"Oh, you mistake me," said Mabel; "do not think me so selfish--talk as much as you like of yourself, and forget me; and you will, perhaps, find me a better listener, perhaps a better adviser, because I have altogether retired from the lists of conquest; and, be assured, the necessity of placing a guard over myself, and the difficulty of doing it effectually, only tells me how much I ought to feel for others. If you will always let me speak the truth, without being offended with me, I will take interest in your feelings at any time, only remember that mine are like 'The Arab's sealed fountain,' whose waters will never see the light again." "You are a very strange girl, my sweet, new friend," said Lucy; "but I love you better for having a history, although I see I must not read it quite yet; at all events, not till I know you better, and you learn how well I can keep a secret." "No, not even then," replied Mabel, "I cannot speak of myself without speaking of more than myself; so content yourself with what I have told you, and do not think of me again, or I shall repent having said anything." "Well, it shall be quite as you like, I will do anything you wish, only you must tell me, that you love me very, very much indeed." "I will tell you no such thing," said Mabel, laughing; "remember, I only met you yesterday morning." "Well then, come and call at the rectory, and that will shew me you love me." "But I could do such a little thing, whether I loved you or not," said Mabel; "so I will take you for charity's sake, for I see, like the cat who was turned into a lady, and yet ran after mice--you cannot go without your accustomed food." "I thought you said you liked society," said Lucy. "And so I do--so let us walk on, for this green lane will lead us round to the rectory." One of the rectory pets was an immense Newfoundland dog, who began to bark loudly as they approached the house. "Oh!" said Lucy, with a half scream, "I cannot go on--I am sure he is untied--nasty thing." "No, he never barks when he is loose--come on, dear, I am sure he will not hurt you." Lucy clung to her arm in real or affected terror till they reached the house door. Much to her disappointment, they found no one but Miss Ware at home, and she sat up during the visit, as silent, and apparently as timid, as a child, amusing herself by poking her parasol through the cage of the pet parrot, who appeared highly offended at her familiarity. Mabel was a great favorite at the rectory, and Miss Ware, certain of finding her interested in her news, had many little things to tell her; she had had a letter from one old friend, and had worked a birth-day present for another, with many other little incidents to notice, which Lucy amused herself by silently turning into ridicule, though they were so kindly told that few would have found it difficult to enter into the little cares and joys which, after all, were never selfish.