now she could not absolutely cease to entertain some hopes of the
results of Oliver's return, nor silence one lingering fancy that
Louis might yet wait unbound; although she told herself of his
vacillation between herself and Isabel, of his father's influence,
and of the certainty that he would see many more worthy of his love
than herself. Not any one who could love him so well--oh no! But
when Mary found her thoughts taking this turn, she rose up as she
lay, clasped her hands together, and repeated half aloud again and
again, 'Be Thou my all!'

And by the morning, though Mary's cheek was very white, and her eyes
sunken for want of sleep, she had a cheerful word for her father, and
a smile, the very sight of which would have gone to the heart of any
one of those from whom he had cut her off.

Then she wrote her letters. It was not so hard to make this final
severance as it had been to watch Louis's face, and think of the pain
she had to inflict. Many a time had she weighed each phrase she set
down, so that it might offend neither against sincerity nor
resignation, and yet be soothing and consoling. Some would have
thought her letter stiff and laboured, but she had learned to believe
that a grave and careful style befitted a serious occasion, and would
have thought incoherency childish or affected.

She released him entirely from his engagement, entreating him not to
rebel against the decision, but to join her in thankfulness that no
shade need be cast over the remembrance of the happy hours spent
together; and begging him not to grieve, since she had, after the
first pain, been able to acquiesce in the belief that the separation
might conduce to his happiness; and she should always regard him as