In the course of the day, Mary Hull heard the rumours that had already spread through the village, of Jane's removal to Mrs. Harvey's, and her engagement. She ran to the library door, and in the fulness of her heart, forgetful of the decorum of knocking, she entered and found Mr. Lloyd sitting with his little girl on his knee. "Mary, I am glad to see thee," said the child; "I cannot get a word from father; he is just as if he was asleep, only his eyes are wide open."
Mary, regardless of the child's prattle, announced the news she had just heard. Mr. Lloyd coldly replied, that he knew it already; and Mary left the room, a little hurt that he had not condescended to tell her, and wondering what made him so indifferent, and then wondering whether it was indifference; but as she could not relieve her mind, she resolved to go immediately to Jane, with whom the habits of their early lives, and her continued kindness, had given and established the right of free intercourse.
She found Jane alone, and not looking as happy as she expected. "You have come to give me joy, Mary," she said, smiling mournfully as she extended her hand to her friend.
"Yes," replied Mary, "I came with that intention, and you look as if joy was yet to be given. Well," she continued after a pause, "I always thought you and Mr. Lloyd were different from every body else in the world, but now you puzzle me more than ever. I expected to see your aunt Wilson look grum—that's natural to her, when
