was almost more than she could endure. She tried to appear calm; time
mellowed her grief, and mitigated her torments; but when her husband
would take her hand, or mention any thing like love, she would instantly
feel a sickness, a faintness at her heart, and wish, involuntarily, that
the earth would open and swallow her.




CHAP. XXXI.


Mary visited the continent, and sought health in different climates; but
her nerves were not to be restored to their former state. She then
retired to her house in the country, established manufactories, threw
the estate into small farms; and continually employed herself this way
to dissipate care, and banish unavailing regret. She visited the sick,
supported the old, and educated the young.

These occupations engrossed her mind; but there were hours when all her
former woes would return and haunt her.--Whenever she did, or said, any
thing she thought Henry would have approved of--she could not avoid
thinking with anguish, of the rapture his approbation ever conveyed to
her heart--a heart in which there was a void, that even benevolence and
religion could not fill. The latter taught her to struggle for
resignation; and the former rendered life supportable.

Her delicate state of health did not promise long life. In moments of
solitary sadness, a gleam of joy would dart across her mind--She thought
she was hastening to that world _where there is neither marrying_, nor