is Mather; and his mills are somewhere out
beyond Haylegh; it's a very good marriage,
for all he's got such gray hair."

At this piece of information, Margaret was
silent long enough for Martha to recover her
propriety, and, with it, her habitual shortness
of answer. She swept up the hearth,
asked at what time she should prepare
tea, and quitted the room with the same
wooden face with which she had entered it.
Margaret had to pull herself up from
indulging a bad trick which she had lately fallen
into, of trying to imagine how every event
that she heard of in relation to Mr. Thornton
would affect him: whether he would like it
or dislike it.

The next day she had the little Boucher
children for their lessons, and took a long
walk, and ended by a visit to Mary Higgins.
Somewhat to Margaret's surprise, she found
Nicholas already come home from his work;
the lengthening light had deceived her as to
the lateness of the evening. He too seemed,
by his manners, to have entered a little more
on the way of humility; he was quieter, and
less self-asserting.

"So th' oud gentleman's away on his
travels, is he?" said he. " Little 'uns telled
me so. Eh! but they're sharp 'uns, they
are; I a'most think they beat my own
wenches for sharpness, though mappen it's
wrong to say so, and one on 'em in her grave.
There's summut in th' weather, I reckon, as
sets folk a-wandering. My measter, him at
th' shop yonder, is spinning about th' world
somewhere."

"Is that the reason you're so soon at home
to-night? '' asked Margaret innocently.

"Thou know'st nought about it, that's all,"
said he, contemptuously. " I'm not one wi'
two faces—one for my measter, and t'other
for his back. I counted a' th' clocks in the
town striking afore I'd leave my work. No!
yon Thornton's good enough for to fight wi',
but too good for to be cheated. It were you
as getten me the place, and I thank yo for it.
Thornton's is not a bad mill, as times go.
Stand down, lad, and say yo'r pretty hymn to
Miss Marget. That's right; steady on thy
legs, and right arm out as straight as a
skewer. One to stop, two to stay, three mak'
ready, and four away!

The little fellow repeated a Methodist
hymn, far above his comprehension in point
of language, but of which the swinging
rhythm had caught his ear, and which he
repeated with all the developed cadence of a
member of parliament. When Margaret had
duly applauded, Nicholas called for another,
and yet another, much to her surprise, as she
found him thus oddly and unconsciously led
to take an interest in the sacred things which
he had formerly scouted.

It was past the usual tea-time when she
reached home; but she had the comfort of
feeling that no one had been kept waiting for
her; and of thinking her own thoughts while
she rested, instead of anxiously watching
another person to learn whether to be grave
or gay. After tea she resolved to examine a
large packet of letters, and pick out those
that were to be destroyed.

Among them she came to four or five of
Mr. Henry Lennox's, relating to Frederick's
affairs; and she carefully read them over
again, with the sole intention, when she
began, to ascertain exactly on how fine a
chance the justification of her brother hung.
But when she had finished the last, and
weighed the pros and cons, the little personal
revelation of character contained in them
forced itself on her notice. It was evident
enough, from the stiffness of the wording,
that Mr. Lennox had never forgotten his
relation to her in any interest he might feel
in the subject of the correspondence. They
were clever letters; Margaret saw that in a
twinkling; but she missed out of them all
hearty and genial atmosphere. They were to
be preserved, however, as valuable; so she
laid them carefully on one side. "When this
little piece of business was ended, she
fell into a reverie; and the thought of her
absent father ran strangely in Margaret's
head this night. She almost blamed herself
for having felt her solitude (and consequently
his absence) as a relief; but these two days
had set her up afresh, with new strength and
brighter hope. Plans which had lately
appeared to her in the guise of tasks, now
appeared like pleasures. The morbid scales
had fallen from her eyes, and she saw her
position and her work more truly. If only
Mr. Thornton would restore her the lost
friendship,—nay, if he would only come from
time to time to cheer her father as in former
days,—though she should never see him, she
felt as if the course of her future life,
though not brilliant in prospect, might lie
clear and even before her. She sighed as she
rose up to go to bed. In spite of the " One
step's enough for me,"—in spite of the one
plain duty of devotion to her father,—there lay
at her heart an anxiety and a pang of sorrow.

And Mr. Hale thought of Margaret, that
April evening, just as strangely and as
persistently as she was thinking of him. He
had been fatigued by going about among his
old friends and old familiar places. He had
had exaggerated ideas of the change which
his altered opinions might make in his
friends' reception of him; but although some
of them might have felt shocked or grieved,
or indignant at his falling off in the abstract,
as soon as they saw the face of the man
whom they had once loved, they forgot his
opinions in himself; or only remembered
them enough to give an additional tender
gravity to their manner. For Mr. Hale had
not been known to many; he had belonged
to one of the smaller colleges, and had always
been shy and reserved; but those who in
youth had cared to penetrate to the delicacy
of thought and feeling that lay below his