pain unmitigated in the contrast with the time when first she had
beheld them six years ago.

Then she was full of hope and eager ardour to arrive, longing for the
parental presence of which she had so long been deprived, hailing
every novel scene as a proof that she was nearer home, and without
the anticipation of one cloud, only expecting to be loved, to love,
and to be useful. And now, all fond illusions as to her father had
been snatched away, her very love for him rendering the perception
doubly cruel; her mother, her precious mother, far away in
Ormersfield churchyard--her life probably shortened by his harshness-
-her place occupied by a young girl, differing in language, in
Church, in everything--Mary's own pardon uncertain, after all her
aacrifices--A sense of having deeply offended, hung upon her; and
her heart was so entirely in England, that had her home been perfect,
her voyage must still have been a cruel effort. That one
anticipation of being set at rest by her father's forgiveness, and
the forlorn despairing hope of his relenting towards Louis, were all
she dared to dwell on; and when Mrs. Willis counted the days till she
could arrive and meet her husband, poor Mary felt as if, but for
these two chances of comfort, she could gladly have prolonged the
voyage for the rest of her life.

But one burning tropical noon, the Valdivia was entering Callao
harbour, and Mary, sick and faint at heart, was arraying herself in a
coloured dress, lest her mourning should seem to upbraid her father.
The voyage was over, the ship was anchored, boats were coming
offshore, the luggage was being hoisted out of the hold, the
passengers were congregated on deck, eager to land, some gazing with
curious and enterprising eyes on the new country, others scanning