CHAPTER XIX.
MARY IN THE SHOP.
More than a year had now passed from the opening of my narrative.

It was full summer again at Testbridge, and things, to the careless eye, were unchanged, and, to the careless mind, would never change, although, in fact, nothing was the same, and nothing could continue as it now was.

For were not the earth and the sun a little colder?
Had not the moon crumbled a little?
And had not the eternal warmth, unperceived save of a few, drawn a little nearer--the clock that measures the eternal day ticked one tick more to the hour when the Son of Man will come?
But the greed and the fawning did go on unchanged, save it were for the worse, in the shop of Turnbull and Marston, seasoned only with the heavenly salt of Mary's good ministration.
She was very lonely.

Letty was gone; and the link between Mr.Wardour and her not only broken, but a gulf of separation in its place.

Not the less remained the good he had given her.