Mary now awakened from her dream. She found that she had built up a fairy palace, and that the scene of thrilling enchantment was dissolving away. But where the scene had been, there appeared every prospect of a ruin. She who had hitherto bloomed in freshness and beauty, now withered in the blast; for she felt that she was utterly forgotten, at the same time the startling consciousness of what was really the truth, that she had given her love unsought, had burst upon her. Her smile lost its brightness, her step its elasticity. At times she would rouse herself, and assume a gayety she was far from feeling, especially if the eye of her father or uncle rested upon her; but this artificial manner passed away like the dew before the morning sun. About this time Mary received a letter from a friend in Albany, inviting her to spend some weeks with her. Her father, thinking scenes of festivity and pleasure would have a charm for her, hurried her away, and Mr. Pluribusi accompanied her. CHAPTER VI. “I love, and shall be beloved! O, life! At last I feel thee!” No locomotive that was ever invented could prevent old time from traveling in his own way, and at his own pace; and thus it was that some six months passed away on leaden wings—at least so thought our young aspirant for fortune’s favor. He was becoming very impatient for the return of summer, and the dull business months, that he might take another trip to New England. Just at this juncture, he, to his great delight, received a letter from Mr. Pluribusi, dated from Albany. It commenced with— “Where, in the name of wonder, have you been hiding? Mr. Bryarly has long been expecting you to visit this part of the world again. How unsought and how unmerited do the favors of fortune fall into the caps of some men who do not even give themselves the trouble to hold it out to receive them. Here has Mary been asking again and again, what had become of you. Now, tell me—how was I to answer these questions, when I knew nothing about you, absolutely nothing, except that you had changed your residence from Virginia to New Orleans? My niece and I are spending a few weeks in Albany; and a gay time we have here, too. Mary’s health has been somewhat delicate, but I am happy to say it is much improved. But here she comes—and having found out that I was writing to you, she insists upon reading my letter; but as I intend she shall not always have her own way, I refused. She is much amused at what she calls my obstinacy, and stands laughing at me—the witch! She has made me forget all I was going to say. I will write again to you, when I hope to be free from such interruption. Your friend, P. Pluribusi.”