She began to pine; the roses faded gradually out of her cheeks, and Mr.Bartley himself began at last to pity her, for though he did not love her, he liked her, and was proud of her affection.

Another thing, Hope might come home now any day, and if he found the girl sick and pining, he might say this is a breach of contract.
He asked Mary one day whether she wouldn't like a change.

"I could take you to the sea-side," said he, but not very cordially.
"No, papa," said Mary; "why should you leave your mine when everything is going so prosperously?
I think I should like to go to the lakes, and pay my old nurse a visit." "And she would talk to you of Walter Clifford ?" "Yes, papa," said Mary, firmly, "she would; and that's the only thing that can do me any good." "Well, Mary," said Bartley, "if she could be content with praising him, and regretting the insuperable obstacles, and if she would encourage you to be patient--There, let me think of it." Things went hard with Colonel Clifford.

He felt his son's desertion very bitterly, though he was too proud to show it; he now found out that universally as he was _respected_, it was Walter who was the most beloved both in the house and in the neighborhood.
One day he heard a multitude shouting, and soon learned the reason.
Bartley had struck a rich vein of coal, and tons were coming up to the surface.

Colonel Clifford would not go near the place, but he sent old Baker to inquire, and Baker from that day used to bring him back a number of details, some of them especially galling to him.