services that the indefatigable Mary could perform. If Mrs. Willis
always averred that she never could have gone through the voyage
without Miss Ponsonby, Mary felt, in return, that the little fretful
boy and girl, who would never let her sit and think, except when both
were asleep, had been no small blessing to her.

Yet Mary was not so much absorbed and satisfied with the visible and
practical as had once been the case. The growth had not been all on
Louis's side. If her steadfast spirit had strengthened his wavering
resolution, the intercourse and sympathy with him had opened and
unfolded many a perception and quality in her, which had been as
tightly and hardly cased up as leaf-buds in their gummy envelopes. A
wider range had been given to her thoughts; there was a swelling of
heart, a vividness of sensation, such as she had not known in earlier
times; she had been taught the mystery of creation, the strange
connexion with the Unseen, and even with her fellow-men. Beyond the
ordinary practical kind offices, for which she had been always ready,
there was now mingled something of Louis's more comprehensive spirit
of questioning what would do them good, and drawing food for
reflection from their diverse ways.

She was sensible of the change again and again, when sights recurred
which once had only spoken to her eye. That luminous sea, sparkling
like floods of stars, had been little more than 'How pretty! how
funny!' at her first voyage. Now, it was not only 'How Louis would
admire it!' but 'How profusely, how gloriously has the Creator spread
the globe with mysterious beauty! how marvellously has He caused His
creatures to hold forth this light, to attract others to their
needful food!' And the furrow of fire left by their vessel's wake
spoke to her of that path 'like a shining light, shining more and