hall try
to set it for a reward for myself to cure me of repinings,' said Mary,
looking into his face, as if the remembrance of it must bring
cheerfulness and refreshment.

'And when shall I not think, Mary! When I leave off work, I shall want
you for a companion; when I go to work, the thought must stir me up.
Your judgment must try my own.'

'Oh, hush, Louis! this is not good. Be yourself, and be more than
yourself, and only think of the past as a time when we had a great deal
of pleasantness, and you did me much good.'

'Did I?'

'Yes; I see it now I am with Aunt Melicent. You put so many more
thoughts in my head, and showed me that so much more was good and
wholesome than I used to fancy. Dear mamma once said you were
educating me; and I hope to go on, and not let your lessons waste away.'

'Nay, Mary, you won good everywhere. If you had not been Mary, I might
have made you a great goose. But you taught me all the perseverance I
ever had. And oh! Mary, I don't wonder you do not trust it.'

'There is the forbidden subject,' said Mary, firmly.

That was the sort of conversation into which they fell now and then
during those last days of busy sadness.

Truly it could have been worse. Suffering by their own fault would
have rent them asunder more harshly, and Louis's freedom from all
fierceness and violence softened all ineffably to Mary. James Frost's
letter of fiery indignation, almost of denunciation, made her thankful
that he was not the party concerned; and Louis made her smile at
Isabel's copy of all his sentiments in ladylike phrases.

The last day came. Louis would not be denied seeing Mary on board the
Valdivia; and, in spite of all Miss Ponsonby's horror of railways, he
persuaded her to trust herself under his care to Liverpool. She
augured great things from the letter which she had entrusted to Mary,
and in which she had spoken of Lord Fitzjocelyn in the highest terms
her vocabulary could furnish.

They parted bravely. Spectators hindered all display of feeling, and
no one cried, except Miss Ponsonby.

'Good-bye, Louis; I will not forget your messages to Tom Madison. My
love to your father and Aunt Catharine.'

'Good-bye, Mary; I shall see Tom and Chimborazo yet.'

CHAPTER V.

THE NEW WORLD.

Still onward, as to southern skies,
We spread our sails, new stars arise,
New lights upon the glancing tide,
Fresh hues where pearl and coral hide:
What are they all but