168 A BOTHER, AND — A BRIDE. 



" Mary — my angel, my own soul !" 



" And you believe me, and that I have a reason — a 

 true reason ?" 



" As I believe that I am a man, and * that in my 

 flesh I shall see God.' " 



^' Noble, good, glorious Fairfax — and must I make 

 you wretched ?" 



" Can you give me no hope ?" 



"I dare not." 



"But, when we meet again — ?" 



" When shall we meet again, or where?" 



" In London." 



" We never go to London. You and I must never 

 meet more, unless — there !" and she pointed upward. 



" God's will be done. It is almost more than I can 

 bear ; but I am a man, and will bear it. Mary, best 

 and most beautiful, do not forget me, as, through life 

 unto death, I never will forget you. And if — if — if 

 this barrier pass away, you — " 



" I will, Percy Fairfax, by my life — on my soul — 

 I will." 



" Mary, my own, own Mary Merton." 



" Through life and in death, if never, ever yours!" 



He clasped her, and released her. It was over. 



He turned ; and, as he reached the door, looked 

 back to her and said, solemnly, in the language of his 

 land's greatest poet — 



" The setting of a mighty hope is like the close of day." 



He was gone. Alas ! for Mary Merton. 



A bright balmy afternoon in July, Hyde Park 

 crowded ; all the world of England's patrician beauty 

 in their equipages, unrivalled for taste and horseflesh 



