to reason correctly, and to understand her embarrassed position, and her difficult duty, passed the days of her convalescence.  As her mind cleared, the thought of Angelica began to give her uneasiness—­she could not bear to think of leaving that young lady exposed to the misfortune of becoming Thurston’s wife—­and her mind toiled with the difficult problem of how to shield Angelica without exposing Thurston.

A few days after this, Marian related to her kind friends all of her personal history that she could impart, without compromising the safety of others:  and she required and received from them the promise of their future silence in regard to her fate.

As they approached the shores of England, Marian improved so fast as to be able to go on deck.  And though extremely pale and thin, she could no longer be considered an invalid, when, on the thirtieth day out, their ship entered the mouth of the Mersey.  Upon their arrival at Liverpool, it had been the intention of Dr. Holmes and his wife to proceed to London; but now they decided to delay a few hours until they should see Marian safe in the house of her friends.  The Rev. Theodore Burney was a retired dissenting clergyman, living on his modest patrimony in a country house a few miles out of Liverpool, and now at eighty years enjoying a hale old age.  Dr. Holmes took a chaise and carried Marian and Rachel out to the place.  The house was nearly overgrown with climbing vines, and the grounds were beautiful with the early spring verdure and flowers.  The old man was overjoyed to meet Marian, and he received her with a father’s welcome.  He thanked her friends for their care and attention, and pressed them to come and stay several days or weeks.  But Dr. Holmes and Rachel simply explained that their visit was to their parents in London, which city they were anxious to reach as soon as possible, and, thanking their host, they took leave of him, of his old wife, and Marian, and departed.

The old minister looked hard at Marian.

“You are pale, my dear.  Well, I always heard that our fresh island roses withered in the dry heat of the American climate, and now I know it!  But come! we shall soon see a change and what wonders native air and native manners and morning walks will work in the way of restoring bloom.”

Marian did not feel bound to reply, and her ill health remained charged to the account of our unlucky atmosphere.

The next morning, the old gentleman took Marian into his library, told her once more how very little surprised, and how very glad he was that instead of writing, she had come in person.  He then made her acquainted with certain documents, and informed her that it would be necessary she should go up to London, and advised her to do so just as soon as she should feel herself sufficiently rested.  Marian declared herself to be already recovered of fatigue, and anxious to proceed with the business of settlement.  Their journey