had injured
him, and brought on the spitting of blood he was subject to--perhaps it
was not the cold that he caught, that occasioned it. In vain did Mary
try to shut her eyes; her fate pursued her! Henry every day grew worse
and worse.

CHAP. XXVII.

Oppressed by her foreboding fears, her sore mind was hurt by new
instances of ingratitude: disgusted with the family, whose misfortunes
had often disturbed her repose, and lost in anticipated sorrow, she
rambled she knew not where; when turning down a shady walk, she
discovered her feet had taken the path they delighted to tread. She saw
Henry sitting in his garden alone; he quickly opened the garden-gate,
and she sat down by him.

"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary;
but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon
portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in
the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to
thee--and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my
heart.--I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou
art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined
existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass
me--ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed
the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course--try to add
to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that
we could have died together--or that I could live to shield thee from
the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an asylum in
these arms--a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy
griefs--" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure--he felt her
throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the
conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow--too surely do I
feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so
pure, that death cannot extinguish it--or tear away the impression thy
virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee--"

"Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee
and Ann--while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"--She grasped
his hand.

"There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's--" His voice
faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost
suffocated--they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked
slowly to the gard