he'd ferret me out to pay off old grudges.
I'd rather anybody had the hundred pounds
they think I am worth than that rascal.
What a pity poor old Dixon could not be
persuaded to give me up, and make a provision
for her old age!"

"Oh, Frederick, hush! Don't talk so."

Mr. Hale came towards them, eager and
trembling. He had overheard what they
were saving. He took Frederick's hand in
both of his:

"My boy, you must go. It is very bad—
but I see you must. You have done all you
could—you have been a comfort to her."

"Oh, papa, must he go?" said Margaret,
pleading against her own conviction of
necessity.

"I declare I've a good mind to face it out,
and stand my trial. If I could only pick up
my evidence. I cannot endure this thought
of being in the power of such a blackguard
as Leonards. I could almost have enjoyed
—in other circumstances—this stolen visit:
it has had all the charm which the Frenchwoman
attributed to forbidden pleasures."

"One of the earliest things I can remember,"
said Margaret, "was your being in
some great disgrace, Fred, for stealing apples.
We had plenty of our own—trees loaded with
them; but some one had told you that
stolen fruit tasted sweetest, which you took
au pied de la lettre, and off you went
a-robbing. You have not changed your feelings
much since then."

"Yes—you must go," repeated Mr. Hale,
answering Margaret's question, which she
had asked some time ago. His thoughts were
fixed on one subject, and it was an effort to
him to follow the zigzag remarks of his
children—an effort which he did not make.

Margaret and Frederick looked at each
other. That quick momentary sympathy
would be theirs no longer if he went away.
So much was understood through eyes that
could not be put into words. Both coursed
the same thought till it was lost in sadness.
Frederick shook it off first:

"Do you know, Margaret, I was very
nearly giving both Dixon and myself a good
fright this afternoon. I was in my bedroom;
I had heard a ring at the front door, but I
thought the ringer must have done his business
and gone away long ago; so I was on
the point of making my appearance in the
passage, when, as I opened my room door,
I saw Dixon coming downstairs; and she
frowned and tricked me into hiding again. I
kept the door open, and heard a message
given to some man that was in my father's
study, and that then went away. Who could
it have been? Some of the shopmen?"

"Very likely," said Margaret, indifferently.
"There was a little quiet man who came up
for orders about two o'clock."

"But this was not a little man—a great
powerful fellow; and it was past four when
he was here."

"It was Mr. Thornton," said Mr. Hale.
They were glad to have drawn him into
the conversation.

"Mr. Thornton!" said Margaret, a little
surprised. "I thought——"

"Well, little one, what did you think?"
asked Frederick, as she did not finish her
sentence.

"Oh, only," said she, reddening and looking
straight at him, "I fancied you meant
some one of a different class—not a gentleman;
somebody come on an errand."

"He looked like some one of that kind,"
said Frederick, carelessly. "I took him for
a shopman, and he turns out a manufacturer."

Margaret was silent. She remembered
how at first, before she knew his character,
she had spoken and thought of him just as
Frederick was doing. It was but a natural
impression that was made upon him, and yet
she was a little annoyed by it. She was
unwilling to speak; she wanted to make Frederick
understand what kind of a person Mr.
Thornton was—but she was tongue-tied.

Mr. Hale went on."He came to offer
any assistance in his power, I believe. But I
could not see him. I told Dixon to ask him
if he would like to see you—I think I asked
her to find you, and you would go to him. I
don't know what I said."

"He has been a very agreeable acquaintance,
has he not?" asked Frederick, throwing
the question like a ball for any one to
catch who chose.

"A very kind friend," said Margaret, when
her father did not answer.

Frederick was silent for a time. At last
he spoke:

"Margaret, it is painful to think I can
never thank those who have shown you kindness.
Your acquaintances and mine must be
separate. Unless, indeed, I run the chances
of a court-martial, or unless you and my
father would come to Spain." He threw out
this last suggestion as a kind of feeler; and
then suddenly made the plunge. "You don't
know how I wish you would. I have a good
position—the chance of a better," continued
he, reddening like a girl. "That Dolores
Barbour that I was telling you of, Margaret
—I only wish you knew her; I am sure you
would like—no, love is the right word, like is
so poor—you would love her, father, if you
knew her. She is not eighteen; but if she
is in the same mind another year, she is to be
my wife. Mr. Barbour won't let us call it an
engagement. But if you would come, you
would find friends everywhere, besides
Dolores. Think of it, father. Margaret, be
on my side."

"No—no more removals for me," said Mr.
Hale."One removal has cost me my wife.
No more removals in this life. She will be
here; and here will I stay out my appointed
time."

"Oh, Frederick," said Margaret,"tell us