him and
gave him her hand. "You were a good friend to me that bitter day," said
she. "Now let me be yours. Do not bide here: 'twill but vex you."

"I am going, madam," said Sir George, stiffly. "I but wait to see the
man you prefer to me. If he is not too unworthy of you, I'll go, and
trouble you no more. I have learned his name."

Mercy blushed; for she knew Paul Carrick would bear no comparison with
George Neville.

The next day Sir George took leave to observe that this Paul Carrick did
not seem to appreciate her preference so highly as he ought. "I
understand he has never been here."

Mercy colored, but made no reply; and Sir George was sorry he had
taunted her. He followed her about, and showed her great attention, but
not a word of love.

There were fine trout streams in the neighborhood, and he busied himself
fishing, and in the evening read aloud to Mercy, and waited to see Paul
Carrick.

Paul never came; and from a word Mercy let drop, he saw that she was
mortified. Then, being no tyro in love, he told her he had business in
Lancaster, and must leave her for a few days. But he would return, and
by that time perhaps Paul Carrick would be visible.

Now his main object was to try the effect of correspondence.

Every day he sent her a long love-letter from Lancaster.

Paul Carrick, who, in absenting himself for a time, had acted upon his
sister's advice, rather than his own natural impulse, learned that Mercy
received a letter every day. This was a thing unheard of in that
parish.

So then Paul defied his sister's advice, and presented himself to Mercy;
when the following dialogue took place.

"Welcome home, Mercy."

"Thank you, Paul."

"Well, I'm single still, lass."

"So I hear."

"I'm come to say let bygones be bygones."

"So be it," said Mercy, dryly.

"You have tried a gentleman; now try a farrier."

"I have; and he did not stand the test."

"Anan."

"Why did you not come near me for ten days?"

Paul blushed up to the eyes. "Well," said he, "I'll tell you the truth.
'T was our Jess advised me to leave you quiet just at first."

"Ay, ay. I was to be humbled, and made to smart for my fault; and then I
should be thankful to take you. My lad, if ever you should be really in
love, take a friend's advice; listen to your own heart, and not to
shallow advisers. You have mortified a poor sorrowful creature, who was
going to make a sacrifice for you; and you have lost her forever."

"Wha