The following day was employed in seeing the antiquities of Dover, its ancient castle among the first, and with Mr. Hamilton as a cicerone, it was a day of pleasure to all, though, perhaps, a degree of melancholy might have pervaded the party in the evening, for the recollection would come, that by noon on the morrow, Mrs. Greville and Mary would bid them farewell. In vain during that day had Herbert sought for an opportunity to speak with Mary on the subject nearest his heart, though they had been so happy together; when for a few minutes they found themselves alone, he had fancied there was more than usual reserve in Mary's manner, which checked the words upon his lip. Some hours he lay awake that night. Should he write his hopes and wishes? No: he would hear the answer from her own lips, and the next morning an opportunity appeared to present itself. The vessel did not leave Dover till an hour before noon, and breakfast having been despatched by half-past nine, Mrs. Greville persuaded her daughter to take a gentle walk in the intervening time. Herbert instantly offered to escort her. Emmeline remained to assist Mrs. Greville in some travelling arrangements, and Mr. Hamilton employed himself in some of those numberless little offices which active men take upon themselves in the business of a departure. Mary shrunk with such evident reluctance from this arrangement, that for the first time Herbert doubted. "You were not wont to shrink thus from accepting me as your companion," he said, fixing his large expressive eyes mournfully upon her, and speaking in a tone of such melancholy sweetness, that Mary hastily struggled to conceal the tear that started to her eye. "Are our happy days of childhood indeed thus forgotten?" he continued, gently. "Go with me, dear Mary; let us in fancy transport ourselves at least for one hour back to those happy years of early life which will not come again." The thoughts, the hopes, the joys of her childhood flashed with sudden power through the heart of Mary as he spoke, and she resisted them not. "Forgive me, Herbert," she said, hastily rising to prepare; "I have become a strange and wayward being the last few months; you must bear with me, for the sake of former days."