We leave for Liverpool to-night.

A vessel sails from that port, as I hear, in three days.

In a month, or less, we shall be there.
Why, what's a month! How many months have flown by, since our last parting!' 'Long to look back upon,' said Mary, echoing his cheerful tone, 'but nothing in their course!' 'Nothing at all!' cried Martin.

'I shall have change of scene and change of place; change of people, change of manners, change of cares and hopes! Time will wear wings indeed! I can bear anything, so that I have swift action, Mary.' Was he thinking solely of her care for him, when he took so little heed of her share in the separation; of her quiet monotonous endurance, and her slow anxiety from day to day?
Was there nothing jarring and discordant even in his tone of courage, with this one note 'self' for ever audible, however high the strain?
Not in her ears.

It had been better otherwise, perhaps, but so it was.