"And it is upon him that Mary—sweet Mary Lee! has thrown herself away," murmured Hudson, when he was again alone. "He does not love her as I love her—he cannot! Ah, me! So the world goes." And he bent his head again down upon the table from which he had raised it when Dunbar came in. It was some days before the young student could sufficiently compose his mind to resume, with anything like his former ardor, the study of his profession. That a change had passed over him was noticed by all his friends, but no one knew the cause. His secret was locked in his own bosom. After he had parted from Mary Lee, the maiden retired to her chamber, and sitting down with a sigh, fell into a deep reverie. As to what she thought and felt, we cannot say; but her face was not so bright and happy as it had been for many days before. The fact of the engagement of Dunbar with Mary Lee soon transpired, and reached the young man's family before he had thought it proper to acquaint them with what he had done. To his surprise, he found that his father was by no means pleased with this step. He had no particular objection to the young lady, so far as matters personal to herself were concerned; but to her condition he had a very decided objection. "You have committed a most egregious mistake," he said, manifesting strong displeasure, "and have marred your future prospects more than you dream. A young man of any ambition is a fool to think of marriage before he is twenty-eight or thirty. He establishes his position first; he writes his name so high that all can read it, and then makes his selection of a wife from the hundreds whose hands are ready to grasp the one he outstretches. Six or seven years from this time, wealth and high connexions may easily be secured by marriage. Lawrence! I thought better of you. What is Mary Lee! How will a marriage with her advance your interests in the world, or help to place you higher?" Dunbar had never thought of this. For once the warm heart had gained an advantage over the cool head. It was his first error of this kind, and it was the last. He did not argue the matter with his father, nor attempt to palliate what he had done. The mistake he had committed was too palpable at the first glance. A few words had made this clear as daylight. Mary was poor; she could not, therefore, aid him in his upward struggle by the strong elevating power of wealth. She was humble and unknown, and could not advance his interests by connecting him with an influential family, or introducing him into a higher circle than the one in which he was moving.