give me more pleasure!' said the Earl,
with heartfelt earnestness. 'I know what she is, and what her mother
has been to me. That aunt of hers is a stiff, wrongheaded person, but
she has brought her up well--very well, and her mother has done the
rest. As to her father, that is a disadvantage; but, from what I hear,
he is never likely to come home; and that is not to be weighed against
what she is herself. Poor Mary! how rejoiced she will be, that her
daughter at least should no longer be under that man's power! It is
well you have not been extravagant, like some young men, Louis. If you
had been running into debt, I should not have been able to gratify your
wishes now; but the property is so nearly disencumbered, that you can
perfectly afford to marry her, with the very fair fortune she must
have, unless her father should gamble it away in Peru.'

This was for Lord Ormersfield the incoherency of joy, and Louis was
quite carried along by his delight. The breakfast-bell rang, and the
Earl rising and drawing his son's arm within his own, pressed it,
saying, 'Bless you, Louis!' It was extreme surprise and pleasure to
Fitzjocelyn, and yet the next moment he recollected that he stood
committed.

How silent he was--how unusually gentle and gracious his father to the
whole party! quite affectionate to Mary, and not awful even to Clara.
There was far too much meaning in it, and Louis feared Mrs. Ponsonby
was seeing through all.

'A morning of Greek would be insupportable,' thought he; and yet he
felt as if the fetters of fate were being fast bound around him, when
he heard his father inviting James to ride with him.

He wandered and he watched, he spoke absently to Clara, but felt as if
robbed of a protector, when she was summoned up-stairs to attend to her
packing, and Mary remained alone, writing one of her long letters to
Lima.

'Now or never,' thought he, 'before my courage cools. I never saw my
father in such spirits!'

He sat down on an ottoman opposite to her, and turned over some
newspapers with a restless rustling.

'Can I fetch anything for you?' asked Mary, looking up.

'No, thank you. You are a great deal too good to me, Mary.'

'I am glad,' said Mary, absently, anxious to go on with her letter;
but, looking up again at him--'I am sure you want something.'

'No--nothing--but that you should be still more good to me.'

'What is the matter?' said Mary, suspecting that he was beginning to
repent o