in her
home, and every movement of her life seemed impelled by the desire to
repay the wealth of affection that was lavished upon her. It was
impossible to see such a being daily in the intimacy of her home
associations--the sphere in which her gentle spirit shone most
brightly--without loving her; and Herbert soon felt that he loved her,
yet he added in his thoughts "in all honor," and to him it would have
seemed little honorable to attempt to win this priceless treasure from
him to whose generosity he had owed his place in her circle. Mrs.
Latimer, though she did not fear for her son's honor, trembled for his
future peace as she marked the sadness which often stole over him, after
spending an hour in the society of this lovely girl; but Mrs. Latimer
was a wise woman--she knew that speech is to such emotions often as the
lighted match to a magazine, and she kept silence.

For almost a year after his introduction, Herbert continued in daily
intercourse with Mary Cavendish to drink fresh draughts of love, yet so
carefully did he guard his manner, that no suspicion of his warmer
emotions threw a shadow over her friendship, or checked the frankness
with which she unveiled to him the rich treasures of her mind and heart.
It was in the autumn succeeding their first acquaintance that Mr. and
Mrs. Cavendish issued cards for a large party at their house. It would
be too gay a scene for the quiet taste of Mrs. Latimer, but Herbert
would be there, and at the request of Mrs. Cavendish he promised to come
early. The promise was kept. He arrived half an hour at least before
any other guest, bringing with him a bouquet of rare and beautiful
flowers for Mary. As he entered the hall he heard a slight scream from
the parlor beside whose open door he stood. The scream was in a voice to
whose lightest tone his heart responded, and in an instant, he was
beside Mary Cavendish, had clasped her in his arms, and pressing her
closely to his person, was endeavoring to extinguish with his hands the
flames that enveloped her. The evening was cold: there was a fire in the
stove, before which Mary stood arranging some flowers on the
mantel-piece, when the door was opened for him. The sudden rush of air
had wafted her light, floating drapery of gauze and lace into the fire,
and in a moment all was in a blaze. Fortunate was it for her, that under
this light, flimsy drapery, was worn a dress of stouter texture and less
combustible material--a rich sat