t you should have such a mission," she replied.

Then he explained to her that he was not thinking of himself, sad as
the occasion would be to him. But if this great sorrow could have
been spared to his friend! It could not, however, be spared. Mary was
quite firm, at any rate as to that. No consideration should induce
her now to marry Mr. Gilmore. Mr. Fenwick, on her behalf, might
express his regret for the grief she had caused in any terms that
he might think fit to use,--might humiliate her to the ground if he
thought it proper. And yet, had not Mr. Gilmore sinned more against
her than had she against him? Had not the manner in which he had
grasped at her hand been unmanly and unworthy? But of this, though
she thought much of it, she said nothing now to Mr. Fenwick. This
commission to the Vicar was that he should make her free; and in
doing this he might use what language, and make what confessions he
pleased. He must, however, make her free.

After breakfast he started upon his errand with a very heavy heart.
He loved his friend dearly. Between these two there had grown up now
during a period of many years, that undemonstrative, unexpressed,
almost unconscious affection which, with men, will often make the
greatest charm of their lives, but which is held by women to be quite
unsatisfactory and almost nugatory. It may be doubted whether either
of them had ever told the other of his regard. "Yours always," in
writing, was the warmest term that was ever used. Neither ever
dreamed of suggesting that the absence of the other would be a cause
of grief or even of discomfort. They would bicker with each other,
and not unfrequently abuse each other. Chance threw them much
together, but they never did anything to assist chance. Women, who
love each other as well, will always be expressing their love, always
making plans to be together, always doing little things each for the
gratification of the other, constantly making presents backwards and
forwards. These two men had never given any thing, one to the other,
beyond a worn-out walking-stick, or a cigar. They were rough to each
other, caustic, and almost ill-mannered. But they thoroughly trusted
each other; and the happiness, prosperity, and, above all, the honour
of the one were, to the other, matters of keenest moment. The bigger
man of the two, the one who felt rather than knew himself to be the
bigger, had to say that which would go nigh to break his friend's
heart, and