the blind of wit, have come by their own; and the poor in spirit have inherited the earth. James had left England when this emotional state was contemptible. Found chiefly in the dregs of the populace, it was ascribed to ignorance and to the abuse of stimulants. When he returned, it had the public conscience behind it. He could not understand the change. The persons he had known sober, equal-minded, and restrained, now seemed violently hysterical. James still shuddered, remembering the curate's allusions to his engagement; and he wondered that Mary, far from thinking them impertinent, had been vastly gratified. She seemed to take pleasure in publicly advertising her connection, in giving her private affairs to the inspection of all and sundry. The whole ceremony had been revolting; he loathed the adulation and the fulsome sentiment. His own emotions seemed vulgar now that he had been forced to display them to the gaping crowd. But the function of the previous day had the effect also of sealing his engagement. Everyone knew of it. Jamie's name was indissolubly joined with Mary's; he could not break the tie now without exposing her to the utmost humiliation. And how could he offer her such an affront when she loved him devotedly? It was not vanity that made him think so, his mother had told him outright; and he saw it in every look of Mary's eyes, in the least inflection of her voice. James asked himself desperately why Mary should care for him. He was not good-looking; he was silent; he was not amusing; he had no particular attraction. James was sitting in his room, and presently heard Mary's voice calling from the hall. "Jamie! Jamie!" He got up and came downstairs. "Why, Jamie," said his father, "you ought to have gone to fetch Mary, instead of waiting here for her to come to you." "You certainly ought, Jamie," said Mary, laughing; and then, looking at him, with sudden feeling: "But how seedy you look!" James had hardly slept, troubling over his perplexity, and he looked haggard and tired. "I'm all right," he said; "I'm not very strong yet, and I was rather exhausted yesterday." "Mary thought you would like to go with her this morning, while she does her district visiting." "It's a beautiful morning, Jamie; it will do you good!" cried Mary. "I should like it very much." They started out. Mary wore her every-day costume--a serge gown, a sailor hat, and solid, square-toed boots. She walked fast, with long steps and firm carriage. James set himself to talk, asking her insignificant questions about the people she visited. Mary answered with feeling and at length, but was interrupted by arriving at a cottage. "You'd better not come in here," she said, blushing slightly; "although I want to take you in to some of the people. I think it will be a lesson to them." "A lesson in what?" "Oh, I can't tell you to your face, I don't want to make you conceited; but you can guess while you're waiting for me."