willing, but the body suffered; he lost his appetite, and looked
wretchedly; his spirits were calmly low--the world seemed to fade
away--what was that world to him that Mary did not inhabit; she lived
not for him.

He was mistaken; his affection was her only support; without this dear
prop she had sunk into the grave of her lost--long-loved friend;--his
attention snatched her from despair. Inscrutable are the ways of
Heaven!

The third day Mary was desired to prepare herself; for if the wind
continued in the same point, they should set sail the next evening. She
tried to prepare her mind, and her efforts were not useless she appeared
less agitated than could have been expected, and talked of her voyage
with composure. On great occasions she was generally calm and collected,
her resolution would brace her unstrung nerves; but after the victory
she had no triumph; she would sink into a state of moping melancholy,
and feel ten-fold misery when the heroic enthusiasm was over.

The morning of the day fixed on for her departure she was alone with
Henry only a few moments, and an awkward kind of formality made them
slip away without their having said much to each other. Henry was
afraid to discover his passion, or give any other name to his regard but
friendship; yet his anxious solicitude for her welfare was ever breaking
out-while she as artlessly expressed again and again, her fears with
respect to his declining health.

"We shall soon meet," said he, with a faint smile; Mary smiled too; she
caught the sickly beam; it was still fainter by being reflected, and not
knowing what she wished to do, started up and left the room. When she