by that false one that her tidings had been sent to
her friend. He took his hat and sauntered out across the fields, and
did walk as far as the churchyard gate close to poor Mr. Trumbull's
farm, the very spot on which he had last seen Mary Lowther; but when
he was there he could not endure to go through to the Vicarage. There
is something mean to a man in the want of success in love. If a
man lose a venture of money he can tell his friend; or if he be
unsuccessful in trying for a seat in parliament; or be thrown out of
a run in the hunting-field; or even if he be blackballed for a club;
but a man can hardly bring himself to tell his dearest comrade that
his Mary has preferred another man to himself. This wretched fact
the Fenwicks already knew as to poor Gilmore's Mary; and yet, though
he had come down there, hoping for some comfort, he did not dare to
face them. He went back all alone, and tumbled and tossed and fretted
through the miserable night.

And the next morning was as bad. He hung about the place till about
four, utterly crushed by his burden. It was a Saturday, and when the
postman called no letter had yet been even written in answer to his
uncle's proposition. He was moping about the grounds, with his hands
in his pockets, thinking of this, when suddenly Mrs. Fenwick appeared
in the path before him. There had been another consultation that
morning between herself and her husband, and this visit was the
result of it. He dashed at the matter immediately.

"You have come," he said, "to talk to me about Mary Lowther."

"I have come to say a word, if I can, to comfort you. Frank bade me
to come."

[Illustration: "I have come to say a word, if I can, to
comfort you."]

"There isn't any comfort," he replied.

"We knew that it would be hard to bear, my friend," she said, putting
her hand within his arm; "but there is comfort."

"There can be none for me. I had set my heart upon it so that I
cannot forget it."

"I know you had, and so had we. Of course there will be sorrow, but
it will wear off." He shook his head without speaking. "God is too
good," she continued, "to let such troubles remain with us long."

"You think, then," he said, "that there is no chance?"

What could she say to him? How, under the circumstances of Mary's
engagement, could she encourage his love for her friend?

"I know that ther