exact as the two sides of a tally, or the teeth of a rat-trap—­with pardon to dear Mr. Mainwaring for the nasty comparison, whatever may have put it into my head.  He, in fact, was an old school-master and a widower; I an old school-mistress and a widow; he wanted a friend and companion, so did I. Each finding that the other led a solitary life, and only required that solace and agreeable society, which a kind and rational companion can most assuredly bestow, resolved to take the other, as the good old phrase goes, for better for worse; and accordingly here we are, thank God, with no care but that which proceeds from the unfortunate mistake which poor Emily made in her marriage.  The spirit that cemented our hearts was friendship, not love; but the holiness of marriage has consecrated that friendship into affection, which the sweet intercourse of domestic life has softened into something still more agreeable and tender.  My girl’s marriage, my dear Lucy, is the only painful thought that throws its shadow across our happiness.”

“Poor Emily,” sighed Lucy, “how little did that calm, sweet-tempered, and patient girl deserve to meet such a husband.  But perhaps he may yet improve.  If gentleness and affection can soften a heart by time and perseverance, his may yet become human.”

Such was the simple history of this amiable couple, who, although enjoying as much happiness as is usually allotted to man and woman, were not, however, free from those characteristic traces that enabled their friends to recognize without much difficulty the previous habits of their lives.

“Mrs. Mainwaring,” said Lucy, “I must write to my father, I cannot bear to think of the anguish he will feel at my sudden and mysterious disappearance.  It will set him distracted, perhaps cause illness.”

“Until now, my dear child, you know you had neither time, nor health, nor strength to do so; but I agree with you, and think without doubt you ought to make his mind as easy upon this point as possible.  At the same time I do not see that it is necessary for you to give a clew to your present residence.  Perhaps it would be better that I should see him before you think of returning; but of that we will speak in the course of the evening, or during to-morrow, when we shall have a little more time to consider the matter properly, and determine what may be the best steps to take.”

CHAPTER XXIII.  A Lunch in Summerfield Cottage.

The little spot they strolled in was beautiful, from the natural simplicity of the sweet but humble scenery around them.  They traversed it in every direction; sat on the sunny side of grassy eminences, gathered wild flowers, threw pebbles into the little prattling stream that ran over its stony bed before them; listened to and talked of and enjoyed the music of the birds as they turned the very air and hedges into harmony.  Lucy thought how happy she could be in such a calm and delightful retreat, with the society of the man she loved, far from the intrigue, and pride, and vanity, and ambition of life; and she could scarcely help shuddering when she reflected upon the track of criminal ambition and profligacy into which, for the sake of an empty and perhaps a painful title, her father wished to drag her.