"I did not expect this; Olivia promised--or I should never have come." "It was not Olivia's fault, the blame is entirely mine, Mary. But, ... is it really come to this? can you look around; can you remember all that passed between us in this room; nay, what happened on this very spot--here where our vows of love were plighted?" "I do remember," she replied in accents low and mournful, and leaning in trembling agitation against the very chair on which on that occasion she had been seated. "Then surely your heart cannot harden itself against me--cannot doom me to misery." "My letter," Mary faintly murmured, gently but firmly repulsing the effort he made again to take her hand. "Oh! that abominable story, cooked up against me, which you are so ready to believe--Olivia will explain...." "God grant it!" she murmured, turning her eyes lighted with a brightened expression on his face; but oh! for one calm, clear, truthful glance in return. Again painfully she averted her head, and saying faintly: "I will go to Olivia," moved slowly towards the door. Eugene did not attempt to stay her departure, only darkly eyeing her retreating footsteps, he suffered her to leave the room without stirring from the spot whereon he stood. Slowly and heavily she ascended the familiar staircase to Mrs. de Burgh's dressing-room. Her cousin, still lying on the sofa, started with affected surprise at her appearance, and stretched out her arms to receive her. Pale, cold, and silent Mary suffered the embrace, then sinking on a seat, covered her face with her hands, sobbing forth: "Olivia, this was cruel; this was unkind--untrue; I came here trusting to your word. Where is Louis? he surely would not think this right, would not have allowed me to be drawn into such a distressing position." "My darling Mary, what do you mean? You have not fallen in with Eugene, I hope? Well, that is too bad of him; and he promised so faithfully that he would leave an hour ago. One of the children let out that you were coming, and you know there is no managing lovers in a case like this; the poor fellow is half mad with wretchedness on your account. However, go he shall, dear, if you wish it--pray make yourself easy on that point. You must have some tea; you are exhausted after your journey; and then we shall be able to talk comfortably together. No one shall interrupt us. Louis has not come home yet, but I expect him every moment; he will be so charmed to see you." Thus Mrs. de Burgh hurried on with affectionate alacrity, without giving Mary time to renew her reproaches or complaints, but by the tears which from her overcharged heart the poor girl still silently continued to shed. Mrs. de Burgh did not mind those tears; she rather considered them a favourable sign. Had Mary appeared before her after the meeting into which she well knew she had been surprised--cold, calm, stern, silently upbraiding, she would have feared then for the success of the cause in which she was engaged.