"Poor woman!" interposed Miss Elliott, who perhaps began to fear she might be considered too uninspired in the eyes of the young barrister, "she seems deemed throughout to suspicion. How dreadful to be suspected wrongfully! But, as for that lover, I am sure he cannot deserve all the trouble she has suffered on his account. I dare say, the faithlessness was all on his side, for no person could suspect or doubt any one they really loved. Do you not think so, Miss Seaham?" turning away her face from Arthur to look at his sister with a pretty blush. An expression of intense pain shot across Mary's countenance. "I thought so once," was the almost gasping utterance which trembled on her lips; but she paused, merely saying in a low tone, her eyes bent mournfully on the ground, "at any rate, the one who doubts and suspects is the greatest sufferer of the two. Yet there are circumstances, I hope, in which, without faithlessness, our perfect trust and confidence in another may--must indeed be shaken." "Of course; otherwise the virtue becomes indeed a very weakness," rejoined Arthur with some moody significance of tone and manner. "Now, I must go, for I suppose it is nearly time to dress for dinner," exclaimed Miss Elliott, who, though only partially acquainted with the particulars of Mary's love affair, probably perceived that she had inadvertantly struck upon some tender string; "I suppose, you will soon be doing the same." And away the gay-hearted creature glided, singing as she went. "Now, Mary," Arthur cried, his eyes and ears disenchanted; "wait for me just one minute." And down he sat for the space of several moments, and his pen flew swift as thought over the parchment. Mary also sat patiently, her eyes fixed with a look of affectionate interest on the intelligent countenance of the writer. At length, his task completed, the pen was thrown, with a gesture of triumph and satisfaction upon the table, and "Now, Mary, it is finished," was the exulting expression of his lips. There was something in the congratulating smile which met his own, that seemed to change the spirit of the young man's dream; for more thoughtfully he gathered up his papers, whilst "love, fame, ambition," might have seemed at once annihilated from his thoughts, by the tone of voice in which--glancing at Mary, who drew near to assist him--he abruptly murmured: "Mary, you are not looking well." "Am I not?" with forced cheerfulness; "ah! I dare say you think so to-day--by comparison." "Nonsense!" knitting his brows; "I am _not_ speaking comparatively, but quite positively. You have been looking less well every day for some time. I am becoming impatient. I want to see you looking better, or I should say, _happier_." "As happy and bright I suppose as--" began Mary, attempting playfully to divert the dreaded theme. "Pshaw! as bright as no one. I am thinking only of you, Mary." "But you should think of some one else, now Arthur, that you are a steady, professional man."