to go to London by the next up-train. He
made all sorts of tipsy promises, but I'd
something else to do than listen to him;
I told him to go about his business; and he
went off at the front door."

"He's at the nearest vaults, I'll be bound,"
said the first speaker. "Your money would
have gone there too, if you'd been such a
fool as to lend it."

"Catch me! I knew better what his
London meant. "Why, he has never paid me
off that five shillings"—and so they went on.

And now all Margaret's anxiety was for
the train to come. She hid herself once more
in the ladies' waiting-room, and fancied every
noise was Leonards' step—every loud and
boisterous voice was his. But no one came
near her until the train drew up; when she
was civilly helped into a carriage by a porter,
into whose face she durst not look till they
were in motion, and then she saw that it was
not Leonards.

CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD.

HOME seemed unnaturally quiet after all
this terror and noisy commotion. Her father
had seen all due preparation made for her
refreshment on her return; and then sate
down again in his accustomed chair to fall
into one of his sad waking dreams. Dixon
had got Mary Higgins to scold and direct in
the kitchen; and her scolding was not the less
energetic because it was delivered in an angry
whisper; for, speaking above her breath she
would have thought irreverent as long as
there was any one dead lying in the house.
Margaret had resolved not to mention the
crowning and closing affright to her father.
There was no use in speaking about it; it
had ended well; the only thing to be feared
was lest Leonards should in some way borrow
money enough to carry out his purpose of
following Frederick to London, and hunting him
out there. But there were immense chances
against the success of any such plan; and
Margaret determined not to torment herself
by thinking of what she could do nothing to
prevent. Frederick would be as much on
his guard as she could put him; and in a day
or two at most he would be safely out of
England.

"I suppose we shall hear from Mr. Bell
to-morrow," said Margaret.

"Yes," replied her father. "I suppose so."

"If he can come, he will be here to-morrow
evening, I should think."

"If he cannot come, I shall ask Mr. Thornton
to go with me to the funeral. I cannot
go alone. I should break down utterly."

"Don't ask Mr. Thornton, papa. Let me
go with you," said Margaret, impetuously.

"You! My dear, women do not generally
go."

"No: because often they can't control
themselves. Women of our class don't go
because they have no power over their emotions,
and yet are ashamed of showing them.
Poor women go, and don't care if they are
seen overwhelmed with grief. But I promise
you, papa, that if you will let me go, I will be
no trouble. Don't have a stranger, and leave
me out. Dear papa! if Mr. Bell cannot
come, I shall go. I won't urge my wish
against your will, if he does."

Mr. Bell could not come. He had the
gout. It was a most affectionate letter, and
expressed great and true regret for his
inability to attend. He hoped to come and
pay them a visit soon, if they would have him;
his Milton property required some looking
after, and his agent had written to him to
say that his presence was absolutely necessary;
or else he bad avoided coming near
Milton as long as he could, and now the only
thing that would reconcile him to this necessary
visit was the idea that he should see,
and might possibly be able to comfort his old
friend.

Margaret had all the difficulty in the
world to persuade her father not to invite
Mr. Thornton. She had an indescribable
repugnance to this step being taken. The
night before the funeral, came a stately note
from Mrs. Thornton to Miss Hale, saying
that, at her son's desire, their carriage should
attend the funeral, if it would not be
disagreeable to the family. Margaret tossed
the note to her father.

"Oh, don't let us have these forms," said
she. "Let us go alone—you and me, papa.
They don't care for us, or else he would have
offered to go himself, and not have proposed
this sending an empty carriage."

"I thought you were so extremely averse
to his going, Margaret," said Mr. Hale in
some surprise.

"And so I am. I don't want him to come
at all; and I should especially dislike the
idea of our asking him. But this seems
such a mockery of mourning that I did not
expect it from him." She startled her
father by bursting into tears. She had been
so subdued in her grief, so thoughtful for
others, so gentle and patient in all things,
that he could not understand her impatient
ways to-night; she seemed agitated and
restless; and at all the tenderness which
her father in his turn now lavished upon her,
she only cried the more.

She passed so bad a night that she was ill
prepared for the additional anxiety caused by
a letter received from Frederick. Mr. Lennox
was out of town; his clerk said that he
would return by the following Tuesday at the
latest; that he might possibly be at home on
Monday. Consequently, after some consideration,
Frederick had determined upon
remaining in London for a day or two longer,
he had thought of coming down to Milton
again; the temptation had been very strong;
but the idea of Mr. Bell domesticated in his
father's house, and the alarm he had received
at the last moment at the railway station,
had made him resolve to stay in London.