my darling Mary, think that you have 'caused your parents a pang, and I am sure the punishment will warn you not to incur it again, by a repetition of the offence. I have recommended you, my child, to Lord Courtney, he is amiable and good, and I trust that Lord Drelincourt will also befriend you if you require aid. We may be permitted to watch over thee, my darling, therefore think not that thou art left alone in the world; trust to God, and to thine own. integrity." He had made a strong effort to finish his sentence, and exhausted by it, he fell back on his pillow, clasped his daughter's hand, and spoke no more. CHAP. CHAP. XIV, Be obstinately just, Indulge no passion, and deceive no trust; NILL NEED we describe the agony and dismay of the innocent, deserted Mary? Ah, no! which of our readers have been fortunate enough never to have wept the ravages of death, never to have felt the melancholy void which his triumph leaves in the aching heart? This poor girl, left at the age of sixteen, without a home, without a protector;-deprived of her only parent, whom she adored; thrown on the wide world in utter ignorance of its ways; no no one to direct her, no one to confide in! her anguish amounted to agony; and during the first few days after the melancholy event she was on the verge of desp ir. Can it be wondered at, if in this situation Lord Courtney appeared to the solitary sufferer as a guardian angel? can it be wondered at, if she wept with softened grief when she saw his tears flow likewise? and can it be wondered at, if the enamoured Henry felt all his affection encreased, as he endeavoured to console this lovely child of sorrow? In respect to her affliction, he had forborne to visit her till the evening before the funeral; when, being anxious to take every trouble of that mournful ceremony, he was under the necesity of going to the cottage, and could not resist the temptation of sending to enquire after her, whilst she, ignorant of form, unsuspicious of ill, following solely the dictates of her heart, requested to see him. The inter view was pathetic, though short. Henry, much affected by her father's death, solemnly vowed never vowed never to forsake her; and her heart sinking under anxiety, and oppressed with woe, expanded to the appearance of affection; and, from that moment, admitted unconsciously, a warmer sentiment than it had ever yet received. Edmund willingly accompanied Henry to Macdonald's grave; and after the last offices were performed to the lamented dead, they paid their respects to the afflicted Mary, who appeared yet more lovely in her sable garbs. Her cheek, blanched by sorrow, was tinted with a faint blush, and the traces of tears remained on it, as dewdrops tremble on a white rose. The gentle languor of her manners, the affectionate gratitude with which she received every endeavour to console her, powerfully interested the feelings of her visitors. When they left her, Edmund was eloquent in her praise, but Henry was silent, for his mind was a chaos, and his thoughts not to be expressed by words. A few days after this visit, Lord Drelincourt was expressing his pity for the fate of Captain Macdonald, and enquired what had become of his daughter? Henry hastily replied, that she had gone according to her father's desire into Scotland, where she had an aunt in genteel circumstances, and who was her only relation. "I am glad of it," said the Earl, "I wish she may be comfortably situated, and if she had been left utterly unprotected, I would have endeavoured to procure her some agrecable situation." "Poor child," said Lady Drelincourt, who was composed of every feminine virtue, "she should have been welcome to reside in my family, and with needle-work, and reading to my daughters, I dare say she would have spent her time very pleasantly." The conversation dropped here, but Henry's agitation whilst the subject continued, did not escape Edmund's observation; he, however, accounted |