During this long period of suspense, no doubt of the tenderness and truth of him she loved had ever sullied Mary's faith. Mr. Sinclair was not always thus confiding, and once, on seeing the deadly pallor that overspread her face on hearing the announcement of "no letters"--he uttered words of keen reproach on him who could so wrong her gentle heart. "Oh, father!" Mary exclaimed, "speak not thus--be assured it is not his fault--remember that no license could tempt him to wrong the defenceless--think how honorable he was in suppressing his own feelings lest their avowal should bring sorrow on us--and when my self-betrayal unsealed his lips, how delicate to me, how generous to you was his conduct--and who but he could have been so rigid in his observance of a soldier's duty, yet so inexpressibly tender as a man! I loved him because I saw him thus true and noble--and having seen him thus how can I doubt him? He may be no longer on earth, but wherever he is, he is my true and noble husband, and you will not again distress me, dear father, by speaking as though you doubted him." "Never," said Mr. Sinclair emphatically, and he never did, though he saw her form grow thinner, and her cheek paler every day, and before the winter was gone heard that deep, hollow cough from her, which has so often sounded the knell of hope to the anxious heart. With the coming on of summer this cough passed away, but Mary was oppressed by great feebleness and languor--scarcely less fatal symptoms. Still she omitted none of those cares essential to her father's comfort--while to the poor, the sick, the sorrowing, she was more than ever an angel of mercy. With feeble steps and slow she still walked her accustomed round of charity, and thus living for duty she lived for God, and had His peace shed abroad in her heart, even while sorrow was wearing away the springs of her life. She loved to sit alone and send her thoughts forward to the future--not of this life, but of that higher life in which there shall be no shadow on the brightness of our joy--where love shall be without fear--no war shall desolate--no opposing duty shall separate--no death shall place its stony barrier between loving hearts. With a mind thus occupied, she wandered one day, in the latter part of August, through the garden of the parsonage and the yard immediately surrounding the church into the little inclosure beyond, within which was the green and flowery knoll that marked her mother's last resting-place. As she turned again towards her home the sound of a carriage driven rapidly by caused her to look towards the road which lay about a hundred yards distant. The carriage rushed by, and she caught but a glimpse of a gentleman leaning from its window. In another moment a grove of trees had hidden both the carriage and its occupant from her sight--yet that glimpse had sent a thrill through her whole frame--a mist passed over her eyes, and with eager, trembling steps, she proceeded on her way.