This afflicted family, so decent in their apparel, so respectable in their behaviour, were never seen drawing near the house of worship without exciting a feeling of pity and veneration in all whose souls were not callous to every good emotion. They had arranged themselves as usual in their pew. The service had begun; and when the close of the second lesson drew near, poor Susan's heart beat almost audibly. Her head was held low, and her face was partly concealed by her bonnet: but she strove to maintain as unmoved a countenance as possible; for she knew that the opposite seat was occupied by gay young girls who would feel a curiosity about her, and she was unable to tell when, or when not, her countenance might be the subject of remark to others. The last words of the lesson were read; the large Bible was closed with a heavy noise; there was a moment's pause, but the clergyman proceeded with the service, and Susan was spared for that Sunday. A sort of hope shot through her mind; and yet what did she hope? She had herself relinquished George, she had herself anticipated his marriage, she knew he was engaged, she knew he could not with honour break off with Jane Dixon; if he did, was not she as unfit for a poor labourer's wife as when she first gave him back his troth? It was all so, and yet she felt relieved. The following Sunday she was again seated in her accustomed place, and she again listened as the clergyman read the service. This time the names were read,--"George Wells, bachelor, and Jane Dixon, spinster, both of this parish." The girls opposite might have seen her lips quiver; and the hands which were habitually meekly clasped upon her knee, were slightly raised, and fell again immediately. That day Sarah herself led Susan from church, and gave up the guidance of Nicholas to the little girl. They reached their home; and before old Sarah busied herself in the preparation for their humble repast, she sat down to rest herself. Susan heard her mother sigh. "Mother!" she said, "you are fretting about me!" "Not to say fretting, Susan, for we heard no more than what we expected to hear; but I thought it was a great trial to you to hear their names in church. I was afraid whether it might not be almost too much for you. And then I sighed to think, when we were gone, what a poor desolate creature you would be; and I was wishing we could any way provide for you. I should not like you to come on the parish, and yet I don't see how we can save any thing,--we, that can't earn a shilling. Next time Farmer Otley calls, I will ask him about the Friendly Society he was mentioning; and I have heard talk of insuring one life against another, and perhaps we might get your brothers to help," continued the old woman, her thoughts gradually led from the wound Susan's affections had received, to the blasting of her worldly prospects.