her
feelings, she promised to remain. Yet she sighed as she sent off her
excuse, and thought of the pleasures she had renounced. But the
sacrifice made, the regrets were soon past; and she devoted herself
entirely to soothing the agitated spirits of her venerable friend.

It is perhaps the simplest and most obvious truth, skilfully
administered, that, in the season of affliction, produces the most
salutary effects upon our mind. Mary was certainly no logician, and all
that she could say might have been said by another; but there is
something in the voice and manner that carries an irresistible influence
along with it--something that tells us our sorrows are felt and
understood, not coldly seen and heard. Mary's well-directed exertions
were repaid with success; she read, talked, played, and sang, not in her
gayest manner, but in that subdued strain which harmonised with the
feelings, while it won upon the attention, and she had at length the
satisfaction of seeing the object of her solicitude restored to her
usual state of calm confiding acquiescence.

"God bless you, my dear Mary!" said she, as they were about to separate
for the night. "He only can repay you for the good you have done me this
day!"

"Ah!" thought Mary, as she tenderly embraced her, "such a blessing is
worth a dozen balls?"

At that moment the sound of a carriage was heard, and an unusual bustle
took place below; but scarcely had they time to notice it ere the door
flew open, and Mrs. Lennox found herself locked in the arms of her son.

For some minutes the tide of feeling was too strong for utterance, and
"My mother!" "My son!" were the only words that either could articulate.
At length, raising his head, Colonel Lennox fixed his eyes on his
mother's face with a gaze of deep and fearful inquiry; but no returning
glance spoke there. With that mournful vacuity, peculiar to the blind,
which is a thousand times more touching than all the varied expression
of the living orb, she continued to regard the vacant space which
imagination had filled with the image she sought in vain to behold.

At this confirmation of his worst fears a shade of the deepest
anguish overspread the visage of her son. He raised his eyes, as in
agony, to heaven--then threw himself on his mother's bosom; and as Mary
hurried from the apartment she heard the sob which burst from his manly
heart, as he exclaimed, "My dear mother! do I indeed find you
thus?"

CHAPTER Xl

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