and she possessed too much good sense to allow herself to become the victim of disappointed affection. She knew that the best remedy against such a disease was active employment of mind and body—consequently her books, her music, her studies were diligently followed, as well as more active domestic duties.
No day passed without a quick walk alone or a quieter one with her mother. The books she read were principally those requiring deep thought, and the study of languages was varied by scientific subjects. Poetry for a time she set aside, it too often touched upon a tender string, which she felt must not be allowed to vibrate, even her favourite Milton lay unnoticed on the shelf, its pages awoke memories too painful to be encouraged. Sometimes she would bring out her "Algebra" or "Euclid," and induce her father to work a few sums or problems with her during the evening.
There was a sad gratification when after one of these occasions, her father closed the book, and as she rose and wished him good night, he drew her towards him, and said—
"Ah, if my daughter would only be guided by me in other matters, as she has been in her studies, I should have nothing left to wish for."
Poor Mary, the kind and gently expressed words cost her sleepless hours of anxious thought while trying to satisfy her conscience that she was acting rightly towards her father. Only at last, when she answered the question, "Ought I to marry a man alone for the sake of money or position?" with an emphatic "No," could she close her eyes in sleep. She was ready to give up Henry Halford—her unselfish affection made her hope not only that he was learning to forget her, but also that he might soon meet with some one to supply the place of his dear mother in his heart, but to marry any one else herself, she felt to be an impossibility.
More than once lately they had met and bowed to each other as mere passing acquaintances. Often on leaving church on a Sunday Mr. Armstrong had raised his hat to the amiable and stricken old man, who passed them leaning on the arm of his son, but farther approach to intimacy was felt to be impossible.
And so the months had passed, and now the early summer was decking gardens, orchard, and meadow with its sweetest blossoms. Through the open window at which Mary stood on this May afternoon of which we write came the fragrant perfume of lilac and May blossom. The birds were tuning their little throats for a chorus of song, and a stillness in the soft air seemed to produce a feeling in the heart of Mary of calm submission to the will of "Him who orders all things in heaven and earth."
Suddenly she started; a carriage was approaching, and instead of passing by as she expected, it drew up and stopped at the gate.
"Mamma," she said, entering her mother's room from the dressing-room, "there is a carriage at the gate, whose can it be?"
Mrs. Armstrong joined her daughter at the window. They saw with surprise Mr. Armstrong and a youth alight, and then turn to assist a lady.