But Halbert is at the door anxiously begging for admittance, and Christian leads him in to look at little Mary’s sleep. It was a child’s face, the last time he looked upon it, a happy girlish face, where mirth and quick intelligence rivalled each other in bringing out its expressive power; he sees it now, a woman’s, worn with the first and sorest struggle that its loving nature could sustain, and a kind of reverence mingled with his warm affection as he bent over his sleeping sister; _he_ had yielded to temptations, oh, how much weaker, since his heart was not enlisted on the tempter’s side; _he_ had made shipwreck of his faith and of his peace, for years, fascinated by attractions a thousand times less potent than those which this girl, her slight figure still trembling with her late emotions, still weeping in her sleep, had withstood and overcome; and Halbert bent his head, humility mingling with his rejoicing. Had he only been as steadfast as Mary, how much sorrow and suffering would they all have been saved. They have left the room awhile with quiet footsteps, and there is much gladness in those two hearts, though trembling still mingles with their joy; for, if Christian fears the effect of this terrible shock on Mary’s health, at least she is delivered; there is great happiness in that certainty, she has found out Forsyth’s true character, though it passes all their guessing and conjectures to tell how. And now Halbert is asking about his father, and James and Robert, and expressing his fears as to how they will receive him, the truant son. His brothers will be rejoiced; but Christian shakes her head half doubtful, half smiling, when Halbert, “and my father”--she cannot say, but an hour or two more will bring that to the proof. “Do you know, Christian, I feel myself like one of the broken men of the old ballads, and I am in doubt, in perplexity, and fear, about this meeting.” “If you are broken, if your ship has been cast ashore, we will get it mended again,” said Christian, with more of humour and lightheartedness than she had either felt or used for many a day. “But no more of that, Halbert, just now. Tell me, will you go to see James to-night?” “No, I can’t; it would be unseemly besides.” Halbert will not leave his sister the first night of his return, and Christian feels relieved; after a pause, he continues: “How do you like Elizabeth now, Christian; are James and she happy together?” “I have no doubt they are,” said Christian, evasively; “why should they not be?” “But you don’t like her.” “I never said so, Halbert.” “Well, that’s true enough; but I inferred it.” “Nay, you must make no inferences. Elizabeth can be very pleasant and lovable; if she is not always so, it is but because she does not choose to exercise her powers of pleasing.” “So she can be lovable when she likes. But it was she, was it not, that introduced Mary to Forsyth?” said Halbert, his brow darkening.