her's
tenderness to the couch, and reproachfully demanded of Emmeline if she
had entirely forgotten her promise of composure.

"Do not reprove her, my dear friend," said Mrs. Greville, as she drew
the weeping girl affectionately to her. "My poor Mary is so quickly
agitated now, that the pleasure of seeing three instead of one of our
dear-valued friends has been sufficient of itself to produce this
agitation. And you, too, Herbert," she continued, extending her hand to
the young man, who hastily raised it to his lips, as if to conceal an
emotion which had paled his cheek, almost as a kindred feeling had done
with Mary's. "Have you deserted your favourite pursuits, and left Oxford
at such a busy time, merely to see us before we leave? This is kind,
indeed."

"I left Percy to work for me," answered Herbert, endeavouring to hide
emotion under the veil of gaiety. "As to permit you to leave England
without once more seeing you, and having one more smile from Mary, I
would not, even had the whole honour of my college been at stake. You
must not imagine me so entirely devoted to my hooks, dear Mrs. Greville,
as to believe I possess neither time nor inclination for the gentler
feelings of human nature."

"I know you too well, and have known you too long, to imagine that,"
replied Mrs. Greville, earnestly. "And is Mary so completely to engross
your attention, Emmeline," she added, turning towards the couch where
the friends sat, "that I am not to hear a word of your dear mother,
Caroline, or Ellen? Indeed, I cannot allow that."

The remark quickly produced a general conversation, and Herbert for the
first time addressed Mary. A strange, unconquerable emotion had chained
his tongue as he beheld her; but now, with eager yet respectful
tenderness, he inquired after her health, and how she had borne their
long journey, and other questions, trifling in themselves, but uttered
in a tone that thrilled the young heart of her he addressed.

Herbert knew not how intimately the image of Mary Greville had mingled
with his most secret thoughts, even in his moments of grave study and
earnest application, until he heard she was about to leave England.
Sorrow, disappointment, scarcely defined but bitterly painful, then
occupied his mind, and the knowledge burst with dazzling clearness on
his heart that he loved her; so deeply, so devotedly, that even were
every other wish fulfilled, life, without her, would be a blank. He had
deemed himsel