considerably, that no one less hopeful than Mabel could have continued
faithful to hope. As Sarah Bond gained strength, she began to question
her as to the past. Mabel spoke cautiously; but, unused to any species
of dissimulation, could not conceal the fact, that the old furniture,
so valued by her uncle, and bequeathed with a conditional blessing,
was gone--sold! This had a most unhappy effect on the mind of Sarah
Bond. She felt as if her father's curse was upon her. She dared
not trust herself to speak upon the subject. When the good rector
(Mr. Goulding) alluded to the sale, and attempted to enter into
particulars, or give an account of the affairs he had so kindly and so
ably managed, she adjured him in so solemn a manner never to speak of
the past, if he wished her to retain her reason, that he, unconscious
of the motive, and believing it arose entirely from regret at her
changed fortunes, avoided it as much as she could desire; and thus
she had no opportunity of knowing how much had been saved by the
benevolence of a few kind persons. Sarah Bond fell into the very
common error of imagining that persons ought to _know_ her thoughts
and feelings, without her explaining them. But her mind and judgment
had been so enfeebled by illness and mental suffering, that, even
while she opposed her opinions, she absolutely leaned on Mabel--as
if the oak called to the woodbine to support its branches. What gave
Mabel the most uneasiness, was the determination she had formed to
leave the cottage as soon as she was able to be removed; and she
was seriously displeased because Mabel mentioned this intention to
Mr. Goulding. Despite all poor Mabel could urge to the contrary,
they quitted the neighbourhood--the sphere of Sarah Bond's sudden
elevation, and as sudden depression--alone, at night, and on foot. It
was a clear, moonlight evening, in midsummer, when the twilight can
hardly be said to give place to darkness; and when the moon shines out
so very brightly, that the stars are reduced to pale lone sparks of