heartbreaking matter either, my girl!'

This was too much for Mary, and when her father would have kissed her,
she laid her head on his shoulder and wept silently but bitterly.

'Ha! what's all this? Why, you don't pretend to care for a young
mercenary scamp like that?'

'He is the noblest, most generous, most disinterested man I ever knew!'
said Mary, standing apart, and speaking clearly. 'I give him up
because--you command me, father, but I will not hear him spoken of
unjustly.'

'Ha! ha! so long as you give him up, we won't quarrel. He shall be all
that, and more too, if you like; and we'll never fight over the matter
again, since I have you safe back, my child.'

'I do not mean to mention him again,' said Mary; 'I wish to obey you.'

'Then there's an end of the matter. You'll get over it, my girl, and
we'll find some honest man worth two of your niggardly, proud-spirited
earls. There, I know you are a reasonable girl that can be silent, and
not go on teasing. So, Mary, you may have a cup of tea for me
to-morrow in the sala, like old times. Goodnight, my dear.'

Waiting upon himself! That was the reward that Mr. Ponsonby held out
to his daughter for crushing her first love!

But it was a reward. Anything that drew her father nearer to her was
received with gratitude by Mary, and the words of kindness in some
degree softened the blow. She had never had much hope, though now she
found it had been more than she had been willing to believe; and even
now she could not absolutely cease to entertain some hopes of the
results of Oliver's return, nor silence one lingering fancy that Louis
might yet wait unbound; although she told herself of his vacillation
between herself and Isabel, of his father's influence, and of the
certainty that he would see many more worthy of his love than herself.
Not any one who could love him so well--oh no! But when Mary found her
thoughts taking this turn, she rose up as she lay, clasped her hands
together, and repeated half aloud again and again, 'Be Thou my all!'

And by the morning, though Mary's cheek was very white, and her eyes
sunken for want of sleep, she had a cheerful word for her father, and a
smile, the very sight of which would have gone to the heart of any one
of those from whom he had cut her off.

Then she wrote her letters. It was not so hard to make this final
severance as it had been to watch Louis's face, and think of the pain
she had to inflict. Many