The sequel only brought forth for our heroine further disturbance and discomfort.

The newly-risen impediment to the marriage was of necessity the subject of correspondence. He again threw the blame upon his father, urging his increasing infirmities of mind and body as the excuse.

But the plea appeared to Mary's friends evasive and ambiguous, and greatly indeed was the strength and stability of her affection tried by the urgent solicitations of those so dear to her, that she would consent to break off entirely this ill-starred—and as they the more and more considered it—objectionable engagement.

But no, there was yet one still more dear to her; and to him, through good and evil report, her spirit yet must cling—

By letter too—for there was one crisis of affairs during which the lovers corresponded on the anxious subject, Eugene failed not to urge the maintenance of an engagement which on his part he declared he would never consent to be the first to relinquish.

Then, how could Mary cast aside an attachment, a hope which had become so linked with the happiness of her existence, that to contemplate its extinction, was to see before her extended

No, rather was she content in doubt, darkness and uncertainty to wait and wander, her hope still fixed upon the distant light in the hazy future.

A position, such as that in which Mary found herself placed—an ill-defined and ambiguous matrimonial engagement—is to a young woman ever, more or less, a misfortune and a trial: something there is in her life

comprising also as it must do, much of uncertainty and restless doubt.

The circumstances of Mary's case, rendered hers more peculiarly a subject for such influences. Removed from the sphere in which her lover moved, even their correspondence, after the time just mentioned, entirely ceased; and she heard of him only at intervals—by chance and vague report.

She had longed to have those doubts and repellant ideas, Mr. de Burgh's conversation had insinuated into her mind, cleared away, as she believed they might, by Eugene's own word of mouth. But this had been denied her. She had indeed alluded to the report respecting his brother, which Mr. de Burgh had heard; but Eugene had merely said in reply, that he was taking every measure to ascertain its accuracy; and she heard nothing further on that point.

From Mrs. de Burgh she also ascertained that her cousin Louis had never carried out his proposed expedition, in search of the friend for whom he had professed such warm admiration and interest.

Mary was not so much surprised at this, it being only accordant with her cousin's ineffectual character—warm and affectionate in heart and feeling, but unstable in action and resolve; without self-devotedness or energy in any duty or pursuit, which turned not on the immediate fancy or interest of the moment—something else had probably put the intention out of his head. It did seem to Mary strange and unnatural, that the disappearance of a man such as Eustace Trevor had been represented to her lively and susceptible fancy, should have been so tamely endured by his friends in general, to say nothing of his own brother; but to think on that point was now to raise such a dark and bewildering cloud of ill-defined misgivings, that Mary put it from her mind as much as possible.

There was another point too, on which she indirectly sought enlightenment and assurance. Eugene's mother. Alas! there indeed she had heard enough to make her shudder at the idea connected with much within that house, which she had visited with such pleasure in her unconscious innocence—but more especially with that sinful old man, who, in the garb of venerable old age, had been by her so ignorantly revered; yes, she shuddered to think how appearances may deceive, and shrunk at the thoughts of ever entering again the scene of such wickedness, as long at least as Eugene's father continued there to exist.

That Eugene had in the remotest degree even countenanced that wickedness, was another point she would not allow herself to question—or rather, she put it away, like every other deteriorating rumour, hearsay, or inarticulate whisper, which in the course of time come with its airy hand to point out her lover as unworthy of the devotedness of a heart and affections such as hers; put it away in the utmost recesses of her heart, as we do those things we fear to see or hear substantiated—when even a breath, a word would suffice to destroy the illusion now become so closely interwoven with the happiness of one's existence.

In the meantime, Mary lived chiefly with the Gillespies though her heart's true home was with that dear brother, upon whose progress and success in his profession the chief interest of her life, independent of her one great hope, was centred; and who, on his part, unselfishly devoted every interval between the course of study he so energetically pursued, to her society, endeavouring in every way to promote her happiness or amusement; and chafing inwardly as he did, over the position in which she stood; for her sake preserved outward patience and equanimity, on a point which nevertheless touched him to the quick. Much he heard, too, which made him devoutly wish the engagement with Eugene Trevor to be broken off, without his having courage to take the bandage from his sister's eyes. Much of the private history of these, Eugene Trevor's days—we call them—of probation—nay, the profligate course his love for Mary could not even restrain within bounds. Episodes in his daily walk, with which it is not our intention to sully our pages, but calculated to make the brother's blood boil with indignation at the idea of his pure, spotless sister, becoming the wife of such a man.

But how difficult the task to force on her unsuspecting mind convictions which might go nigh to break her trembling innocent heart—or at least blight the happiness of her life. He must patiently allow fate to work out its course, fervently praying that all might end well.

About a year and a half went by—another six months and Arthur Seaham's term of law study would have terminated; and he declared that to prepare himself for his last important term, it was necessary that he should have some more than ordinary relaxation of mind. He had a fancy to go to Italy, and that Mary should accompany him. She smiled at first incredulously, thinking he was in jest. She thought the idea too delightful to be realised.

He was in earnest, he declared.

But the journey would be so long; and the expense—could they manage it?

What were such considerations to the affectionate brother, when he remarked the glow which had mantled his sister's pale cheeks, or the animation which lit up her languid eye, as in imagination the warm breezes of Italy already fanned her brow—her feet trode lightly on its classic grounds. Their friends had a few prudent objections to the plan—Italy was so far; Germany—the Rhine, were suggested. But no; Arthur saw that Mary's countenance fell when the mark fell short of Italy, therefore he stood firm.

And thither then the brother and sister went, with an old attached maid-servant of the family, who still followed the fortunes of the unmarried daughter; and by the Rhine and Switzerland they proceeded into Italy.