Beyond the first shock, Mary did not seem to suffer from the abrupt termination of an engagement into which she had entered reluctantly. I even believed that she felt very much relieved at not being compelled to marry a cousin for the sake of securing a protector. Her gay laugh soon resumed its sweetness; her bright loveliness bloomed in the midst of winter, making roses and sunshine in the old mansion. Eleanor seemed to love to see her sister happy, gently encouraging her efforts to drive away the shadow which lingered about the house. Her own sad life must not be permitted to blight the joy of any other. I have said that my feelings toward her had changed from passionate love, through intense sympathy, into affectionate reverence. I think, now, that I felt toward her a good deal as Mary did--that nothing we could do for her, to show our silent love and sympathy, could be too much--a tender regard for her wishes and habits--a deep respect for the manner in which she bore her loss. We did not expect that she would ever again be gay or hopeful; so we did not annoy her with trying to make her so. In the mean time a great change was taking place in my own nature, of which I was but faintly aware. I only knew that I enjoyed my hard work--that I felt resolute and strong, and that my evenings were pleasant and homelike. Further, I did not question. I wrote to my mother a guarded account of what had occurred; but I was obliged to pay her a flying visit to explain all the facts, for I dared not trust them on paper. Thus the winter glided away into sunshine and spring again.