Ella gazed at her, smiling. "We know not our own hearts," she said; "and, perhaps, dear lady, you might be jealous yet."
"No, no!" cried Mary, with one of her own joyous laughs again. "Never, now. I am of a confiding nature, my poor girl; and I soon conquer those bitter enemies of peace, called doubts."
Ella Brune gazed round the room. "If I had some instrument, I could sing to you on that theme," she said.
"Nay, you can sing without, Ella," replied the lady. "I have none here, alas!"
"Well, I will sing it, then," answered Ella Brune; "'tis an old ditty, and a simple one;" and, leaning her hand on Mary Markham's knee, she sang:--
SONG.
"Trust! trust! sweet lady, trust!
'Tis a shield of seven-fold steel.
Cares and sorrows come they must;
But sharper far is doubt to feel.