should not be spoken to at all.—Oh! that
look of love! " continued he, between his
teeth, as he bolted himself into his own
private room. " And that cursed lie; which
showed some terrible shame in the
background, to be kept from the light in which
I thought she lived perpetually! Oh,
Margaret, Margaret! Mother, how you have
tortured me! Oh! Margaret, could you not
have loved me? I am but uncouth and hard,
but I would never have led you into any
falsehood for me."

The more Mrs. Thornton thought over
what her son had said, in pleading for a
merciful judgment for Margaret's indiscretion,
the more bitterly she felt inclined towards
her. She took a savage pleasure in the idea
of " speaking her mind " to her in the guise
of fulfilment of a duty. She enjoyed the
thought of showing herself untouched by the
"glamour," which she was well aware
Margaret had the power of throwing over many
people. She snorted scornfully over the
picture of the beauty of her victim; her jet black
hair, her clear smooth skin, her lucid eyes
would not help to save her one word of the
just and stern reproach which Mrs. Thornton
spent half the night in preparing to her
mind.

"Is Miss Hale within ? " She knew she
was, for she had seen her at the window, and
she had her feet inside the little hall before
Martha had half answered her question.

Margaret was sitting alone, writing to
Edith, and giving her many particulars of
her mother's last days. It was a softening
employment, and she had to brush away the
unbidden tears as Mrs. Thornton was
announced.

She was so gentle and ladylike in her mode
of reception that her visitor was somewhat
daunted; and it became impossible to utter
the speech, so easy of arrangement with no
one to address it to. Margaret's low rich
voice was softer than usual; her manner
more gracious, because in her heart she was
feeling very grateful to Mrs. Thornton for
the courteous attention of her call. She
exerted herself to find subjects of interest for
conversation; praised Martha, the servant
whom Mrs. Thornton had found for them;
had asked Edith for a little Greek air about
which she had spoken to Miss Thornton.
Mrs. Thornton was fairly discomfited. Her
sharp Damascus blade seemed out of place,
and useless among rose-leaves. She was
silent because she was trying to task herself
up to her duty. At last she stung herself
into its performance by a suspicion which, in
spite of all probability, she allowed to cross
her mind, that all this sweetness was put on
with a view of propitiating Mr. Thornton;
that, somehow, the other attachment had
fallen through, and that it suited Miss Hale's
purpose to recall her rejected lover. Poor
Margaret! there was perhaps so much truth
in the suspicion as this: that Mrs. Thornton
was the mother of one whose regard she
valued, and feared to have lost ; and this
thought unconsciously added to her natural
desire of pleasing one who was showing her
kindness by her visit. Mrs. Thornton stood
up to go, but yet she seemed to have
something more to say. She cleared her throat
and began :

"Miss Hale, I have a duty to perform. I
promised your poor mother that, as far as my
poor judgment went, I would not allow you
to act in any way wrongly, or (she softened
her speech down a little here) inadvertently,
without remonstrating; at least, without
offering advice, whether you took it or not."

Margaret stood before her, blushing like
any culprit, with her eyes dilating as she
gazed at Mrs. Thornton. She thought she
had come to speak to her about the falsehood
she had told — that Mr. Thornton had
employed her to explain the danger she
had exposed herself to of being confuted
in full court; and although her heart
sank to think he had not rather chosen
to come himself, and upbraid her, and receive
her penitence, and restore her again to
his good opinion, yet she was too much
humbled not to bear any blame on this
subject patiently and meekly.

Mrs. Thornton went on:

"At first, when I heard from one of my
servants, that you had been seen walking
about with a gentleman so far from home as
the station, at such a time of the evening, I
could hardly believe it. But my son, I am
sorry to say, confirmed her story. It was
indiscreet, to say the least; many a young
woman has lost her character before now—"

Margaret's eyes flashed fire. This was a
new idea — this was too insulting. If Mrs.
Thorton had spoken to her about the lie she
had told, well and good — she would have
owned it, and humiliated herself. But to
interfere with her conduct — to speak of her
character! she — Mrs. Thornton, a mere
stranger—it was too impertinent! She
would not answer her—not one word. ' Mrs.
Thornton saw the battle-spirit in Margaret's
eyes, and it called up her combativeness
also.

"For your mother's sake, I have thought
it right to warn you against such
improprieties; they must degrade you in the long
run in the estimation of the world, even if in
fact they do not lead you to positive harm."

"For my mother's sake," said Margaret, in
a tearful voice, " I will bear much; but I cannot
bear everything. She never meant me
to be exposed to insult, I am sure."

"Insult, Miss Hale!"

"Yes, madam," said Margaret more
steadily, " it is insult. What do you know of
me that should lead you to suspect——
Oh ! " said she, breaking down, and covering
her face with her hands — "I know now,
Mr. Thornton has told you —— "

"No, Miss Hale," said Mrs. Thornton, her