The eminent trustee was pleased with his visit, and delighted with the Hungerford family. It is true he feared that Eugene was not quite so shrewd as he should be to possess such immense wealth. He was too sentimental; too willing to believe that human nature was not corrupt and wholly irreclaimable; too much disposed to trust men who assumed to be his friends. But the wise and worldly old gentleman was hopeful, and believed that he would put away childish things in due time. He counselled him to shake off “that Birch,” whom the whole town, with one voice, condemned as a worthless, designing fellow. He saw no objection now to Eugene’s helping him out of his troubles, and even being his friend, until he could decently get rid of him. But the one thing which troubled Mr. Lester more than all others, more than even his confiding friendship for “that Birch,” was his relation to Mary Kingman. The solid man of Baltimore was terribly severe upon this proposed connection; it was so disgraceful that he could not tolerate it. He pitied the poor girl; he would give her money, get her a situation; do anything for her, except make her his wife. Eugene heard all this with what patience he could command, and did not weep when the old gentleman, with many stately compliments, departed for Baltimore. Mr. Lester was an old-fashioned man of the world. He never went against the popular current; he never stood by his friends after the rest of the world had deserted them; and he never made war upon the people’s prejudices. He was gone and Eugene escaped his daily lecture on worldly wisdom. All that had been said about Mary by Mr. Lester, by Mrs. Hungerford and Julia, and by Dick Birch, had not cured Eugene of his love. The vision which had haunted his imagination for long years was still present in his mind, and not a day, hardly an hour, passed in which he did not think of her. He could not deny, even to himself, that she was not what she had been; but she was not contaminated, she was not deprived of any virtue he had prized; she was still an angel. She had bestowed on another the caresses which should have been only his; for this he was grieved--for this only. But she was still Mary, still the being he had loved; and even with the knowledge that she had been in other arms than his own, she was more to him than any other could be. He had seen her but once since the examination of her brother--on the afternoon of that day. He had talked only commonplaces then. He said nothing of his love, nothing of his intentions. The conversation related mostly to Ross and his trial. Julia had visited her several times; on the last occasion she had taken a violent cold, and on the day before Mr. Lester’s departure, she had been confined to her room, threatened with a fever. Eugene heard from Mary often, therefore; for during his guest’s stay, he had no opportunity to repeat his own visit.