CHAPTER VII. But when the weight of sorrow found My spirit prostrate and resigned, The anguish of the bleeding wound Taught me to feel for all mankind. ELIZA COOK. Mrs. Lesly's ill health had made her rather retire from society, than take any pains to seek it, during her widowhood, and she had gradually drawn her circle of friends so closely round her, that it now scarcely extended beyond her immediate neighbourhood. Mabel, whose affectionate attendance was necessary to her mother's happiness, never thought of leaving her, by accepting any invitation to stay from home; and years had almost insensibly passed away in the cultivation of elegant tastes, and in constant, but local benevolence, without their being tempted to ask any distant relative or friend to visit them. Mabel was, therefore, at first, a little puzzled to think how she might render their quiet home agreeable to the gay girl who had so unexpectedly entered it. Lucy, however, seemed determined to be pleased, if only allowed to be moving, and she ran away with great cheerfulness, to prepare for the walk which Mabel proposed soon after the departure of Mrs. Villars. "Do you often call at the rectory?" she asked, as they strolled up the hill leading through the village. "We will call as we return from our walk," replied Mabel, "if you fancy going there with me." "Oh, yes," said Lucy, "I should like it so much, for you said Mr. Ware was such a nice man; his sister, I suppose, is quite an old maid." "She is such a pleasant old lady, that you cannot help liking her," said Mabel; "but I ought not to say that, I suppose, as some people always dislike those they are told they shall like, and I should be very sorry if you were not pleased with them both." "Oh, I shall be sure to like them if they are favorites of yours. But do look how lovely;" she exclaimed, as a sudden turn in the winding walk they had chosen, gave them a fine view of the distant country, with Aston manor in the fore-ground. "What a beautiful house. Is that the house we saw from the garden? Is that Harry Hargrave's?" "Yes," was the laconic reply. "Why do you look so grave?" "I did not mean to look so," said Mabel; stopping by an old hawthorn tree, which was lying upon the ground, though the branches were still covered with foliage. "Let us sit down here, for the sun is quite oppressive. This," continued she, "is a favorite seat of mine; the tree fell a long time ago, and has been left as it is, ever since. You will get a better view of the house here, than you will find any where else."