"I don't know what you mean, my dear," cried the vicar's wife. "Charity,--well, I suppose that is the same as love,--at least it is so in the 13th chapter of 1st Corinthians. You are staying with us, I hope, for love, if that is what you mean." Upon which she took the girl in her arms and kissed her, and cried, as women must. "My dearest," she said, "as you have guessed the worst, it is better to tell you. Lady Mary--I don't know why; oh, I don't wish to blame her--has left no will; and, my dear, my dear, you who have been brought up in luxury, you have not a penny." Here the vicar's wife gave Mary a closer hug, and kissed her once more. "We love you all the better,--if that was possible," she said. How many thoughts will fly through a girl's mind while her head rests on some kind shoulder, and she is being consoled for the first calamity that has touched her life! She was neither ungrateful nor unresponsive; but as Mrs. Bowyer pressed her close to her kind breast and cried over her, Mary did not cry, but thought,--seeing in a moment a succession of scenes, and realizing in a moment so complete a new world, that all her pain was quelled by the hurry and rush in her brain as her forces rallied to sustain her. She withdrew from her kind support after a moment, with eyes tearless and shining, the color mounting to her face, and not a sign of discouragement in her, nor yet of sentiment, though she grasped her kind friend's hands with a pressure which her innocent small fingers seemed incapable of giving. "One has read of such things--in books," she said, with a faint courageous smile; "and I suppose they happen,--in life." "Oh, my dear, too often in life. Though how people can be so cruel, so indifferent, so careless of the happiness of those they love--" Here Mary pressed her friend's hands till they hurt, and cried, "Not cruel, not indifferent. I cannot hear a word--" "Well, dear, it is like you to feel so,--I knew you would; and I will not say a word. Oh, Mary, if she ever thinks of such things now--" "I hope she will not--I hope she cannot!" cried the girl, with once more a vehement pressure of her friend's hands. "What is that?" Mrs. Bowyer said, looking round. "It is somebody in the next room, I suppose. No, dear, I hope so too, for she would not be happy if she remembered. Mary, dry your eyes, my dear. Try not to think of this. I am sure there is some one in the next room. And you must try not to look wretched, for all our sakes--" "Wretched!" cried Mary, springing up. "I am not wretched." And she turned with a countenance glowing and full of courage to the door. But there was no one there,--no visitor lingering in the smaller room as sometimes happened. "I thought I heard some one come in," said the vicar's wife. "Didn't you hear something, Mary? I suppose it is because I am so agitated with all this, but I could have sworn I heard some one come in."