"The fact is," he said, "I have had a letter from him this morning, which may possibly damp your spirits a little for the moment, although it can, of course, be of no ultimate importance, only defer expected happiness to a remoter period."
Mary, drying her eyes, anxiously waited for him to proceed.
"Trevor writes me word that his marriage, owing, it seems, to some rather serious business, must of necessity be postponed, he does not say till when. But you see," he continued, breaking off into a more cheerful and encouraging tone of voice, "there is nothing so fatally unfortunate in this."
No, indeed, it was not the bare fact those words conveyed which bowed down Mary's trembling spirit, and gave such wan and wintry sadness to the smile with which she attempted to acknowledge her cousin's comforting words. It was not the mere intelligence that her marriage was postponed which fell like a cloud upon her soul, it was that dark presentiment which often on occasions of less or greater magnitude assails the mind of man, that the happy prosperity of his life has reached its culminating point: that the point is turned, and henceforth it must take a downward course.
"But why," she faltered, now glancing towards Mrs. de Burgh, who sat silent and distressed, "why did he not write and tell me this himself?"
"I think, dear Mary, Louis had better tell you what Eugene said in his letter, which was to him, not to me. I will come back presently," and rising, Mrs. de Burgh kissed Mary's pale cheek, and gladly made her escape from the thing she particularly dreaded—painful circumstances over which she could have no control; so Mary once more turned her plaintive glance of inquiry upon her cousin Louis.
"Here is his letter!" Mr. de Burgh replied; "if you would like to read it, it may be as well that you should do so, as it is all I know, or understand about the matter."
Mary took the letter in her trembling hand, and steadying it as she could—read in her lover's hand-writing the following communication, which, from the concise, unvarnished manner in which it was conveyed, led one rather to suspect that it had never been intended for the eye of his tender-hearted lady-love, but, with the well-known proverb respecting "fine words," &c. uppermost in his mind—penned rather for the private benefit of one of his own strong-minded species.
"Dear de Burgh,
"You will, I am sure, be surprised, when I tell you that circumstances have lately arisen which render it impossible that my marriage can take place as soon as I had hoped and expected. I need not tell you that my distress and vexation are extreme, the more so, that I am forced to be convinced of the expediency, nay, necessity of this postponement, finding it quite impossible, under the present position of affairs, that with any justice to Mary, our union could be concluded. Of course more particular explanation will be required; but I write this merely to beg that either you or Olivia will break to her this intelligence, of which I feel it right she should not be kept in ignorance, I am myself quite unequal to communicate with her upon the subject. Tell her only that I am concerned and disappointed beyond expression, that I will write to her brother more fully, or to any of her friends who may desire it; but that I cannot, dare not, trust myself to put pen to paper to address her till I can see my way more clearly.
"Believe me, ever, dear de Burgh,
"Yours most sincerely,
"Eugene Trevor."
A large tear rolled down Mary's cheek as she refolded and laid aside the letter.