be happier than she had ever been in her life before. It was happiness
that grew and strengthened with every day; and yet there was no obvious
reason for this deep joy. Her life ran in the same familiar groove. She
walked and rode on the old pathways; she rowed on the lake she had known
from babyhood; she visited her cottagers, and taught in the village
school, just the same as of old. The change was only that she was no
longer alone; and of late the solitude of her life, the ever-present
consciousness that nobody shared her pleasures or sympathised with her
upon any point, had weighed upon her like an actual burden. Now she had
Maulevrier, who was always kind, who understood and shared almost all
her tastes, and Maulevrier's friend, who, although not given to saying
smooth things, seemed warmly interested in her pursuits and opinions. He
encouraged her to talk, although he generally took the opposite side in
every argument; and she no longer felt oppressed or irritated by the
idea that he despised her.

Indeed, although he never flattered or even praised her, Mr. Hammond let
her see that he liked her society. She had gone out of her way to avoid
him, very fearful lest he should think her bold or masculine; but he had
taken pains to frustrate all her efforts in that direction; he had
refused to go upon excursions which she could not share. 'Lady Mary must
come with us,' he said, when they were planning a morning's ramble. Thus
it happened that Mary was his guide and companion in all his walks, and
roamed with him bamboo in hand, over every one of those mountainous
paths she knew and loved so well. Distance was as nothing to
them--sometimes a boat helped them, and they went over wintry Windermere
to climb the picturesque heights above Bowness. Sometimes they took
ponies, and a groom, and left their steeds to perform the wilder part of
the way on foot. In this wise John Hammond saw all that was to be seen
within a day's journey of Grasmere, except the top of Helvellyn.