Mary Barton

Chapter 23

"And must it then depend on this poor eye

And this unsteady hand, whether the bark,

That bears my all of treasured hope and love,

Shall find a passage through these frowning rocks

To some fair port where peace and safety smile,--

Or whether it shall blindly dash against them,

And miserably sink? Heaven be my help;

And clear my eye and nerve my trembling hand!"

--"THE CONSTANT WOMAN."

Her heart beating, her head full of ideas, which required time and solitude to be reduced into order, Mary hurried home. She was like one who finds a jewel of which he cannot all at once ascertain the value, but who hides his treasure until some quiet hour when he may ponder over the capabilities its possession unfolds. She was like one who discovers the silken clue which guides to some bower of bliss