was trying to decypher Chinese characters.

After a sleepless night, she hailed the tardy day, watched the rising
sun, and then listened for every footstep, and started if she heard the
street door opened. At last he came, and she who had been counting the
hours, and doubting whether the earth moved, would gladly have escaped
the approaching interview.

With an unequal, irresolute pace, she went to meet him; but when she
beheld his emaciated countenance, all the tenderness, which the
formality of his letter had damped, returned, and a mournful
presentiment stilled the internal conflict. She caught his hand, and
looking wistfully at him, exclaimed, "Indeed, you are not well!"

"I am very far from well; but it matters not," added he with a smile of
resignation; "my native air may work wonders, and besides, my mother is
a tender nurse, and I shall sometimes see thee."

Mary felt for the first time in her life, envy; she wished
involuntarily, that all the comfort he received should be from her. She
enquired about the symptoms of his disorder; and heard that he had been
very ill; she hastily drove away the fears, that former dear bought
experience suggested: and again and again did she repeat, that she was
sure he would soon recover. She would then look in his face, to see if
he assented, and ask more questions to the same purport. She tried to
avoid speaking of herself, and Henry left her, with, a promise of
visiting her the next day.

Her mind was now engrossed by one fear--yet she would not allow herself
to think that she feared an event she could not name. She still saw his