aded
to put on a widow's dress, or cover her soft, brown hair with a widow's
cap. She even refused to receive a widow's pension, professing always
a firm belief that her husband was yet living.

Month after month went by, till two long years had passed, and brought
her no word from her beloved George; and still she did not despair.

It was said that she was kept up by happy dreams--that her husband
often came to her in her sleep, and told her to be of good cheer, and
all would yet be well. However that may have been, it is certain that
she never wholly lost heart.

The queen kindly offered Lady Mary apartments at Hampton Court, and she
gladly accepted, for she was poor, and then, she felt that she should
like the melancholy quiet of the old palace far better than the gayety
and bustle of the town. And so she came to Hampton Court to live, and
"wait for my husband," she said, smiling sadly, while her friends shook
their heads, and whispered among themselves that "the poor dear
creature was hardly in her right mind."

The lonely Lady Mary soon became a great favorite with the guards and
servitors at Hampton Court. They all felt for her a tender, respectful
pity, and would do any thing in their power to serve her. Being very
shy, she never liked to visit the show apartments of the palace, at
hours when she might meet strangers. So, the kind porter would often
let her go in by herself, and sometimes even give her the keys, that
she might stay as long as she pleased in any of the halls or galleries.

She was romantic and poetical, and loved much to visit the grand old
hall, on summer evenings, and see the rich sunset light pour in, and
then fade softly out through the gorgeous stained windows. Sometimes,
she would linger here till the long twilight was over, and the
starlight and moonlight struggled through the stained glass, and
faintly lit up the hall, silvering over the faded tapestry and banners,
glistening on the old arms and armor. Strolling up and down the hall,
or seated under one of the great windows, she would think and dream,
and try to forget the sorrows of her humble life in remembering the
misfortunes of the great and royal ones, who had so often walked where
she walked, and sat where she sat.

Once old Roger, the porter, asked her if she were not afraid to stay
there, all alone by herself, so late.

"Why, no," she answered, "what should I be afraid of?"

He shrugged his shoulders, but said no