Tanz months after, her only friend, the mother of her Joſt Henry began to be alarmed, at obſerving her altered appearance; and made her own health a pretext for travelling. Theſe complaints rouſed Mary out of her torpid ſtate; ſhe imagined a new duty now forced her to exert herſelf—a duty love made ſacred!|— They went to Bath, from that to Briſtol; but the latter place they quickly left; the ſight of the ſick that retort there; they neither of them could bear. From Briſtol they flew to South- ampton. The road was pleaſant yet _ ſhut her eyes — if they were open, green fields and commons, paſ- ſed in quick ſucceſſion, and left no more traces behind than if they had been waves of the ſea.
Some time after they were ſettled at Southampton, they met the man who took ſo much notice of Mary, ſoon after her return to England. He te- newed his acquaintance; he was really intereſted in her fate, as he had heard her uncommon ſtory; befides, he knew her huſband; knew him to be a good- natured, weak man. He ſaw him ſoon after his arrival in his native country, and prevented his haſtening to enquire into the reaſons of Mary's ſtrange con- duct. He defired him not to be too precipitate,” if he ever wiſhed to poſſeſs an invaluable treaſure. He was guided by him, and allowed him to follow Mary to Southampton, and ſpeak firſt to her friend.
This This friend determined to truſt to ber native ſtrength of mind, and in- formed her of the circumſtance; but ſhe overrated it: Mary was not able, for a few days after the intelligence, to fix on the mode of conduct ſhe ought now to purſue. But at laſt ſhe con- quered her diſguſt, and wrote her bu/band an account of what had paſſed ſince ſhe had dropped his correſſ pondence.
He came in perſon to anſwer the letter. Mary fainted when he approached her unexpectedly. Her diſguſt returned with additional force, in ſpite of pre- vious reaſonings, whenever he ap- peared; yet ſhe was prevailed on to promiſe to live with him, if he would permit her to paſs one year, travelling from place to place; he was not to ac- company her.
The time too quickly elapſed, and ſhe ſhe gave him her hand—the ſtruggle was almoſt more than ſhe could en- dure. She tried to appear calm; time mellowed her grief, and mitigated her torments; but when her huſband would take her hand, or mention any thing like - love, ſhe would inftantly feel a ſickneſs, a faintneſs at her heart, and wiſh, involuntarily, that the earth would open and ſwallow her.
CHAP. XXXI.
CHAP. XXXI.
Mar Y vilited the continent, and fought health in different climates; but her nerves were not to be reſtored to their former ſtate. She then retired to her houſe in the country, eſtabliſhed manufactories, threw the eſtate into ſmall farms; and continually employed herſelf this way to diſſipate care, and baniſh unavailing regret. She viſited the fick, ſupported the old, and educated the young.
Theſe occupations | — her mind; but there were hours when all her former woes would return and haunt her. Whenever ſhe did, or ſaid, any _ ſhe thought Henry would have approved approved of—ſhe could not avoid think- ing with anguiſh, of the rapture his approbation ever conveyed to her heart —a heart in which there was a void, that even benevolence and religion could not fill. The latter taught her to ſtrug- gle for reſignation; and the former rendered life ſupportable.
Her delicate ſtate of health did not promiſe long life. In moments of ſo- litary ſadneſs, a gleam of joy would dart acroſs her mind—She thought ſhe was haſtening to that world where there is neither marrying, nor giving in mar- riage. |