ty.

Everything transpires quickly in a small house, and just as she had
finished packing, in came Mary in violent distress. "What, is it true?
Are you going to leave me, now my heart is broken? Oh, nurse! nurse!"

This was too much even for stout-hearted Nancy Easton.

"Oh, my child! my child!" she cried, and sat down on her box sobbing
violently, Mary infolded in her arms, and then they sat crying and
rocking together.

"Papa does not love me as I do him," sobbed Mary, turning bitter for the
first time. "He breaks my heart, and sends you away the same day, for
fear you should comfort me."

"No, my dear," said Mrs. Easton; "you are wrong. He does not send me
away; I go by my own wish."

"Oh, nurse, you desert me! then you don't know what has happened."

"Oh yes, I do; I know all about it; and I'm leaving because I can't do
what he wishes. You see it is this way, Miss Mary--your father has been
very good to me, and I am his debtor. I must not stay here and help you
to thwart him--that would be ungrateful--and yet I can't take his side
against you. Master has got reasons why you should not marry Walter
Clifford, and--"

"He told me so himself," said Mary.

"Ah, but he didn't tell you his reasons."

"No."

"No more must I. But, Miss Mary, I'll tell you this. I know his reasons
well; his reasons why you should not marry Walter Clifford are my reasons
why you should marry no other man."

"Oh, nurse! oh, you dear, good angel!"

"So when friends differ like black and white, 'tis best to part. I'm
going to my sister Gilbert this afternoon, and to-morrow to my sister
Sally, at her hotel."

"Oh, nurse, must you? must you? I shall have not a friend to advise or
console me till Mr. Hope comes back. Oh, I hope that won't be long now."

Mrs. Easton dropped her hands upon her knees and looked at Mary Bartley.

"What, Miss Mary, would you go to Mr. Hope in such a matter as this?
Surely you would not have the face?"

"Not take my breaking heart to Mr. Hope!" cried Mary, with a sudden
flood of tears. "You might as well tell me not to lay my trouble before
my God. Dear, dear Mr. Hope, who saved my life in those deep waters, and
then cried over me, darling dear! I think more of that than of his
courage. Do you think I am blind? He loves me better than my own father
does; and it is not a young man's love; it is an angel's. Not cry to
_him_ when I am in the deep waters of affliction? I could not write of
such a thing t