Mary saw all this at a glance—­as did her mother.  “Poor James,” said the latter, “you have had your own troubles, and severe ones, too, since we saw you last.”

“They are gone,” he replied; “I care not, and think little about them, now that Mary’s character is vindicated.  If I should never see her, never speak to her more, the consciousness that she is the same angelic being that I first found her to be, would sustain me under the severest and most depressing calamities of life.  And God knows,” he said, “I am likely to experience them in their worst shape; but, still, I have courage now to bear up against them.”

On approaching Mary nearer, he perceived that her eyes were suffused with tears—­and the sight deeply affected him.  “My dear Mary,” said he, “is there not one word for me?  Oh, believe me, if ever man felt deep remorse I do.”

She put her hand out to him, and almost at the same instant became insensible.  In a moment he placed her, by her mother’s desire, on the sofa, and rang the bell for some of the servants to attend.  Indeed, it would be difficult, if not impossible, to look upon a more touching picture of sorrow and suffering than that pure-looking and beautiful girl presented as she lay there insensible; her pale but exquisite features impressed with a melancholy at once deep and tender, as was evinced by the large tear-drops that lay upon her cheeks.

“May God grant that her heart be not broken,” exclaimed her mother, “and that she be not already beyond the reach of all that our affections would hope and wish!  Poor girl,” she added, “the only portion of the calamity that touched her to her heart was the reflection that you had ceased to love her!”

Mrs. M’Loughlin whilst she spoke kept her eyes fixed upon her daughter’s pale but placid face; and whilst she did so, she perceived that a few large tears fell upon it, and literally mingled with those of the poor sufferer’s which had been there before.  She looked up and saw that Harman was deeply moved.

“Even if it should be so,” he exclaimed, “I shall be only justly punished for having; dared to doubt her.”

A servant having now entered, a little cold water was got, which, on being sprinkled over her face and applied to her lips, aided in recovering her.

“Your appearance,” said she, “and the intelligence you brought were so unexpected, and my weakness so great, that I felt myself overcome; however, I am better—­I am better, now;” but whilst she uttered these words her voice grew tremulous, and they were scarcely out of her lips when she burst out into an excessive fit of weeping.  For several minutes this continued, and she appeared to feel relieved; she then entered into conversation, and was able to talk with more ease and firmness than she had evinced for many a day before.  It was just then that a knock came to the hall door, and in a couple of minutes about a dozen of Val’s blood-hounds, selected to act as bailiffs and keepers—­a