"Oh, had he lived,
Replied Rusilla, never penitence
Had equalled his! full well I knew his heart,
Vehement in all things. He would on himself
Have wreaked such penance as had reached the height
Of fleshy suffering,--yea, which being told,
With its portentous rigour should have made
The memory of his fault o'erpowered and lost,
In shuddering pity and astonishment,
Fade like a feeble horror."
--SOUTHEY'S Roderick.
As Mary was turning into the street where the Wilsons lived, Jem overtook her. He came upon her suddenly, and she started. "You're going to see mother?" he asked tenderly, placing her arm within his, and slackening his pace.
"Yes, and you too. O Jem, is it true? tell me."
She felt rightly that he would guess the meaning of her only half-expressed inquiry. He hesitated
