ring in my heart, that are all hushed in the
grave! I am used to it now; but to think of his returning to this
wilderness! When last he left it he had father, brothers, sisters--and
to find all gone!"

"Indeed it will be a sad return," said the old housekeeper, as she wiped
her eyes; "for the Colonel doated on his sister, and she on him, and his
brothers too! Dearly they all loved one another. How in this very room
have I seen them chase each other up and down in their pretty plays,
with their papa's cap and sword, and say they would be soldiers!"

Mary motioned the good woman to be silent; then turning to Mrs Lennox,
she sought to sooth her into composure, and turned, as she always did,
he bright side of the picture to view, by dwelling on the joy her son
would experience in seeing her. Mrs. Lennox shook her head mournfully.

"Alas! he cannot joy in seeing me, such as I am. I have too long
concealed from him my dreary doom; he knows not that these poor eyes are
sealed in darkness! Oh, he will seek to read a mother's fondness there,
and he will find all cold and silent."

"But he will also find you resigned--even contented," said Mary, while
her tears dropped on the hand she held to her lips.

"Yes; God knows I do not repine at His will. It is not for myself these
tears fall, but my son. How will he bear to behold the mother he so
loved and honoured, now blind, bereft, and helpless?" And the wounds of
her heart seemed to bleed afresh at the excitement of even its happiest
emotions--the return of a long absent, much-loved son.

Mary exerted all the powers of her understanding, all the tenderness of
her heart, to dispel the mournful images that pressed on the mind of her
friend; but she found it was not so much her _arguments _as her
_presence_ that produced that effect; and to leave her in her present
situation seemed impossible. In the agitation of her spirits she had
wholly forgotten the occasion that called for Mary's absence, and she
implored her to remain with her till the arrival of her son with an
earnestness that was irresistible.

The thoughts of her cousin's displeasure, should she absent herself upon
such an occasion, caused Mary to hesitate; yet her feelings would not
allow her to name the cause.

"How unfeeling it would sound to talk of balls at such a time," thought
she; "what a painful contrast must it present! Surely Lady Emily will
not blame me, and no one will miss me----" And, in the ardour of