She waited half an hour in a state of anxious suspense, which in vain she strove to reason with herself was unnecessary and uncalled for. What had this interview to do with her--with Eugene? But no--it would not do; her heart still beat nervously in her bosom, and she strained her ears at every sound, to listen whether it might not be the opening of the library door, and her cousin's appearance, to reassure her, no doubt, silly apprehension. Mary was reminded by all this of her feelings on the occasion of her anticipated interview with Louis, after his having been informed of her engagement with Eugene, and the step she had taken to put an end to the nervous impulse under which she then had laboured. No doubt she would find her intrusion on this occasion perfectly uncalled for; but still her presence was never unwelcome, and to relieve her mind of its present uneasiness, she could at that moment have braved any contingency. So to the library she proceeded, opened the door, and entered. "But what is the use of telling her anything about it, poor thing! till she gets to London? For Heaven's sake, wait till then." This was what she heard; and if there had been any doubt on Mary's mind, as to whether these words bore reference to herself, the confused and disconcerted countenances of both Mr. and Mrs. de Burgh, when they became aware of her presence, too fully assured her on that point; and advancing, pale and trembling, towards her cousins, she at once faltered forth: "Louis--Olivia! have you heard anything of Eugene? Is he ill? or what has happened?" and then she burst into tears. "No, no, dear Mary, there is nothing the matter with Trevor--he is quite well." Mr. de Burgh hastened to confirm this, and in the gentlest, kindest manner made her sit down by his side. "The fact is," he said, "I have had a letter from him this morning, which may possibly damp your spirits a little for the moment, although it can, of course, be of no ultimate importance, only defer expected happiness to a remoter period." Mary, drying her eyes, anxiously waited for him to proceed. "Trevor writes me word that his marriage, owing, it seems, to some rather serious business, must of necessity be postponed, he does not say till when. But you see," he continued, breaking off into a more cheerful and encouraging tone of voice, "there is nothing so fatally unfortunate in this." No, indeed, it was not the bare fact those words conveyed which bowed down Mary's trembling spirit, and gave such wan and wintry sadness to the smile with which she attempted to acknowledge her cousin's comforting words. It was not the mere intelligence that her marriage was postponed which fell like a cloud upon her soul, it was that dark presentiment which often on occasions of less or greater magnitude assails the mind of man, that the happy prosperity of his life has reached its culminating point: that the point is turned, and henceforth it must take a downward course.